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| - The dingy apartment room was quiet. It was a dilapidated place to begin with-the glowpanels didn’t work and there was barely running water. The fact that large amounts of gear, bedrolls, and supply packs had been strewn across the room for the last few weeks had helped disguise the torn up and shredded state the floor was in. However, all of that was neatly packed away into a series of identical black bags stacked against one wall. Six individuals, all armed, waited patiently, watching the door, while another peered out the side of the tiny apartment’s one window. Finally, there was a knock on the door and, after a quick check of their identities, two more individuals were admitted to the room. Cresh Squad all came to attention as Captain Wyslond and Cresh Two entered the room. “All right,” their commander said. “The patrols are gone for now.” “What’s the plan?” Dex Naresco asked. The captain heaved a deep sigh. “I talked to command. They congratulated us on our success-over a hundred slaves rescued, the vast majority of the Kraechar Arms shipments funneled here destroyed. However, they’re still pulling us out.” “How can they do that?” Nate spoke up. “We’re doing good work here, right?” “All good things have to come to an end,” Captain Wyslond replied. “We’ve riled up the Zannists quite a bit with what’ve done. They’ve got probe droids out everywhere looking for us, and so much as one peek of us in our trademark armor would have every thug on the planet on our trail. There’s a considerable reward for anyone who captures one of us.” “For those of you who owe me in sabacc, I’ll remember that,” joked Naresco. They all had a brief laugh over that. Naresco wasn’t exactly the best sabacc player in the squad. “It’s getting too hot on Nar Shaddaa for us to stay here,” Captain Wyslond continued after the laughter subsided. “We have one last job to do, then we raise ship and head out.” “Sir, didn’t you say it was too dangerous to head out in our armor again?” Nate asked. “I did,” Captain Wyslond said. “That’s why we’re going to pull this off without the battlesuits. Nobody here has seen us without them on, so we’re going to use that to our advantage.” Moving over to a warped table in the corner of the room, he retrieved his datapad and set it down. Activating the holoprojector, he laid out the attack plan. That evening, the eight members of Cresh Squad trickled into the area surrounding a sizable warehouse owned by the Zann Consortium-and the location of the last major cache of Kraechar Arms weapons on Nar Shaddaa. It was well-guarded, to be sure, but the Zannists had skimped on real guards-most of their manpower was out scouring the streets for their mysterious raiders. Instead, the dozen or so guards were reinforced by a large amount of auto-turrets and security droids, as well as remote sensors that would detect and funnel any intruder into a killzone where they could be easily defeated. There was one flaw in this setup, though, and that was its dependence on a central security grid control terminal. That was Cresh Squad’s primary objective. The evening had been more or less filled with routine duties for the bored Consortium guards. They’d been warned to be alert, then assigned their shifts, which they’d hoped would pass quickly so they could return to the pleasures of food, drink, and the small bordello that had been set up near the warehouse for their enjoyment. Everything had gone as it usually did, until Cresh Squad’s demolition expert, set up on a rooftop a couple kilometers away, deployed and fired an anti-vehicle missile right into the front gate. The explosion tore the security booth apart, killing the two guards who were inside and setting the entrance afire. From his vantage point, Nate watched as members of the security team converged on the area, shouting and pointing their blasters in all directions. They got as far as the gatehouse when the Cresh Squad sniper, set up on the same rooftop along with the demolitions man, opened fire with his silenced S-5X rifle, picking off the gate guards with his lethal weapon. All attention was completely focused on the brazen attack on the gate, which was exactly what Cresh Squad had wanted. With everyone focused on the gate, nobody had noticed Captain Wyslond and Naresco dash across an open lot and sprint up the stairs that led to the main security booth. Nate covered them with his rifle, but they drew no fire. Watching through his scope, Nate saw Naresco open the door while the captain tossed a stun grenade inside. Only a few minutes later, the security droids, auto-turrets, and sensors all shut down. That was his cue. Rising from where he’d been hunched over behind a parked speeder, Nate popped up from cover and began blasting away at the remaining guards, whose sides were completely exposed to him. The rest of the squad joined in the attack, and the guards fell quickly to the accurate fire pouring in from several directions. Several of them had piled into a speeder and tried to make a dash for the gate, but a streak of red light-another missile-tore through the air and turned it into blazing scrap. “Good