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| - The yacht floated silently into the docking bay opening on its repulsorlifts. The small, sleek ship was utterly dwarfed by the spherical bulk of Hosk Station as the maw of one of its many docking bays swallowed it. The yacht set down alongside a row of other private ships inside the lengthy chamber and soon its occupants emerged, a pair of middle-aged humans, a man and his wife. The man was of average height with dark hair and eyes, while his wife was shorter, blonde. Her skin was paler than his light brown complexion, and her eyes were a bright blue. An attendant droid soon wheeled up and took their luggage, trailing behind them as they moved through the crowds of sentients through the labyrinth of passages that honeycombed Hosk Station. The droid followed them to one of the many hotels built into the orbital city, where they checked themselves in and a valet droid from the hotel took over luggage hauling from the spaceport droid. The pair soon found the suite they’d reserved and gratefully took their luggage from the droid, carrying it into their accommodations. Their names were Sarth and Cassi Kraen, and they’d flown all the way from the distant Wild Space world of Yanibar to Hosk Station for the sizable technical conference taking place over the next week. Thousands of scientists, engineers, and technicians were gathering for the second annual Droid, Cybernetics, and Artificial Intelligence Exposition held under the tenure of the New Republic. Such events had existed under the Empire, but they had been strictly controlled to the point where half of the attendees belonged to either Imperial Intelligence or the Imperial Security Bureau. Thankfully for Sarth and Cassi, the rise of the New Republic had ushered in a new era of openness and exploration into new technologies without nearly as much official monitoring. They were really here because of Sarth. A graduate of the Magrody Institute on Commenor, Sarth had been a brilliant artificial intelligence programmer until his skills had gotten him drafted into the Republic’s war efforts as an analyst during the Clone Wars decades earlier. But after his research had been stolen following a key breakthrough, he was disgraced and fired. He’d turned to serving as the engineer on a small freighter, the Hawk-bat, where he’d met Cassi, who joined the ship’s crew as the cargomaster. In a strange turn of events, Sarth had met up with his long-lost Jedi brother, Selusda Kraen, who’d narrowly escaped the Empire’s Jedi purge. They’d journeyed on the Hawk-bat together for several years until they established a refuge for Force users in exile on the remote world of Yanibar. Sarth and Cassi had married shortly after their arrival on Yanibar, and Sarth had founded an arms company to supply the colony’s defense force, the Yanibar Guard. The fall of the Empire hadn’t ended Yanibar’s isolation due to mistrust of the New Republic, but it at least it had given Sarth and Cassi the freedom to travel to Hosk Station for the conference. For her part, Cassi was here simply because Sarth was. Having grown up as a well-to-do farmer’s daughter on Bakura, she’d gone to the Core Worlds for education, but her specialties leaned more towards linguistics and medicine than droids and warships. Thankfully for her, Sarth had promised her that he wouldn’t spend their entire time on Hosk Station immersed in seminars and technical files on his datapad. She was looking forward to spending some time with him, and doing a little shopping at the station’s many stores when Sarth was busy. The trip was casual, relaxed, though one wouldn’t have guessed it based on the precautions they were taking. Both were traveling under aliases with false identification. Both of them had implanted themselves with subcutaneous beacons that would broadcast an emergency signal on an encrypted channel to their ship for relay to the Yanibar Guard if activated by a specific verbal command. Both had brought sensor-fooling safety bags packed with illegal equipment and weapons, including pistols and lightsabers. Though Sarth and Cassi were not particularly adept with the Jedi weapons, they’d developed the meager Force potential they’d acquired over the years to the point where they were somewhat proficient. Their precautions hadn’t always been so layered or elaborate, but being kidnapped a few years ago by ruthless criminals had altered that mindset. Two dear friends and family members had given their lives to save Sarth and Cassi, and they vowed never to make anyone pay the ultimate price for them again. However, for the moment, there was no danger. Their suite showed up negative for listening or surveillance devices. It was spacious and furnished elegantly, but not to the point of frivolity. A bubbling mini-fountain on top of a dresser added to the relaxing atmosphere and the décor was clearly intended to remind people of a high-class beach resort, with its vaguely nautical trappings and fake trees clearly selected from a tropical locale. However, though Sarth and Cassi thought the suite was superb, they decided to enjoy the sights of Hosk Station. They changed into suitable evening wear for a semi-formal occasion which included formal black pants and jacket for Sarth over a light blue shirt while Cassi slipped on a knee-length dress a few shades deeper blue than Sarth’s shirt. Sarth told her it was just the color of the sea after a storm, which earned him a bemused smile from his wife. “Are you hungry, dear?” Sarth asked her. “There’s a restaurant nearby.” “Not really,” Cassi said pleasantly. “I could eat something light, but I’m not hungry enough for a full meal.” “That’s fine,” Sarth replied. “There’s a little place off the hotel lobby. We can get a drink and hors d'oeuvres.” “Sounds good,” Cassi told him. “Lead the way.” Hand in hand, they walked down the corridor that led to the turbovators that would take them down to the level of the hotel lobby. The curved walkway ran along the exterior of the station and contained a sweeping viewport, affording Sarth and Cassi with a grand view of the surrounding starfield and the ships coming and going from nearby Kalarba. Stepping around a tall, shaggy-haired maintenance worker garbed in drab coveralls fixing a ventilation outlet, they found the turbovator and went down to the hotel’s lounge. After showing their guest passes, Sarth and Cassi were led to an unoccupied table in the lounge. The only light in the room came from small flickering lamps placed on each of the thirty small round tables that dotted the room, as well as a few dim overhead glowpanels that kept the atmosphere subdued. The hushed tones of a dozen conversations and the chink of glasses radiated through the room, but the lounge had been designed so that each table wouldn’t be obtrusive to others around them. Sarth pulled out the chair for Cassi so she could sit down, then took his own seat. After they had a chance to peruse the menu, a petite human waitress in a black skirt and white blouse stopped by their table. The lounge obviously considered itself a high-class establishment, given that the servers were sentient, not droids. “My name is Theriel, I’ll be your waitress. What can I get you tonight, gentles?” the waitress asked. “Hmm,” Sarth said, noting that Cassi was still perusing her menu. “I’ll have the Neonan red cheese and fruit sampler, and a Berbersian crab bisque.” “And the drink?” Theriel asked. “What’s the recommendation?” Sarth asked. The waitress flipped a dangling blonde lock of hair back as she considered the drink list from memory. “We recommend a shot of Darkoma in a single-celery soda for that,” she said. “I’ll take that, then,” Sarth told her. “And for you, miss?” Theriel asked Cassi. “A Hillindor fowl soup and a mist-pudding,” Cassi replied after another second of contemplating her choice. “And the drink?” “House choice,” Cassi replied. “That’s the Coruscant blush wine,” Theriel replied. “That’s fine, thank you,” Cassi said. Little did they see that the waitress’s face had suddenly gone pale as she headed away from them. She inexplicably missed a step and nearly stumbled as some kind of sensation hit her. Theriel managed to recover her balance quickly, saving several expensive glasses from falling off her tray, but something had rattled her. Both Sarth and Cassi were oblivious to this, too engrossed in their own conversation. Theriel strode off quickly with their order, leaving Sarth and Cassi to chat idly. They talked about Cassi’s shopping plans and some of the different attractions they wanted to visit while on their trip. It was light-hearted conversation and well-suited for the occasion, as neither wanted to talk about anything serious. The trip had tired them out and this was their chance to relax. Several minutes later, Theriel returned, expertly balancing their plates and glasses on a small tray. The waitress deftly set the provisions for the meal on the table and then departed as swiftly as she came. Sarth and Cassi murmured thanks to her, but otherwise paid her no mind. They dug into the