work, team,” Captain Wyslond told them through their earpiece comlinks. “Move in and secure the warehouse.” Cresh Squad did as they were instructed, advancing on the warehouse over the bodies of the slain guards. Splitting up, they entered from two sides, making their way through the piled crates. There were three guards still inside, but they didn’t even have a chance to fire before being cut down by silenced pistol rounds. Competent the guards might have been, but Cresh Squad was considerably more than just competent. This raid was turning out to be fairly easy after all. Nate covered one of the doors while the other members of the team rigged the warehouse with explosives. The way was clear, but then something caught his eye. “Lead,” he said into his comlink, looking at the bordello. “I think there might be more slaves in that structure. Permission to check them out?” “Denied,” replied Wyslond after thinking it over. “That’s outside the mission.” “I understand that,” Nate replied. “But think of the people in there. We might be the only chance they have.” It was clear that Wyslond wanted to acquiesce, but the officer knew that it might be dangerous. They had their orders, and this wasn’t in them. “Look, it’ll just take me a minute,” Nate reasoned. “There’s maybe one or two guards in there. We get them out, we get out of there.” Finally, Wyslond reluctantly gave his consent, but warned him to be careful. After checking his flanks, Nate dashed across the open ground to the bordello. Peeping through a hole in the door, Nate saw a fat Twi’lek holding a blaster, his trembling hands pointing it at the door. Nate sighed, moved away from the door, then popped up in the window and blasted the Twi’lek with a quick double-burst from his carbine. He checked around for any other signs of trouble, but found none, so Nate broke down the door and advanced. He checked the rooms, though to his relief, there were no other Consortium thugs in there. However, he did find a dozen slaves, all of whom bore clear signs of abuse. Rage built within him on seeing the suffering they had endured. “Come with me,” he told each of them quietly. “We’re going to get you out of here. You’re free now.” They had all followed him without question and he had herded them back into the warehouse. Stopping at the door, Nate held up his hand, signaling the slaves to stop. “Jaded eyes,” he whispered the password, then brought the dozen slaves into the warehouse. The other members of Cresh Squad had worked fast, rigging it to blow. Their mission accomplished, the squad hijacked four speeders that had been lying around and, along with the slaves, piled in. They roared away from the warehouse triumphantly. Looking over his shoulder, Captain Wyslond pressed a button and it went up in a giant mushroom cloud that skyrocketed its fiery way into the night. “Mission accomplished,” he said with satisfaction. Looking at one of the dozen slaves they’d just rescued, Nate smiled and, drinking in the accomplishment he had felt upon saving another dozen lives from an existence of abject misery, concurred entirely with the captain. In short order, Cresh Squad and the liberated slaves made their way back to the apartment, retrieved their gear, and boarded their ship, blasting off Nar Shaddaa. They were going home. Mandalore Sarth slowly opened his eyes, looking around him. He was sitting in a building somewhere, dank, dimly lit, and dirty, but given that almost certainly described most of the structures in Kedalbe, that didn’t help very much. He also couldn’t move and there was a terrible taste in his mouth. Looking down, Sarth realized that he was tied hand-and-foot to a metal chair and there was filthy rag stretched over his mouth, gagging him. His memory returned to him in fragments, but he eventually remembered being stunned by the Zann Consortium thugs, several of whom were standing around the room watching him. Sarth ignored them. By craning his neck up and around, he caught up a glimpse of Cassi over his shoulder, seemingly still unconscious and similarly tied to a chair, but still with him. “Good to see yer awake,” he heard suddenly as his gag was ripped off. Looking around and eventually down, he found Zloskiba leering at him. “Let us go,” Sarth managed hoarsely. “We haven’t done anything to you.” “’Fraid I can’t do that,” the Dug said. “Orders are orders and all.” “We can work out a deal,” Sarth replied, trying to shake off the stiffness in his limbs. “Of course we can,” the Dug said nastily. “That’s why I’m here, in fact.” “What do you want?” Sarth demanded. “First of all,” Zloskiba said haughtily. “We want ya to sign over control of fifty-one percent ownership of Kraechar Arms to the Zann Consortium. That’ll give us ownership and control of it.” Sarth was incredulous, then disgusted. “You’re extorting me?” he asked. “Yerr not in a position to say no,” the Dug pointed out. “That’s where you’re wrong,” Sarth said defiantly. “Go to hell.” The Dug sighed. “I just knew ya were goin’ ta be difficult,” Zloskiba said. “Wake her.” One of his accomplices walked up to Cassi and slapped her around roughly until she stirred and woke. Sarth bit down on an angry