light meal that had been delivered, sipping on the drinks from the crystal goblets. Ten minutes or so later, there was a bit of a commotion at one end of the room and Sarth and Cassi turned to see a small elevated stage was there with a single spotlight shining down on it. Though their table was towards the back of the room, they could see two individuals making their way up to the stage. The first was a bald man sporting a goatee and an entirely white double-breasted suit. He took his seat at a touchboard and adjusted a nearby microphone to pick up his face. His companion was a small dark-skinned woman in a shimmering dark blue floor-length dress who stood by another microphone. The man made introductions over the speaker, but Sarth and Cassi were too far back to hear everything he said. The two performers than began their duet, with the man simultaneously playing the touchboard and singing with a rich baritone. The woman backed him up with a husky alto voice as they sang a popular glitz recording. Behind them, in the shadows, a sinister-looking Devaronian in a dark red tunic took his place at a percussion set. The performers had a distinctly different style—the man was clearly enjoying himself, running his hands through one rapid chord progression after another joyfully, his fingers dancing across the touchboard, while the woman merely swayed slightly in time with the music. She kept a slight smile on her face as she sang, eyes jumping from one audience member to another. The Devaronian in the background could scarcely be seen, and Sarth and Cassi suspected that was intentional. The percussion was fairly muted anyway, and the touchboard provided most of the instrumentation. The two singers both had good voices, though the man’s was better. However, when layered together with the woman singing alto, the combination blended well into a smooth mellifluous sound. The lounge coordinator had clearly done well by bringing this act together, though nobody had heard of the group before. After the song was over, there was widespread applause from the audience. The performers bowed and the man grinned broadly, then launched into their next track. All in all, it was a fitting, classy musical act that fit the mood of the evening perfectly. Not worthy of galactic music awards, but an apt choice of entertainment for a cocktail lounge. Sitting at their table, Sarth and Cassi joined in the applause, but overall were more or less indifferent to the musicians. In fact, after they finished their meal, they lingered over conversation for only a few minutes before leaving the lounge. The musicians, for their part, continued to play for another hour before taking their bows and retreating to a cluttered lounge filled with various odds and ends associated with a musical group. Black equipment and instrument cases were intermingled with electronics for use in enhancing the sound quality and bright stage lights mounted on slender tripods. There was also a scattering of simple black plasteel chairs in the room for the entertainers to sit on. The room was small and secluded, with only two doors, one of which led to a changing room while another led out to a corridor that would take them to the accommodations arranged for the band without risk of being heckled by any overly rabid fans. However, the three performers were not eager to withdraw, as they relaxed into their chairs without any indication of haste. The woman changed out of her dress, swapping it out for a plain charcoal gray tunic and pants, but otherwise, they were content to sit there, sipping drinks retrieved from a small chiller unit tucked away in one corner. At fifteen minutes until midnight, Kalarba time, there was a knock on the exterior door. The pattern of the knock seemed to convey something to the musicians, as the Devaronian stood and opened the door to admit the blonde cocktail waitress, who looked faintly disheveled from a long night of work. Shortly thereafter, there was another knock, the same pattern, which originated from the tall maintenance worker. Two more people made their way to the room shortly thereafter, a green-skinned Twi’lek woman dressed like a maid and a thin human from Serroco dressed as a security guard. The bald performer grinned as the last two arrivals entered. “Welcome one and all!” he said, stepping forward to accept a quick kiss from the Twi’lek woman. He favored the others with a conspiratorial smile and sidelong look before launching into his address. “Glad you all could make to a midnight performance of ‘Erst Jarxo and the Starshines.’ While some of you have been doing manual labor all day, myself and my colleagues have been reveling in the accolades of a receptive audience. Now, we can share that special musical talent with you in a private screening.” The waitress sighed. “Or, we could just space you and get on with the mission,” she retorted. “Some people have no appreciation for talent,” the bald man replied, his voice laced with bruised pride. “Face,” the maintenance man glowered with obvious exasperation. “Some of us have been doing real work all day. Can we just get on with it?” As it turned out, none of the assembled personages were who they seemed to be on the surface. Their identities and occupations were all falsified as part of an elaborate series of cover stories. These were no simple hotel employees or traveling performers. They were New Republic Intelligence agents, a unit of commando-pilots known as Wraith Squadron, or simply, the Wraiths. Barely two years into their existence, they’d already helped bring down the infamous Imperial warlord Zsinj and capture Grand Moff Wilkadon. These actions had quickly made them one of the most popular—and effective—covert tools in the hand of New Republic Intelligence. It also meant that their missions, such as this one, usually had priority. And funding. In the intelligence community, those two things went hand in hand. “Fine, fine,” the one referred to as Face, but whose name was actually Garik Loran, a former holodrama star and current Wraith Leader, said. “We’ll start with status reports. Kell, since you spoke up, you and Rali are first.” The big maintenance worker Kell Tainer, who was known for his proficiency for demolitions, unarmed combat, mechanics and a propensity for big, violent explosions, replied with languid ease. He was a veteran member of the Wraiths and well used to both commando missions and Face’s antics. “We’ve got tiny surveillance cams in place at key junctions. The security here isn’t too tight, so chances of detection are pretty low. A lot of very convenient air ducts and maintenance corridors, too. At need, I can place knockout gas or smoke bombs in the air vents if we need to make a fast getaway. The hotel’s cams are mostly accessed through a series of shielded conduits. I can’t slice them, but I could probably blow them up.” “But you won’t need too,” interjected the Serrocan, Rali. “I’ve got ‘em all sliced.” Rali was a newer member of the Wraiths, but he was a skilled and malicious programmer. His skills had helped them forge their identities and would be crucial for their mission. A lot depended on his being able to keep the space station’s internal security systems and particularly those at the hotel diverted from the true nature of the Wraiths’ activities. So far, he’d performed admirably. Rali leaned back comfortably in his chair. “There’s no danger from the security here. It’s adequate, but not even close to military grade. I could convince it that Face here was a Batravian gumplucker without even breaking a sweat.” Face sat up straight, intrigued. “Really?” he asked. Rali nodded sagely. “Do it,” Face said, his eyes dancing with mischief. “And then send me the footage. There’s a lot of potential here. I like this.” Several others visibly rolled their eyes. “Don’t judge without knowledge,” Face replied defensively. “All I can say is that my new plans for this are secret, but might involve both Wes Janson and Life Day. Anyway, it seems we can pretty much subvert the hotel’s electronic security at will. How about physical security?” Kell shrugged. “A few dozen uniformed guards mostly for show. I think they have stun sticks for putting down unruly drunks and surly actors from Lorrd—,” Face, who was raised on Lorrd, shot the demolitions expert a glare of mock irritation, but Kell ignored him. “—but they also have some kind of quick-response team with blasters. Professionals. We could probably take them, but it would get a bit messy.” “In this case, messy is bad,” Face said. “We’ll avoid them. Kell, could you leave a fast-acting sedative in the vents near their equipment room or something?” Kell considered the matter, scratching his long hair as he thought. “If I knew where their equipment room and the vents were and if I knew what kind of surveillance was there and if I had the fast-acting sedative, then maybe.” “Maybe?” Face asked, frowning at the demolitions expert. “It depends,” Kell said with a shrug. “If the vent has a lot of surveillance that I have to disable, then I’ll need to be inside it. Which could be sort of noisy. And if it’s a small vent, I’ll need to lose a lot of weight real fast.” “Hit the gym, then,” Face said, perfectly straight-faced. The fact that Kell was one of the best-conditioned members of the Wraiths and spent more time pumping iron and smashing practice dummies when they weren’t on missions than almost all of the other Wraiths was not lost on Wraith Leader. “Somehow, I doubt we have that kind of time,” Kell said, faintly bemused by Face’s remark. “I’ll do it,” the pretty blonde waitress, whose real name was Tyria, interjected. “Kell can rig whatever he’s going to invent to distribute the sedative. I can get it into the vents and I’m a lot smaller and quieter than he is.” That was a mild understatement. Tyria Sarkin was one of the last Antarian Rangers, an organization that had served as a kind of support for the Jedi Order in the Old Republic era. She was a skilled infiltrator and heir to a small modicum of Force-sensitivity that had come to her aid on more than one occasion. She also had no problems working with Kell—they’d been dating for nearly two years now. “I’ll acquire the sedative,” Face said. “I’m sure that, accompanied with a suitable bribe, there will be someone on this station willing to dispense the appropriate medication to an overstressed performer who can’t sleep at night because of his terrible nerves.” His backup singer, a diminutive and deceptively innocent-looking woman named Shalla Nelprin, snorted at the notion of the irrepressible Face having terrible nerves. “No need,” the Devaronian performer, Elassar Targon, offered. Elassar was actually the unit’s medic. He’d been with them for awhile, and though he was incredibly superstitious, he’d grown to become a skilled operative. “Do you have something that will do the job?” Face asked. Elassar nodded. “As long as we’re talking about humans and not some kind of exotic species, shouldn’t be a problem,” the medic said. “I’ll slice into the personnel rosters and station map and get you both the information you need,” Rali said to Tyria and Elassar. “Sounds like a plan,” Face said. “I received a coded message from Piggy and Runt earlier. They’re both standing by and doing well, though Piggy said they might come to blows if Runt keeps telling him Thakwaash poetry.” “And, as the unit leader, you told them to keep it professional, right?” Rali asked. “Nonsense,” Face said. “I wouldn’t do that. At least, not until I’d gotten everyone’s bets on the outcome.” Piggy and Runt were actually nicknames for the Gamorrean Voort saBinring and the Thakwaash Hohass Ekwesh. While Piggy had been biologically modified to have mental and mathematical acumen many times the norm for Gamorreans, Runt was known for having multiple personalities, or minds, contained within his collective personality. Due to their species, both pilots had been deemed to be a bit too distinctive for the delicate nature of this particular covert operation. Instead, they were lurking at the edge of the system in their X-wings, ready to provide a distraction or escort as needed. It was an unpleasant, tedious job that involved hours upon hours of waiting, but it was their role for the mission. They’d handled worse before. “Good to see you’re so concerned for our welfare,” Tyria commented dryly. “That’s what I’m here for,” Face said, taking her jibe at face value. “That said, I’ve yet to make contact with our target.” “He’s here,” the Twi’lek woman and Face’s girlfriend, Dia Passik, spoke up. “All of the guests for the convention are registered as being here.” “Shalla, Elassar, and I will keep an eye out for him, then,” Face said, referring to his two other performers. “Dia, let me know if any of the guests leaves for any reason at all.” “Will do,” she replied. “For now,” Face announced. “All we can do is to finish up the preparations and then . . . we wait.” Elassar looked positively glum. “Waiting?” he asked dejectedly. “That’s right,” Face nodded sagely. “Not all spy work is bombs, vibrodaggers, and fast women.” “Don’t I know it,” the disappointed Devaronian said, as the others shared a chuckle. The Wraiths were on Hosk Station to facilitate the defection of a prominent Imperial scientist, Dr. Dmelte Voylken. Voylken had been one of the brains behind the cloaking device project that had helped Grand Admiral Thrawn work so much mischief during his thankfully brief campaign. He’d emerged from hiding a few months ago, according to New Republic sources—apparently after Thrawn’s demise, the confusion in the Imperial hierarchy had been enough to force him out from whatever research facility he’d been cloistered inside. Seeing the internecine struggle wipe out leader after leader, Voylken had subtly sent messages to New Republic Intelligence indicating that he wished to defect. The scientist had set up the time and place and the Wraiths had been sent to retrieve him. In theory, it should have been simple. Voylken would indicate his presence to Loran, who would arrange to spirit him off in a shuttle in the guise of a kidnapping carried out by a group of Imperial Intelligence agents aligned with some warlord. The proverbial tar blob in the repulsorlift was, of course, if there was an Imperial Intelligence team on Hosk Station seeking Voylken. The fact that the scientist was known for excessive paranoia made finding his precise identity difficult. It was unsurprising that a man known for his talent in developing technology to cloak warships would be equally fastidious about revealing his own presence. Then again, it was rare for the Wraiths to have a straightforward mission. Each of the Wraiths returned to their assigned positions on Hosk Station. For her part, Tyria Sarkin returned to the lounge to resume her role as Theriel the waitress until midnight. The dimly-lit room was filled with people, most of them guests for the conference who wanted to relax for at least one evening before they started the lengthy series of planned events. She was still a little bit unnerved—she hadn’t told Face or even Kell, but she’d been experiencing sensations—ripples she called them—in the Force more often recently. The strongest had been in the lounge a few hours back, where she’d nearly tripped from surprise. Twenty hours later, 2021 Kalarba time Sarth delicately balanced the stack of datacards on the tray he was carrying as he walked down the hotel’s carpeted corridors to his suite. In addition to the dull gray stack of datacards, there was also a sleek white datapad and a small holoprojector on the tray, as well as a bag slung over one arm. He’d been busy that morning, collecting all manner of technical briefs, papers, journals, and specifications from inventors eager to show off their engineering prowess and innovation. As of right now, he’d accumulated a work describing a Sobrantis shunt to the primary conductive pathways to eliminate negative feedback, a newly released article discussing theories of matter-to-energy pattern conversion, a lengthy address on the role of tractor beams in modern galactic conflict, and several other data-rich works that he was looking forward to. There was so much material to look at, so much glorious information to absorb. Sarth felt as if he was a starving man at a banquet—everything looked so appetizing and he couldn’t wait to sit down and satiate his hunger for knowledge. Since he wasn’t actually presenting at the conference, just there as a guest, he had no pressure to work on any projects of his own. He could simply relax and immerse himself in the treasure trove of new information. That was precisely what he did for the next four hours. Though he’d been at conferences and seminars for the last nine hours, Sarth was utterly fixated by the works he’d collected. He ate from a tray loaded with cold meat and fruit that Cassi slid onto the desk beside him, but otherwise remained thoroughly absorbed. At least, until his wife reminded him of her presence from where she was sitting in one of the suite’s formchairs, utterly bored from watching him read. “Sarth,” she cooed gently. “Yes?” he mumbled distractedly as he browsed through a treatise on hfredium-powered cloaking devices. “Sarth,” she said again, a bit more insistently. “You’ve been staring at that holoprojector for the past four hours.” “Have I?” he asked offhandedly. “You have,” she assured him. “Time to take a break.” “Not yet,” Sarth said in the same distracted manner, touching a key to scroll down the virtual wall of text floating in front of him. Cassi sighed, slightly irritated at her inability to break through the miasma of technical fixation surrounding her husband. Closing her eyes and stretching out with the Force, she channeled her control over the invisible energy field into telekinesis. It took her a couple tries, but she was able to use the Force to tap the power button on the holoprojector. The stream of Aurebesh characters that Sarth was engrossed in abruptly disappeared. “Hey, what the—?” Sarth exclaimed. He turned to see Cassi giving him a very pointed look, a look that all but screamed “you know why that happened.” “Okay, okay,” Sarth grumbled