protest, knowing it would do no good. He heard the scraping of the metal chair legs on the permacrete floor and, out of the corner of his eye, saw that a horrified Cassi was now facing him. “Our guest is thirsty,” Zloskiba said with an evil glint in his eye. “Cut loose his arms and give him something to drink.” Two thugs, a burly Snivvian and a three-eyed Gran stepped forward. The Snivvian used a vibroblade to slice through the bonds holding Sarth’s arms to the chair, then pulled him to a standing position. While the Snivvian wrenched Sarth’s arms behind his back in one meaty fist, his other tipped Sarth’s head back until he was facing the ceiling. Then the Gran stepped forward, forced Sarth’s mouth open and poured a liter of water down his throat. Sarth thrashed about, but the Snivvian held him in place even as he coughed and gagged, trying to somehow handle all the water being forced into his system. “How about now?” Zloskiba asked mildly. Sarth continued to gag and cough, but managed to direct an angry glare at the Dug. “He’s still thirsty, Moshi,” Zloskiba replied. Before Sarth could react, his head was wrenched back and another bottle of water splashed down his face and neck, though most of it went down his already abused throat. He felt like he was drowning, that the searing sensation shooting through his chest from his lungs protesting the water in them would tear him apart, but somehow he endured. Drawing on the Force, Sarth managed to keep control, to suppress his body’s reactions, and keep too much water from entering his lungs. He felt Cassi reach out in the Force, bolstering his endurance and he silently thanked her through the mental link they shared. The Dug, however, ruthlessly continued until the better part of four liters of water had been forced into Sarth. Gagging and vomiting, Sarth thrashed about helplessly. He was drenched, half-drowned, and in pain, but still he glared angrily at the Dug. “Go to hell,” he rasped, every syllable a laborious effort. “Such spirit,” Zloskiba said, impressed. “Yer obviously not a normal executive, but then, I’d expect that from someone who knows how ta handle a lightsaber.” Sarth continued to alternately spit up water and glower at the diminutive alien. “Go . . . to . . . hell,” he forced out. Zloskiba rolled his eyes and he exhaled heavily, obviously irritated. Moshi,” the Dug said wickedly. “Our other guest is thirsty too.” They forced Sarth back down and retied his arms. When he weakly tried to struggle, a single punch from the Snivvian drove the wind out of him, ending all resistance. Blinking back tears and trying to calm his spasming diaphragm, Sarth could only watch helplessly as Cassi was hauled to her feet for her turn of having water poured down her throat. Each second was a waking nightmare for him as his wife was tortured, and Sarth felt as if it was him who was being drowned all over again. She endured the first bottle, then the second, and Sarth’s stomach rose to his throat. His throat tightened as he sensed her pain and the words that could stop it rose to his lips, words of acquiescence that he’d thought he’d never say. Then, he heard a voice-Cassi’s voice-echo in his mind. “Don’t, Sarth,” he heard her say, though there was no way she was actually speaking given her state of simulated drowning. “I’m okay.” He stared uncertainly at her, but her words had been spoken with quiet confidence. Sarth reluctantly bit back what he’d been going to say and watched in silent agony as the third bottle of water was opened and poured down her throat. He clenched his fists until his nails nearly broke skin, trying to lend Cassi whatever support he could through the Force. His level of empathy wasn’t nearly what hers was, so he had no idea if he was even helping any, but she sent him a silent mental nod of gratitude as the fourth bottle hit her. The moments dragged on as Cassi continued to suffer, but finally Zloskiba, annoyed that his tactic wasn’t working, decided to try something else “I could beat her too, ya know,” he spat out angrily. “Leave red welts on her until she screams for mercy.” Sarth shot a careful look at Cassi, who, despite her own racking coughs as her aching lungs tried to expel the water forced into them, shook her head silently. She was still fighting, still willing to endure more, and Sarth’s heart swelled with admiration for her even as she suffered. “That won’t change my mind,” Sarth said. “And you still haven’t gone to hell.” “Fine,” Zloskiba said with a sneer. “Suit yourself.” He had the Snivvian and Dug retie Cassi back to her chair and shove her back towards Sarth so they were back to back again, then motioned them back, leaving the two sitting there in a puddle of water, soaked, water dripping from their aching bodies, gasping for breath. Zloskiba was playing with a cable he’d picked up from the ground, doing something to its end. “Let’s see if we can shock some sense into ya,” he said, brandishing the end of the cable, which was now stripped of all insulation. With that, Zloskiba tossed the cable into the pool of water around their chairs, sauntered over to a power generator, and flicked it on. Both Sarth and Cassi screamed and