good-naturedly, rubbing his eyes. “I suppose I could use a break.” “Better,” Cassi said, somewhat mollified. Sarth blinked blearily as his eyes tried to adjust after hours of staring at the holoprojector. “What would you like to do?” he asked her, standing up and stretching. “Well . . .” she said, rising to sidle up next to him and take his hand in hers, “I was thinking we could go for a walk along the dockside, maybe enjoy the sunset.” “Cassi,” Sarth said with a frown, glancing at his chrono. “We’re on a space station. There’s no sunset, nor sea docks.” “Actually, you’re wrong,” she said, smiling triumphantly at him. “The hotel has an artificial seaside two levels down, complete with docks and sunset.” “Goes with the décor, I suppose,” Sarth muttered. “I can’t believe you want to see a fake sea.” “It beats sitting here watching you read technical holos,” Cassi countered. “Fair enough,” Sarth said, though inwardly he told himself that he could have kept reading for another couple hours. “I’m coming.” “Okay,” Cassi told him. “I’ll go get changed.” “Sounds good,” Sarth replied. “I’ll finish up that treatise while you . . .” She cut him off before he could finish the sentence. “Don’t even think about it, Sarth Kraen,” Cassi said, favoring him with a warning look. “You should probably get changed, too.” Sarth looked down at his formal, albeit wrinkled, tunic and pants and matching dress shoes that Cassi had picked for him that morning and realized she was probably right. Not exactly proper attire for a walk by the “sea.” He heaved a small sigh. “All right, you win,” he acceded. Cassi had the good grace to not rub it in; she simply smiled sweetly at him. Several minutes later, both Sarth and Cassi emerged from their suite attired much differently. Cassi was wearing a light cream-colored dress, while Sarth had simply opted for a thin white shirt and dark gray short pants that were much more casual in nature. Together, they made their way down to the hotel’s faux beachside area. The artificial lighting had been dimmed to sunset and a reasonable simulation of a breeze was there. This late in the evening relative to the space station’s time, the “docks” were fairly empty and the rows of lounge chairs shaded by umbrellas were largely unoccupied. As such, Sarth and Cassi were free to walk along the two winding kilometer labyrinth of wooden and permacrete docks and piers. They strolled through the docks with Cassi hanging on Sarth’s arm, listening to each wave lapping gently against the blocks and posts. They didn’t say much of anything for awhile, simply enjoying the time alone. The few other individuals they saw, like the Twi’lek woman and bald human male that were passionately making out in a lounge chair, paid them very little attention. “Reminds me of R’alla,” Sarth commented absent-mindedly. “Except hopefully without the storms and hidden Imperial lab,” Cassi said, looking up on him. “Precisely,” Sarth replied. “I was talking about the scenery. You know, glowing sunset, calm seaside . . . beautiful wife.” Cassi smiled up at him in response to his flattery. “It’s a good thing you didn’t try and charm me before I fell for you,” she said. “Why’s that?” Sarth asked casually. “You’re not very good at it,” she told him. “As I seem to recall, we were too busy dodging crazy Mistryl warriors for a lot of charming,” Sarth pointed out mildly. “And you were too tongue-tied to try some clever line anyway,” Cassi added. Sarth considered getting indignant, but realized she was more right than wrong. And there was no purpose in disagreeing. “You’re right,” he acceded. “All I had . . . all I have is the sincerity of how I feel when I’m in your presence.” “I know,” Cassi said. “And I find it incredibly cute.” “Hmm,” Sarth mused. “Can you quantify cuteness?” Cassi considered it. “I’ll give it a try later,” she said. Sarth returned her flirtatious tone with a wry smile of his own. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. They walked on silence for some time afterward, content to leave their worries and other preoccupations behind them. Walking together was something that Sarth and Cassi often did on Yanibar to help them escape the daily grind of life’s frenetic pace, and Sarth was inwardly glad that Cassi had pulled him away from his technical writings for this modest release from all that their lives entailed. Meanwhile, half a kilometer behind them, two other people were similarly enjoying each other’s company. Face Loran was now reclined back on a form chair situated beneath one of the many umbrellas along the beach, staring out over the water. However, most of his attention was directed to a matter in much closer proximity, namely the green-skinned Twi’lek snuggled up against him. Her thin dress allowed Face to feel her heartbeat through her back. Her pulse was strong, steady . . . restless. She shifted slightly, but the slight motion was enough to tell Face volumes. His Lorrdian heritage, combined with years of acting, gave him a prodigious talent for reading body language and interpreting it. While Dia was also skilled in such nuances, Face knew she was expressing something, whether inadvertently or not. “What is it?” he asked her. “You seem impatient.” “Of course,” she said. “This mission is too easy. We’re here relaxing. Shouldn’t we be doing something more . . . perilous?” Face gave her an incredulous look. “For the moment, I’m fine just where I am,” he replied. “I rather prefer this to the times when we’ve only very narrowly escaped death.” “Yes, I agree with that,” Dia said, giving him a sly smile. “But how does this make the Wraith Squadron reputation for craziness and death-defying stunts look when we’re sitting here on a lounge-chair making out while on a mission?” “Depends,” he said, pondering the matter. On the one hand, she did have a point. This was quite a welcome relief from their usual routine while on missions. However, it also lacked the excitement; the adrenaline-pumping thrill of their most dangerous and secretive missions, and Face knew that Dia was an adrenaline junkie. Still, he was quite enjoying her company at the moment and had no desire for that to change. He worked on coming up with a suitable answer while she looked expectantly at him. “Depends on what?” she asked him. Face was saved from answering by the shadow that fell over them both. A distinguished-looking older man, wearing the snazzy gold vest, white shirt, black pants and apron of the hotel’s dockside staff had materialized from thin air with a small tray delicately balanced in one hand. His eyes were dark, but alert, his graying hair slicked back behind his head. On top of the tray were two elegant crystal glasses filled with liquid that smelled vaguely alcoholic. “I believe you two ordered a Deltron Spice Wine and a Vasarian brandy?” the man inquired smoothly, his Basic cultured and flavored with a Coruscanti accent. Face’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he regarded the waiter. For one, he’d ordered no such drink, and to his knowledge, neither had Dia, unless she could some how send for drinks while wrapped in his arms kissing him. Second, the man didn’t walk like a waiter. Something in his stance, the way he carried his weight was wrong, and while the tray was balanced like a professional mixologist would hoist one, he was not distracted by that idiosyncrasy. Face ran these various and anomalies through his mind and quickly realized that the gentleman standing before him was none other than Dmelte Volyken. The fact that the first letters of the two drinks formed the initials for the scientists confirmed it—there was no way the choice was incidental. Face decided to play along though, just in case they were being watched. “That’s not what I remember ordering,” he replied lazily, scratching at his goatee. “I thought I got namana liquor and a ruby wine for my friend here.” Face’s choice of words was meant to indicate that they were with the New Republic. With any luck, the good scientist would catch on. He did, and Face felt from a miniscule change in Dia’s posture that she did as well. “My mistake,” the ersatz waiter replied. “I’m normally not on this level. Usually, they have me on the fourth deck lounge and the facilities here are far cruder. There are only 431 kinds of liquor in the storage room here, which is vastly inferior to the fourth deck.” “I see,” Face said, pretending to sound indignant but actually filing away the numbers as the locations for Volyken’s level and room number. “Do you want me to bring you what you wanted?” the other man asked. “No,” Dia said coolly. “These are fine. Just leave them here—if we want something else, we’ll stop by later tonight, maybe around twenty-three hundred hours.” “Of course,” Volyken said with a thin smile. “You two seem rather occupied at the moment and wish to be left alone. I apologize for disturbing you.” With that, he gave them a small bow and walked off. “Hmm,” Face said to Dia as the elusive scientist receded into the distance, “I think we might have to cut our little date short.” “Definitely,” Dia replied, sitting up abruptly, back in business mode. “We’ve got some work to do.” Face nodded, grimacing as he looked at his chrono. “Pass the word along to the others. We’ll have to move fast.” “Will do,” Dia told him. Face grinned at her as they both got up. “As they say on Coruscant,” Face said, affecting his most suave voice. “It’s show time.” His eyebrows danced suggestively as he said it, giving him an utterly comic look reminiscent of a flashy street performer. Dia gave him a brief laugh, then kissed him. “You’re hopeless,” she said, then sauntered away. Two hours later, the Wraiths had all been contacted and a hasty plan improvised to extract Volyken. Unlike most of their missions, they didn’t have any real stretch of time to plan, thanks to Volyken’s skittishness. However, they had come up with a number of contingency plans in response to likely scenarios. As such, the Wraiths were not totally unprepared for this eventuality and, in fact, had only needed to make a few minor adjustments to their previously devised plan. Now, as they were again all gathered in the performers’ lounge, a serious Face Loran addressed the group for one last before they embarked. Most of the Wraiths were there, except Rali, who was listening in via comlink, and of course, Runt and Piggy, who were still in their X-wing fighters, no doubt in considerable discomfort after hours of sitting in the cramped cockpits. Gone was the actor’s normally jovial manner; now that it was down to the wire, all traces of humor were temporarily banished. Every second counted, and Face couldn’t spare any for mirth. “Here’s the plan,” he said. “Rali, you’re going to monitor everything and keep security off of us. Kell, Tyria, Elassar, you’ll place the sedative in the vents. Dia will be in the shuttle bay to secure transportation. Shalla and I will go pay the good doctor a visit. Our three saboteurs will join us once they’re done, and Runt and Piggy will give us cover as we leave. Understood?” A series of nods, a whispered affirmative from Rali over the comlink and a single raised hand from Elassar answered him. Face pointed at Elassar. “What?” The Devaronian fidgeted. “For good luck, we should probably—,” “Not now, Elassar,” Face cut him off. “If all goes well, we’re supposed to meet Volyken at 2300 hours. That’s less than an hour away.” “It’s a bad sign, bad luck for all of us,” Elassar half-moaned. “Let me just say right now that I have a very bad feeling about this.” Kell, whose group the superstitious Devaronian was assigned to, glowered fiercely at him. “You keep that up and I’ll make sure you have several bad feelings.” “Okay, okay,” he replied, somewhat intimidated by the bulk of the human towering over him. However, a moment later, Elassar’s hand was back up. “Yes?” Face asked with mock weariness. “Who’s in charge of our group?” the Devaronian asked. “And can it not be Kell? He’s not very lucky right now.” Face shook his head in disbelief. “Fine, whatever,” the former actor replied. “Tyria, you’re in charge of Sleepytime Group.” “Fine by me,” she said. “Kell, as soon as we’re gone, remind me to have you beat Elassar.” “Let’s go,” Face said, forestalling any more bickering and sliding a tiny compiece bead into his ear as he spoke. “And remember, keep it quiet. If there’s any Imperial Intelligence agents here, they’ll be looking for anything unusual.” The Wraiths nodded solemnly and, in twos and threes so as to not attract attention, slipped out of the room, heading for their respective objectives. It was, as Face had so melodramatically said earlier, show time. Followed by Elassar and Kell, Tyria had no problem assuming the relaxed manner of a guest sauntering through the hotels. She was quite glad to be out of the bland black-and-white waitress outfit and she’d never been comfortable working in the lounge after that weird sensation she’d received in the Force a few days ago. There were bags under her eyes, and though she’d applied coverup to hide them, she hadn’t been sleeping well. For whatever reason, the Force had been unnaturally active in poking and prodding her recently with sensations and vague premonitions. She’d tried to sort out of the jumbled mess of information that its currents conveyed, but without much success. Tyria hadn’t thought about Jedi training in years, ever since Luke Skywalker had told her that she lacked the potential and discipline to become a Jedi Knight. Now, she wished she had picked up with some kind of study-as it was, the Force was more of source of confusion than anything. Only in rare moments could be obtain enough clarity from the Force to glean anything useful from it, and while it had saved her and the Wraiths on missions before, it was unreliable and unpredictable. There was definitely some kind of disturbance here on Hosk Station, though, but Tyria couldn’t even begin to guess what it was. Tyria shook her head in silent frustration and attempted to put the Force out of her mind. She didn’t have time to think about the Force and what it was trying to tell her; it was an almost useless talent as it was, and she needed her mind clear for the mission, not distracted by these random disturbances and perceptions. If something clear came through the Force, she’d follow its indications, but for now, she put it out of her mind. “You okay?” Kell asked from behind her, having noticed the subtle shift in her body language. “I’m fine,” Tyria replied tightly, quickening her pace ever so slightly in an attempt to shut off further conversation. If she wasn’t fine now, she’d force herself to be by the time they got to the vents. No pun intended. Dia Passik was perfectly casual as she strode through the bustling docking bay. Several dozen sentients and droids were milling around and she had no trouble blending in, having traded her maid’s uniform for shata leather pants and a nerfhide jacket over a form-fitting lime green top that matched her skin tone. The few glances tossed her direction were not of suspicion, which meant that the Twi’lek had no problems slipping into an unoccupied intrasystem skiff. It was flashy, sporting oversized engine nacelles and fancy red and blue jagged stripes up and down its hull. No doubt the toy of some rich playboy out for a weekend getaway. The electronic lock was amusing—it took her less than thirty seconds to bypass it. After checking for surveillance devices and other security measures favored by the rich and paranoid, Dia settled in the cockpit, sealed the external hatch, and waited for a comlink signal. The little skiff had no hyperdrive, so it couldn’t leave the system, but that wasn’t a concern. The Wraiths planned on meeting with another ship at the edge of the system anyway to throw off the inevitable pursuit. Dia set the transparisteel window to fully opaque so as to hide herself from view. Then, she lounged back in the cockpit and put her feet up on the control console. The seats were padded leather, and were no doubt expensive. While she waited, she figured she might as well enjoy herself. Keeping a holdout blaster close to hand, she relaxed in the luxurious accommodations. It was a welcome relief from the unpleasant environs most of the Wraiths’ missions dragged her through, though Dia secretly did have a faint wish that her job was just a little more exciting. Maintenance accessway Kell Tainer looked dubiously at the small vent grille located in a remote access corridor. Though the shaft he, Tyria, and Elassar were standing in was fairly large, it was dimly lit. However, a handheld glowrod gave off enough light to illuminate the narrow access. Kell knelt down beside it and pulled off a black satchel from his back. Extracting a multitool, the mechanic quickly removed the grille, exposing the small ventilation duct entrance. It was perhaps seventy by thirty centimeters, but Kell figured it would fit. Digging around in another bag carried over his shoulders, he produced a small arachnid-looking mechanical creation. Holding it up, he showed off the device to the other two. “What is it?” Tyria asked, a trace of disgust lacing her voice. “It looks like something from Face’s worst holodramas,” Elassar said. Kell glared at them. “Thanks for the support,” he said. “It took me and Face a month to build this.” “That still doesn’t tell me what it is,” Tyria said. “It’s a SpyderBot,” Kell said proudly. “Get it? Spy? Spider?” Elassar groaned. “We get it, Kell,” he said. “Let me guess,” Tyria replied dryly, “you let Face name it.” “Seemed harmless at the time,” Kell said with a shrug, then his expression turned pained. “That really is a terrible pun, isn’t it?” “It is,” Tyria told him, shaking her head. “You boys.” “What does it do?” Elassar asked. “This little guy is going to crawl up the ventilation shaft and plant our knockout surprise right next to the vent leading to the guardroom. Thanks to Rali, we already have the schematics of the ventilation system, so it won’t take much more than a push of a button. Hopefully.” “Hopefully?” Tyria inquired, a hint of suspicion in her voice. Kell fidgeted slightly. “Face and I haven’t quite gotten around to programming