struggled helplessly as the current ran through the water, up the chairs and into their bodies. Their muscles spasmed uncontrollably as the electric arcs ran fingers of pain up and down their nervous systems. The skin touching the metal chairs, which were rapidly heating up due to the current, began to protest with jolts of agony as the heat began searing it. Steam and the smell of burned flesh began rising from both of them as they fought back the waves of pain assaulting their already battered bodies. Each second dragged on, a discordant hell of shocks and jolts, and they had no idea how long it lasted. But they did not give in and, defeated yet again, the Dug switched off the generator, evidently annoyed. “Don’t wanta kill ya,” he said. “So that’s enough for now. We’ll pick up tomorrer.” With that, the Dug and his henchman replaced their gags, tied their arms back around behind the chairs, and filed out, leaving the two miserable prisoners alone to rot in the dark. Sarth winced as his legs finally stopped twitching. His arms and legs were burned, chafed, and raw where the restraints had held him in place. If the almost complete lack of light streaming through the shaded windows was any indication, it was well after midnight. They had a long night ahead of them, and Sarth couldn’t even speak to his wife, hear her say that she was okay. He scooted his chair backward, though the exertion cost him in terms of the angry jolts of pain from his abused muscles, until the back of his chair was pressed against hers. Painfully, he stretched out with his aching fingers, despite the lack of circulation in his arms, and just barely brushed her hands. He tried again, and on the second try, managed to clasp her hands in his own. Reassurance filled him again, just from the simple act of being able to touch his wife, of being able to hold her hand and mentally tell her that everything was going to be okay. There was no response from Cassi at first, then her fingers tightened around his, sending a ripple of worry through him. Then, Sarth noticed a faint blue glow crawling up his arms and over his body. Arching his back to catch a quick glimpse of Cassi, he saw that the same blue glow had enveloped her. As he sat there, Sarth felt the raw pain shooting through him diminish, saw one of the burns on his arms shrink. Cassi was using her gift of Force healing, wrapping both of them in the Force, restoring their tortured bodies, soothing the pain away. Sarth gave her the equivalent of a lasting embrace, felt her return the gesture, and knew everything was going to be okay. He knew the effort had to be tiring for her, so he lent what strength he had for her to convert into healing energy. After an hour of the Force therapy, Sarth felt much better. He wasn’t completely healed and neither was Cassi, but she was worn out. Her last act was to drift off into a deep sleep that was half of a Matukai meditative technique and half natural slumber. It was something Milya had taught them for when they needed to rest but didn’t have much time to do so. In his mind, Sarth envisioned her curling up for a nap on the couch by the window like she sometimes did in the heat of the afternoon after a long day. Adding to that mental image, he pictured himself wrapping her arms around her and sensed her accept the gesture before he fell into the same deep sleep. Endor Hasla stared out of the viewport, watching the starfield slowly pass by. Every half-hour, the century moon of Endor filled her view, slowly rotating. It was the same panorama over and over again and Hasla was sick of it. She was onboard a Rebel medical frigate, laid up in bed just as she had been for the past week ever since they’d pulled her fighter in from where she’d been drifting for hours, in shock, until the battle had ended. They had extracted her carefully from the wrecked ship and the medic on the spot had pronounced her femur broken and shattered in a dozen places. She’d been moved to the medical frigate where serious cases were treated, undergone surgery to repair her broken leg, and confined here since. She could almost walk on it again, but she was still a couple days from being able to leave the medical frigate. It might have taken her less time to recover, but with over thirty percent of the original fleet a casualty of some kind, Rebel medical resources had been stretched thin. Bone-knitters had been scarce or else she would have returned to her unit already. Janson had come to visit her shortly after she’d arrived, but he’d been gone on some kind of mission to the Bakura system with the rest of the Rogues the past several days. Hasla hoped he would return soon, so that they could spend a little more time together. Commander Gavin had also stopped by a few days ago, wishing her a speedy recovery. For the present, though, she would just have to be patient and heal. Two days of miserable tasteless ration cubes and forced bed rest later, Hasla heard a commotion outside the room where she and several other recovering patients were. The door slid open to admit a 2-1B medical droid, followed by Commander Gavin and General Calrissian. “Seirla!” Gavin called. “I have good news for