the SpyderBot to deal with a lot of surveillance. So, let’s hope that there’s not a lot of obstacles or countermeasures.” Extracting a small explosive charge and timer from his pack, Kell daubed a sticky putty onto the underside of both devices, wired them together and then into a detonator. He then placed it on top of the SpyderBot, using the putty as an adhesive. “Sedative?” Kell asked Elassar. The Devaronian produced a small vial from his pocket. “Colorless, odorless to most species, and can be effective via airborne transmission,” he assured Kell. “Takes less than a minute to work.” “How much dosage is needed to put somebody out?” Kell asked. “Not very much,” Elassar said. “Just a couple good breaths. For someone your size, maybe a little more. But, there are some interesting side effects if you only breathe a little bit.” “Oh?” Kell asked. Elassar gave him a toothy grin. “It makes you really happy. When I was in medic training, one of our instructors demonstrated this on another student. He was babbling about how the sunlight looked so beautiful on the corona moths’ wings for the next thirty minutes. Ekshept he shounded like shissshhh when he wash talkingsh.” “We get the point,” Kell said, attaching the vial to a crude spray rig and placing it next to the explosive charge. “Speaking of sounds, how much noise is that little bomb of yours going to make?” Tyria asked. “A very loud one that no one can hear,” Kell said. Elassar did a double-take. “Wait—what?” he asked. “I’m confused.” “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Tyria quipped. “It’s called ultrasonic explosive,” Kell told the puzzled Devaronian. “The noise emitted by the detonation is outside the frequencies heard by humans and a few other species.” “See, that makes sense,” Elassar said, protesting a little. “Why couldn’t you have just said that in the first place?” “Because it makes sense,” Tyria said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, get it loaded, then send the little horror on its way.” “Done,” Kell said, sliding the SpyderBot into the ventilation shaft. He hit a button and the little droid powered up and began crawling forward with its precious cargo glued to its chassis. Kell held up a datapad, which showed the view from the forward infrared cams mounted on the SpyderBot as it crawled up the narrow shaft. Its padded articulators made little noise as it made its way along the metal passageway. “There we go,” Kell said. “Just a little bit farther.” The three watched intently as the tiny droid proceeded on its mission. Level four, Hosk Station All things considered, Face figured he made a pretty good drunk. He’d been genuinely drunk enough times to know how it felt, and putting on a convincing imitation of pure inebriation wasn’t overly difficult for an actor of his talent. His clothes suitably mussed and splashed with expensive Whyren’s Reserve whisky, he looked the part, down the red mark on his head where Shalla had, at his request, slapped him. Face made a mental note never to ask her to do so again-his head was still throbbing from the impact. At the moment, though, he was being half-supported, half-carried along by Shalla. While Face was wearing one of his more florid outfits, an appalling red affair, Shalla was wearing a simpler tunic and pants rather than one of several glittering dresses she wore onstage. In particular, she detested the high-heeled shoes that went along with the fancy dresses, so when Face had suggested that she wear one of the gowns, she’d threatened to hit him for real. After experiencing one of her fake hits, Face had no desire to receive a real one. So, here they were, making their way down the hallway ostensibly to Face’s suite, but actually to Volyken’s room. A little judicious rubbing had made Face’s eyes sufficiently bloodshot and the way he was hiccupping and slurring with one arm slung over Shalla’s shoulder as she carried him along convinced everyone who saw them that he was falling down drunk. Not just had-a-little-too-much-to-drink drunk, but genuine stumbling-incoherent-get-this-man-away-from-me-before-he-pukes drunk. Face was the object of disgust from most passers-by, while looks of mostly pity were reserved for Shalla, who was saddled with such an ignoble and odorous burden. Of course, their appearance meant that nobody paid any attention to the sizable black bag slung over Shalla’s other shoulder. Which was exactly what the two Wraiths wanted. Though he kept his features as glassy-eyed and bleary before, Face internally stiffened when they rounded the corner to see four individuals approaching them. Sure, they were all dressed as hotel staff, but their manners were completely off. Their bearing was not that of servants, nor did they look busy. The eyes of custodial staff didn’t dart from one place to another, constantly seeking. The hands of custodial staff weren’t used to give subtle hand cues. Their stride was too business-like and the formation . . . Face recognized it as a bent diamond, a formation often used by Imperial Intelligence. At last, their counterparts had revealed themselves, and they were apparently heading for Volyken as well. At the moment, Face didn’t care how they’d found the scientist, nor if they had support. Right now, he and Shalla were the only Wraiths in position to defend Volyken from this particular threat. As they passed by him and Shalla, Face suddenly reached out and snagged one of their arms, tugging him close. “Hey there,” Face slurred drunkenly. “Hash you sheen Rolaxa? Sheesh been mishing for sho . . . sho long.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the perturbed Imperial Intelligence agent replied, plucking Face’s hand off his sleeve. “You don’t . . . unnerstand,” Face said, forcing the words out with great difficulty. “Don’t understand what?” the unfortunate object of Face’s attention replied. By now, all four of the Imperials had stopped. “I’m so sorry,” Shalla apologized. “He’s had way too much to drink.” The Imperial nodded understandingly, but with evident vexation. “I can see that,” he said sternly. “No!” Face cried, grasping at the man’s arm as he fell to his knees. “Rolaxsha!” He pulled the man down to the point where Face’s head was less than ten centimeter’s from the Imperial. “She’s shooooooo good to me,” Face shouted directly into the man’s ear, several times louder than necessary. “She lets me hold her like shish.” With that, Face wrapped one arm around the hapless man’s neck and straddled the man’s leg with both of his. The man reddened as Face leaned closer, lips puckering. The Imperial attempted to brush him off while his companions seemed torn between snickering and helping their companion. This only resulted in Face clutching at him even harder. “She does shish right before lights’ shout,” Face said with an intoxicated giggle. At that point, Face pretended to trip over the Imperial’s feet, pulling him down and “accidentally” hammering the face of the Imperial into the ground while his other foot kicked out to catch another in the groin with a swift snap kick. Face got a good chokehold on his stunned victim, carefully extracting his legs from underneath the fallen man. All traces of drunkenness gone, he stayed down and tightened his grip until his victim stopped flailing and went limp. The rest he left up to Shalla, counting on her to pick up on his cue. He was not disappointed. Three on one wasn’t exactly fair odds, especially since of them was clutching the target of Face’s kick. The ‘fight’ was over in less than ten seconds. There were few people more skilled in unarmed combat in all of the New Republic than Shalla Nelprin. As tough, experienced, and big of a fighter as Kell Tainer was, Shalla could throw him around a fighting ring almost effortlessly. Three Imperial Intelligence agents caught by surprise posed significantly less of a challenge. The diminutive woman had them all sprawled on the floor unconscious before they could even react. “Great,” Face said, allowing Shalla to help him up from the floor. “That deals with them. Now we have some bodies to hide.” “I’ll do it,” Shalla said. “There’s a maintenance closet not far back. You get Volyken; it’s almost 2300 hours.” “Copy that,” Face said. Striding forward, the former actor straightened his fashion disaster of a shirt and abandoned all pretenses of being drunk. Their mission had already been compromised. It was time for them to move quickly in order to reach Volyken before anyone else did. Elsewhere on Hosk Station At the same time as the Wraiths initiated their plan, Sarth and Cassi Kraen were returning to their suite from their “seaside excursion.” “That was pleasant,” Sarth said, even as he made a beeline for the holoprojector. “Thanks for the walk, and the break.” “You’re welcome,” Cassi told him. “What are you doing?” “I was going to finish the treatise,” Sarth said. “Did you have other plans?” “Well, yes,” Cassi replied mildly. “We did promise Selu and Milya that we would practice our Force skills while on the trip.” “Eh . . . you’re right,” Sarth admitted reluctantly. “Don’t worry,” Cassi