you.” “Commander?” Hasla replied, sitting up straight and saluting. “General, what are you doing here?” “Just relax,” Gavin said sympathetically. “You’re still off-duty. Don’t worry about the saluting.” “I’m making the rounds, checking up on my pilots,” General Calrissian informed her. “You’re a very lucky lady.” “Thank you, sir,” she said. “I just did my job.” “Well, I have good news for you that I wanted to deliver myself,” Calrissian said. “We’ve just received a fresh shipment of medical supplies from some old friends of mine on Bespin. They said they knew you too-they were asking about you, wanting to see you.” “Uh . . .” Hasla said uncertainly, her mind racing, trying to figure out who she knew on Bespin. “Sure, send them in.” To her complete and utter surprise, Jorgesoll and Annita Knrr walked into the crowded room, dressed like businesspeople. “Hey there,” Annita said. “How are you feeling?” “I’ve been better,” Hasla said, recovering quickly. “So you do know each other?” the general asked. “Yes,” Hasla replied. “Commander Gavin, these are the two civilians you saw in my report from the Battle of Bespin, the ones who helped me escape after I was shot down.” “Ah,” the commander said understandingly. “You have my thanks, then. Seirla is one of our best pilots.” “We’re just trying to help,” Jorge said. “And pay the Empire back a little,” Annita remarked with a small smile. “Looks like you saved me again,” Hasla said, wondering what they were doing here. “That’s two I owe you.” “I’m sure you’ll find some way to repay us,” Jorge said, shrugging. “If not, don’t worry about it. It’s all for a good cause.” “Excuse me,” interrupted the 2-1B droid. “Am I going to be applying the bone-knitters on Flight Officer Trasani, or is this idle conversation more important?” “Uh, sorry about that, Too-One Bee,” Calrissian said apologetically. “We’ll get out of your way. Get well soon, Flight Officer.” “Speedy recovery, Ice Eight,” Commander Gavin said with a wink, then the two officers, followed by Jorge and Annita, made their way out of the room. As they left, Hasla thought she heard the general ask Jorge and Annita something about Kuat and the Zann Consortium. She strained to hear more, but then the medical droid injected her with a sedative and went to work on her leg, disrupting her concentration. Her universe once again dissolved into the murky black of unconsciousness, leaving her filled with questions. Yanibar Selu Kraen had been out in a field some distance from any settlement with Morgedh, teaching the Noghri how to levitate and control rocks, when he saw a speeder approaching quickly, leaving a cloud of dust behind it. He wasn’t expecting anyone-much of his time since the Battle of Endor had been spent either meditating or teaching Kel’nerh. With Sarth, Cassi, Rhiannon, and Milya away, he’d found that the relative quietness from his normal lifestyle had afforded him an opportunity to immerse himself in the role of being a Jedi Master again instead of constantly focused on Yanibar Guard or family issues. Plus, it gave him an escape from the worrying he’d been doing about all of their safety. Squinting against the sunlight of the Yanibar summer, he couldn’t tell who it was visually, but his Force senses told him that it was Spectre. As the speeder drew close, Selu saw that he was wearing his Yanibar Guard general’s uniform. Something was up. “That’s enough for now, Morgedh,” Selu told his pupil. Spectre pulled the speeder up to their location. “Why wasn’t your comlink on?” Spectre asked. “I was teaching Morgedh something,” Selu answered. “I didn’t want to be interrupted.” “Get in, please,” Spectre ordered brusquely. “There’s news. We’ve been looking for you for hours. If Master Daara hadn’t said something, we might not have found you.” The urgent tone in Spectre’s voice was enough for Selu and he climbed into the speeder. “Come along,” he said to Morgedh. “We’ll have Daara meet us and take you back to the training compound.” The Noghri nodded and piled into the speeder. As soon as he was in, Spectre spun it around and roared back the way he’d come, taking them back to main settlement. Selu commed ahead and arranged for Daara to pick up Kel’nerh-it wasn’t that they didn’t trust the Noghri, but Selu did not want him wandering the colony alone-and once the transfer was made, Spectre took him straight to the Yanibar Guard command center at the main base. He said nothing, as Selu was still in a contemplative mood, but made the trip in record time. Once inside the base, Selu made a quick stop-off at the flag officer’s locker room and traded his Jedi robes for his Yanibar Guard uniform. Now presentable and back in the mindset of the supreme commander of the Yanibar Guard, he made his way to the tactical briefing room where Spectre was waiting for him. “What is it, General?” Selu asked him. Spectre slid a datacard containing a report over to him, knowing full well that Selu wouldn’t read it, relying instead on what Spectre told him. “The latest details on Operation Triangle. Jorge and Annita report that their Shii-Cho-class transport full of medical supplies and its escort reached the Rebel fleet without incident.” “What