said. “The treatise will still be there when we finish, and it won’t take long.” “No, no, you’re right,” Sarth reassured her. “We did promise.” Taking a seat on the ground beside Cassi, Sarth sat cross-legged and closed his eyes. Slowly, he shifted his mind into a mental state that was vaguely familiar to him, one that left his perceptions open to the Force. He cleared his thoughts of the distractions of the days, felt Cassi becoming similarly open. Her mind touched his in a gesture of reassurance and support, and Sarth reciprocated. The two of them slowly drifted silently until they were both floating on a still surface of mental calm, in harmony with the Force and each other. Tiny ripples in the Force washed over them, allowing them to sense their surroundings. Faint whispers of voices from the other people on Hosk Station, seemingly vocalized emotions whipped past their mental senses, almost too fast to decipher. Images, hazy and silhouetted flitted around them as the Force acted like a virtual news feed. Sarth stiffened as he visualized a group of people being beaten to the ground by two others. I see it, too, Cassi’s voice echoed in his head. There’s trouble. What should we do?” Sarth queried her mentally. Sarth nodded mentally, then shifted his conscious mind into action. The patterns of the Force whirled and spun as Sarth now sought to harness their threads of energy for his own needs. His mind stretched out and touched a security guard passing by their door. Sarth focused, tapping into the man’s senses until he was sure he could visualize the guard. An outline of the man formed before his mind’s eye, and details like skin and hair color, clothing, and age resolved themselves as his clarity improved. Then, Sarth extended a thread of Force power into touching the man’s mind. Using the Force for such a task was difficult for him, until he felt his own clumsy efforts buoyed and steadied by those of Cassi. Her natural empathy gave her an inlet to affect him more readily and her Force powers were aided by the fact that Sarth’s senses had given her the equivalent of a physical and emotional map into the security guard. Sarth could feel Cassi quivering as she concentrated. Her efforts were soon rewarded, and Sarth visualized a web of slender golden threads reaching out from Cassi to grasp at the security guard’s mind. Cassi could not convince the man to go there on his own accord—that would require far more skill and talent than she possessed in the Force, but she could plant a suggestion. He would even think he’d come up with the idea all on his own. It was a more elegant approach to subliminal messaging, and in this case, she sensed that it was effective. The guard turned, puzzled for a moment, then headed towards the turbovator that would convey him to the fourth level. He’d had a sudden feeling that something was amiss on that level, and Sarth’s visualization of the guard’s behavior showed him pulling out his comlink and checking in. Sarth opened his eyes to see Cassi looking at him already. She was trembling from the mental strain and a small bead of perspiration was trickling down her cheek. Sarth reached out and gently brushed it away, turning the gesture into an affectionate caress. She smiled and Sarth heard her voice say “I love you” in his mind—they were still mentally joined by their Force link. He smiled and sent an identical reply. “There’s one more good deed done,” Sarth said aloud. “Yes,” Cassi said wistfully. “I wonder . . . was it the will of the Force that we would be perceptive to it right when that fight started?” “Perhaps,” Sarth said thoughtfully. “Maybe it was.” He took her hand in his. “I’m going to try something,” he said. “Selu’s been teaching me this.” He closed his eyes again, inhaling deeply. The smell of the cleansers used by the hotel staff, combined with the light, sweet scent of Cassi’s perfume filled his nostrils, but Sarth looked beyond that, returning to the place of mental calm he’d so recently journeyed to. In his mind’s eye, they were sitting on an endless sea that was glassy smooth, illuminated all around them by the vibrant gold of a sunset. That was how Sarth perceived his moments of clarity with the Force, except now, he was not content to merely linger in that dreamworld. This time, he artfully shaped and manipulated the Force around him and Cassi. The water rose all around them at the touch of his mind, forming itself into a transparent bubble enclosing them. The bubble did not collapse or splash them, but kept flowing over and around Sarth and Cassi as if water was supposed to behave that way. Sarth felt a subtle mental query from Cassi. If any observers had been watching Sarth and Cassi, they would have seen the two completely fade out from sight, concealed from view by the Force. It was a relatively rare talent among Force-users to wield the Force in such a manner, but Sarth had spent years learning the technique from his older brother, Jedi Master Selusda Kraen. It was also one that had saved them on numerous occasions, which had encouraged Sarth to hone his use of it. While he wasn’t nearly as polished or flexible with it as Selu was, it was a useful talent. Once enveloped by the clear bubble of Force energy, visualized as water in Sarth’s mind, Sarth and Cassi were content to clear their thoughts and meditate on the Force. They floated along on its endless calm, out of sight and mind from the temporal planes to which most sentients were confined. Drifting along without distractions, they could, if they desired, interject perceptions of their suite or the surrounding area into their mind’s eyes, but for the moment, they saw no need to do that. It was a blissful joy to simply be away from everything at the moment. They relished the perfect peace of the tranquil sea, allowing the soothing waves of the Force to rejuvenate and cleanse them. Security control room At that particular moment, Rali was not enjoying any form of perfect peace. For one, two security guards were closing in on the fourth level, for no apparent reason at all. That was not good. Especially if Face and Shalla were caught. In fact, the whole place seemed to be on heightened alert. The special ten-man squad was about the only thing still held in reserve, but all of the regular security guards were out in force, quietly but visibly checking on things. There was an increased buzz of background conversation and Rali found himself distracted by his pretense of being one of the controllers, answering status reports. In fact, enough of his attention was diverted that at first, he didn’t notice that his terminal was pinged. When he did notice, it sent him into a state of near-panic. Somebody else was running a check of electronic security and had apparently taken an interest in his terminal. Rali hastily tapped some commands and tried to divert the remote information request to a decoy site. It worked, and he breathed a sigh of relief. That sigh vanished a half-second later when he saw the ping return. This time, there was a tracer subroutine piggybacked on the ping request. Rali was nervous now. Ordinarily, he could do an end run around whoever the other slicer was, but the demands of supposedly coordinating several security officers were interfering with his concentration. Blinking to clear his eyes, Rali hastily tried to falsify the response to the ping request—it wouldn’t do for someone to find out everything this particular terminal was attached to. As a diversion, he opened a ghost port and inserted a malicious program into the hotel’s security lines. It was a crude, inelegant sort of program whose purpose was to eat dozens of coded statements and instructions and spew them back out as gibberish. It also made them an excellent diversion. Now, if only Rali had had the time to program his little surprise with some more resistance to countermeasures and a few lines of self-replication code that would make the thing reproduce itself faster than Lepi in breeding season. As it was, his poor bug would get stamped on in only a few minutes, ending its life in a puddle of virtual goo and shattered code fragments. The slicer heaved a small sigh again, then returned his attention to other enterprises. He couldn’t risk communicating directly with the other Wraiths—there was already too much scrutiny on his activities. He couldn’t stop pretending to work along hotel security—there were six others here and only one of him. All he could do was multitask as best as he could, trying to stay one step ahead of several different entities all with completely different goals and purposes. This certainly hadn’t been covered in commando training. Maintenance accessway “Sithspawn,” Kell Tainer swore as he peered down at his datapad. “What is it?” Tyria asked. “The SpyderBot. It’s spotted an obstacle, and it can’t clear it.” “What kind of obstacle?” Elassar inquired. “A fan,” Kell said, frowning. “And one that appears to be wired with a sensor. Whoever came up with this place knew what they were doing.” He showed Tyria and Elassar the datapad with the view from the SpyderBot in it. The