else did they say?” Selu asked. “They reported that they made contact with Agent Redbird. She was wounded, but is expected to recover soon.” “Good,” Selu replied. “Did they get the message about Kuat across?” “Yes, they did. Jorge told me that the Alliance is going to investigate the report, but he said that he thinks they’ll act on the tip.” “Excellent,” Selu said. This plan, Operation Triangle, had been long in the making—in fact, ever since a Twi’lek YGI agent undercover at Hypori had learned that the Zannists were contemplating an attack on Kuat. The agent hadn’t been sure exactly what was so important to them that they would risk a full-scale assault on the shipyards, but apparently there was something that Tyber Zann wanted there. Selu hadn’t really cared what it was either, but knowing that Zann was willing to risk his reinforced fleet so soon after Carida, even with the addition of newer and larger vessels to his arsenal, meant that it was a golden opportunity to deal with the crime lord once and for all, ending the ill-begotten partnership between the Consortium and Kraechar Arms. The best part of Selu’s plan was that the crime lord could be crushed without directly involving the Yanibar Guard-though Cresh Squad had done well on Nar Shaddaa, their attacks had been but a pinprick and their mission had been ended, at any rate. In truth, the Empire had done far more damage with its strikes on various Consortium holdings after Carida, and now Selu hoped to eliminate the damaged Zannists by luring their fleet into a meat-grinder of a space battle. His plan was simple-since he knew that Zann planned on striking Kuat-Selu had decided to play the Empire, Rebellion, and Consortium against each other. Whatever Zann expected to find at Kuat, he would soon find two additional fleets waiting for him. There would either be a three-way battle, or there would be a truce between two parties; Selu suspected it would be between the Rebels and the Consortium, though he doubted such an agreement would last. The Rebellion would be eager to do as much damage to the shipyards that had produced so many Star Destroyers, but Selu didn’t believe that Zann would risk his fleet just to harass a target that didn’t really affect his operations directly. Not to mention the fact that he was as deceitful a creature ever to walk the galaxy. Whatever the case, it was unlikely the majority of Zann’s fleet would escape the battle, and to make sure that it didn’t, Selu had arranged for YGI to feed incomplete Imperial strength estimates to the Zann Consortium as well. “Just one more thing,” Selu said. “Will Jorge and Annita be able to extract Agent Redbird?” “They seemed sure of it,” Spectre replied. Selu nodded. “It’s time for her to come home,” he said. “Her mission is over.” “Understood,” Spectre agreed. “Well, things seem to be falling to place on that front,” Selu remarked. “How about the Imperial end?” “Our courier reported an hour ago that they’d successfully delivered documents that confirmed the Zannists’ Kuat plans to an Imperial spy known for his reliability. The message got through.” “All is going as planned, then,” Selu said, sitting back in his chair. “Now we just have to sit back and watch.” Selu’s comlink chirped. He plucked the device from his pocket, frowning at it. “This is Master Kraen,” Selu said. He deliberately chose to not use his actual title of “Supreme Commander,” feeling it was too lofty and arrogant for general use. He only put up with it on formal reports or when required to wear dress uniform, instead preferring the simple honorific given to Jedi Masters. “Master Kraen, Orbital Command here,” replied the person on the other end. “We just received a call-ahead signal from a YGI transport. They report that they’re carrying precious cargo for you-the director and a passenger.” Selu straightened up. The mention of precious cargo for him meant that a member of the Kraen family was onboard the ship. Given that Milya was mentioned by her rank, that meant she and Rhiannon had finally returned. “What’s their ETA?” Selu asked. “An hour, give or take, sir,” came the reply. “Have them escorted to Orbital Command,” Selu replied. “I’ll meet them up there. Did they what the status of the ‘precious cargo’ was?” There was a pause. “No, sir, they did not.” “Thank you,” Selu said quietly. “I’ll see you up there.” Closing down the comlink, he returned it to his pocket, then stood up, gathering up the case he normally carried around while on duty which contained his Yanibar Guard datapad and various other important items. “Milya and Rhiannon are coming back,” he said. “YGI has them.” Spectre nodded. “You’re taking the Hawk-bat?” he asked. “Yes,” Selu said. “Care to come along? You can monitor Operation Triangle from Orbital Command as easily as you can from here.” “Of course I’m coming,” Spectre said. “Wouldn’t miss this homecoming.” Selu wasted no time in getting the Hawk-bat launched and up to Orbital Command, a converted Lucrehulk-class battleship that Kraechar Arms had transformed into a space station years ago. It served the Yanibar Guard as their orbital command center, defense platform, and starfighter base in orbit. Landing in one of the cavernous hangar bays of the toroidal ship, Selu and Spectre arrived early, so they had to wait. Pacing impatiently, he watched for their ship to appear on the sensor scope. Finally, their wait was rewarded as the freighter appeared and was escorted by a quartet of Shoto starfighters into the hangar bay. A rush of excitement welled up in Selu’s throat as the nondescript craft landed and finished its cool-down cycle, the repulsors whining as they were slowly powered down. Then, the boarding ramp lowered, and Rhiannon walked down it quietly. There was a small bandage on her arm, but she was okay. “Rhiannon,” Selu said, tears welling up in his eyes at the sight of seeing his little girl again. “Daddy!” she squealed, breaking into a run at the sound of his voice. Selu laughed and, regardless of the YG personnel standing around watching the reunion and heedless of the proper behavior expected of a flag officer in the Yanibar Guard, raced forward to scoop her up as if she was weightless. “How’s my little girl?” he asked, grinning broadly as he held her in his arms. “I was onstage, Daddy,” she said breathlessly. “Everyone loved me.” “I’m sure they did,” Selu replied. “Did you have a good trip?” She nodded. “It was kinda long, but I did okay. I took care of Mom.” “Did you?” Selu asked, intrigued. “What did your mother do to herself?” “She got hurt,” Rhiannon said. “But she’s okay.” “I’m sure she is,” Selu replied, masking the worried expression on his face. “Nobody’s as tough as your mom.” He held his daughter tightly to him, drinking in the sheer joy of being able to do so again. Never again, he promised himself, would she be knowingly placed in danger. A tear ran down his face as he choked up, overcome by emotion. Rhiannon, her face resting on his, felt the tear. Reaching up, she brushed it aside. “Don’t cry, Daddy,” she said. “We’re home again.” Selu closed his eyes and nodded tightly at the words. “I love you,” he whispered into her ear, gently running his hand down the back of her head affectionately. “I love you so much.” Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Milya hobbling down the boarding ramp, using a crutch to assist her. “Okay, sweetheart,” Selu told Rhiannon. “I’m going to set you down and Uncle Spectre’s going to take care of you, okay?” “Okay,” she replied brightly. Selu set her down and Spectre came up and took Rhiannon’s hand. “Can you take her and get that arm looked at?” Selu asked Spectre. “Of course. I’ll send for a hover stretcher, too,” Spectre said. “Welcome home, Milya.” She nodded wearily at him, then Spectre led Rhiannon off to the medical ward, asking her about the trip and listening to her long-winded reply. As Rhiannon was led off, Selu went and helped Milya down the boarding ramp. Once she was on the level deck of the hangar, he embraced her fiercely, then helped her sit down on a nearby storage cylinder. “Welcome back,” he said concernedly. “Good to be back,” she replied tightly. Selu ran his eyes over her, noting that she looked both exhausted and hurt. There was a bulge in the shoulder of her blouse, as well as in her pant legs, possibly indicating bandages. The remains of cuts and bruises still marked her face, and Selu’s Force senses told him that she was hiding considerable pain. “I’m fine,” she managed. “You don’t look fine,” he said. “Bad hair day,” she replied with the barest trace of a smile. Selu shook his head, then leaned in and kissed her, prolonging it as long as he could. He reveled in the taste of her lips on his, touching the soft skin of her cheek, and she reciprocated. They did not part for some time, and again Selu ignored any onlookers that were watching. His expression of his love for Milya and his relief at seeing her again were more important. Finally, though, they had to stop for air. “Force above,” Selu told her. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” “I’ll try,” she answered. “I was worried sick about you,” he said. “What happened?” She started to reply, then Selu cut her off. “Actually,” he said. “We’ll get you to the medics, you can debrief later. All that matters is that you’re both here, both safe.” She nodded gratefully and they kissed again, this time in short quick motions. As tended to happen in such moments, Selu lost track of time and everything else around him, until he heard someone very distinctly and pointedly clear his throat behind them. He stopped kissing his wife and turned to see Spectre standing behind him, bemusedly staring off into space, accompanied by a pair of medics with a hoverstretcher. “Ah,” Selu said. “That would be the limo I ordered for you, my dear.” She gave him a look that all but said “you’re hopeless” but allowed him to help into it. The medics began floating the stretcher along towards the medical ward and Selu started to follow, but suddenly, his comlink beeped three times in rapid succession, indicating an incoming priority message. He stopped and pulled out the device. “Master Kraen here,” he said calmly. “Master Kraen, this is the bridge,” he was informed. “We have an incoming ship being escorted here by the Serra Keto, ETA 5 minutes.” “What kind of ship?” Selu asked, not liking the tone in which he was giving the news. “Sir, it’s a possible broken package.” Selu stiffened. Broken package was the term used for a missing, injured, or dead VIP on the Yanibar colony. Dread shot through him as he feared for Sarth and Cassi. He hadn’t sensed their deaths, but the Force had been quite unstable the past few days due to the disturbance from Palpatine’s death, making it hard for him to sense much on the galactic scale. “Why is it a possible broken package, bridge?” Selu asked, steeling himself against the answer. “Sir, it’s not confirmed . . .” the bridge tried to tell him. “There are other explanations, possibly a stolen package.” “Just answer the question,” Selu said, doing his best to suppress the worry knotting up his insides. There was a pause, then he received the reply. “It’s the Silent Surprise, sir. But neither of the Kraens are onboard.” Selu’s mouth went dry. “From what we can tell, two Arkanian civilians are onboard. They’ll be landing shortly.” “Understood,” Selu said quietly. “Thank you, bridge.” He shut off the comlink and turned back to Spectre, who quickly took in his pale face. “What is it?” Spectre asked. “It’s the Silent Surprise,” Selu said. “Sarth and Cassi are back?” “No,” Selu answered hoarsely. “They’re not.” Selu saw his friend tense and knew that the same thoughts that were running through his mind were now running through Spectre’s. They both stood tight-lipped as the docking tractor beam gently guided the Silent Surprise through the maw of the hangar, setting it down on the smooth deck. The ship, guided by the advanced artificial intelligence that Sarth and Cassi had installed on it, shut itself down. Behind Selu and Spectre, a squad of Yanibar Guard marines formed up behind them, weapons at the ready in case of a security threat. As its engines slowed to a halt, Selu pulled his lightsaber off his belt and walked up to the hatch. It slid open and two nervous looking Arkanians emerged, the older woman cradling a child, probably her daughter. Fear rolled off of them in the Force, and Selu knew they were no danger. He motioned behind him, and the Guardsmen lowered their weapons, while he returned his lightsaber to his belt. “Hello there,” Selu said, offering his hand to the woman. “We’re not going to hurt you. My name is Selusda.” She timidly stepped forward and took his hand. “I’m Elizie. Elizie Magrody,” she replied. “This is Shenna.” “Nice to meet you,” Selu answered courteously. “If you’ll come this way, we’re going to let the medics have a look at you, and then some people will ask you some questions.” “About what?” Elizie asked worriedly. “We’d like to know how you got here,” Selu said as conversationally as he could manage. “And what happened to our friends.” With that, Elizie nodded and consented to be being led off by a pair of guardsmen to the medical wards. Selu was about to follow them to the medical wards to check up on Milya and Rhiannon, when he saw a third nondescript ship not belonging to the Yanibar Guard Fleet coming in for a landing. “Who is that?” he asked Spectre. The clone consulted a datapad, pulling up an entry. “That would be Cresh Squad,” he said. “They’ve just gotten back from Nar Shaddaa.” “In that case,” Selu remarked. “I think I’ll go welcome them and congratulate them on a job well done.” Walking up to ship with Spectre following him, Selu waited as each member of Cresh Squad disembarked. As they did, he greeted them individually, shaking the hands and welcoming all of the commandos in turn. They looked tired, but they were also buoyed by the success they’d had in launching a series of raids and escaping with all their objectives met and with all their people in one piece. When it was Nate’s turn, Selu slapped him on the back heartily. “Welcome back, Nate,” he told the commando. “You’ve been doing some good work out there.” “Thank you, sir,” Nate replied. “How’s Ana?” “Your wife is fine,” Selu assured him. “She’s ready to give birth at any time, but I think she was waiting for you.” “So that’s why you recalled us, sir?” Nate said with a sly grin. “Something like that,” Selu said. “Consider yourself on leave for the next two weeks. I’ll have the debriefing sent to you; if there’s anything you need to add, just transmit it via secure channel.” “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!” Nate responded appreciatively. “You’re dismissed, Sergeant,” Selu told him, still smiling. “I’m sure you and your father—I mean, General Spectre—have some catching up to do.” Father and son gratefully nodded and walked off, leaving Selu in the hangar bay by himself. He watched the medical teams supervise the unloading of the freed slaves from the transport—there had been no time to offload them elsewhere on Nar Shaddaa before Cresh Squad had evacuated, so they had been brought here. However, his interest in the routine procedure soon waned and he headed down to the medical ward to check on his wife and daughter. He did not see one of the slaves silently slink away from the others. Little did he know how the consequences of his inattentiveness would swiftly return to haunt him.
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