sensor wasn’t incredibly well concealed or set up, but it was enough to stop a simple robotic intrusion. “I really wish I’d programmed this thing better,” Kell said with a sigh. “It’s not even that hard to bypass that thing, but the droid doesn’t have the tools to do it.” “I could do it,” Tyria said, studying the image. “Wouldn’t take me long at all.” “Hope you’re not claustrophobic,” Kell said. “That ventilation shaft is pretty small. Will you fit?” Tyria took a critical look at the small entrance. “Maybe,” she said. “Only one way to find out.” “Measure it?” Elassar asked. She shot him a withering glance. “Not exactly,” she replied. Stopping down, she pulled on a pair of thin climbing gloves and attempted to crawl inside. She almost fit. Her head made it in easily, but even with her arms raised above her head, Tyria’s shoulders and torso wouldn’t fit. “It widens considerably a few meters up ahead,” Kell offered. “That’s great,” Tyria said as she extracted herself from the tight entryway. “But not very helpful. Can we widen the entry?” Kell winced. “Not without a lot of noise. And not quickly. This wall is up against a support beam. Thick durasteel.” “Well, that’s just great,” Tyria said. “The bot can’t get past the alarm, and I can’t get in to shut it off.” “Are you sure you can’t fit?” Kell asked her. “I’m sure,” Tyria told him. “It’s just a little too narrow. Maybe a centimeter or two, but I can’t get any tighter. I couldn’t even breathe.” “Uh, if I could make a suggestion,” Elassar piped up. “What is it?” Tyria asked. The Devaronian looked a bit hesitant all of a sudden. “If you just barely won’t fit, perhaps you should make yourself smaller?” he suggested. “That’s great, Elassar,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll give that a try.” “I don’t think you understand what I mean,” Elassar said. “Perhaps if you removed that jacket, the belt also, you might fit.” Tyria and Kell both gaped at the Devaronian. Then, her look turned from surprise to a fierce glare. Her eyes shot vibrodaggers at Elassar. “Kell, beat him senseless for even suggesting that,” Tyria said. “Okay,” Kell replied, flexing a brawny arm. “Wait, wait,” Elassar protested as he retreated from the advancing Kell. “It was just an idea. And it might have even worked. And I warned you about the luck!” “Over your dead body,” Tyria scowled. “You know, we could just scrub this part of the mission,” Kell offered. “It’s not essential.” Tyria snorted. “And trust Face’s stealthiness? I don’t think so,” she replied. She turned to glare at Elassar, who shrugged helplessly. Then she returned her steely gaze to the small shaft opening, thinking about its dimensions. Mentally, she considered if his plan would even work. Unfortunately for her, there was a possibility that Elassar had actually had a decent idea. “You know, I hate it when he’s right,” Tyria said. “And when this is all over, I’m going to kill you, Elassar. And you, Kell, are going to make sure that your little toy works better next time.” Without further aplomb, she shrugged out of her jacket and blouse, followed by her belt and pants. Though obviously flustered and uncomfortable with the idea, she simply didn’t see any other course of action. The other two simply watched as she undressed as quickly as possible. “Quit staring at me,” she snapped at Kell, who was admittedly quite taken with the sight of her in just a sports bra and thin undershorts. “You act like you’ve never seen me undressed before.” “That’s hot,” Kell muttered under his breath. “What was that?” Tyria asked sharply. “Nothing,” Kell replied innocently. “Good,” Tyria snapped. “And don’t stare at my butt too much when I get down there.” She crawled inside the accessway, and amazingly, was able to wriggle inside. Tyria had disappeared up to the point where only her legs were showing when she reversed direction and backed out. “What is it?” Kell asked, making sure to keep his eyes averted lest he incur her wrath. “Is it still too tight?” “No, just cramped. Not too hard, though,” Tyria replied. “It’s just tricky to see what I’m doing.” “I think I can take care of that,” Kell said. “Let me get the infrared goggles.” “You didn’t bring them with you?” Tyria asked. “I don’t have time for you to go all the way back to your room.” “No,” Kell told her. “They’re in my toolbag in the closet just up that way. I’ll be right back. Don’t you two get any ideas while I’m gone.” With that, he disappeared out one of the two doors that led to the corridor, oblivious to the daggers Tyria was shooting out of her eyes at him at that last comment. She crossed her arms impatiently, while Elassar tried his best to focus his attention anywhere but on the half-naked woman standing nearby. Awkward seconds ticked by at a pace that seemed painfully slow. Suddenly, Tyria’s eyes drifted into a glassy, distant look, as she stared off into the distance. “Someone’s coming,” she said dreamily. “I sense them.” “What?” Elassar asked. “Someone’s coming!” she said, snapping back to full alertness. “What do you mean? Who’s coming? How close?” Elassar peppered her with questions. “No time,” Tyria said, her eyes darting back and forth, searching for an escape path. Security wasn’t supposed to be here, nor was any maintenance scheduled—Rali had seen to that, but the Force, however little control over it that she had, had given her advance notice of another presence fast approaching their position. Unfortunately for her, they couldn’t just leave. Kell’s datapad, the grille to the vent, and her clothes were on the floor, along with some other things Kell had brought. She had to somehow distract the guard. An idea popped into her mind, but she instantly rejected it, only to have to return to it a millisecond later as the last resort of all options. As she heard a card swipe through the access to the maintenance shaft, she knew it was her only option. Grabbing Elassar, she swung the surprised Devaronian around so her back was to the door preparing to open and kissed him. With any luck, they would obscure the vision of anything behind them. She was fully wrapped around him by the time the door slid open to reveal a young security guard standing there. He had been instructed to do a routine check of the maintenance corridors on this level. Something had made the supervision feel it was time for a more thorough security check, and he’d been rounded out of his break room and his steaming caf to check them. He’d doubted that anything interesting or suspicious was going on, and so it was to his extreme surprise that he opened the door to see a mostly undressed woman passionately kissing a roguish-looking Devaronian. “Uh . . .” the man said, reddening, and Tyria sensed he was caught more than little off guard by the sight. Tearing his eyes from the woman’s back, he realized that the Devaronian was one of the performers who had awed people at the business lounge. Though he’d only been on the job for a few months, he’d heard the stories from the veterans. Stories of high-level celebrity trysts in the most unusual places. Such instances, he was told, were to be discreetly left alone and never, ever commented on, lest one arouse unwelcome publicity for the station and the hotel. Embarrassed, the guard couldn’t even finish his reprimand. “You’re really not supposed to . . . uh, never mind.” Not wanting to intrude further, he withdrew, just as Tyria broke off the kiss to whip her head around and glare at him indignantly. The door slid closed and Tyria immediately shoved Elassar back away from her. One finger shot up within a few centimeters of his nose to point warningly at him. “If you ever tell anyone what just happened, I will cut off your own arm and beat you to death with it,” Tyria said, wiping off her mouth. “Hey, you kissed me!” Elassar protested. “I did no such thing,” Tyria shot back. “I diverted the attention of that security guard, and that’s all that will ever be said about it.” “In that case, you can divert me any time you want,” Elassar teased. He soon found himself staring a clenched fist. “Elassar, you don’t want to test me on this,” Tyria warned him, adding a steely edge to her voice. “If any hint of that detail shows up in mission reports, in casual conversation, or even in your thought life, I will know. And you will suffer for it. Horribly. Mentioning that would be the most unlucky thing you could ever do.” Suddenly worried by the deadly look in her eye and the menace in her voice, Elassar lost his bravado and nodded complacently. “Understood,” he said. “Horrible suffering. Eternal bad luck. If I ever mention the kissing thing, ever. Or think about it.” “Elassar!” she hissed. “What?” he said. “I wasn’t talking about us kissing.” “Just shut up!” Tyria told him, scowling fiercely. The other door swung open and Kell Tainer entered to see Tyria standing there with fist clenched, aiming at Elassar Targon. “Is there something I should know about?” he asked. “No!” both of them replied instantly. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but no more information was forthcoming from either of them. “Well, here’s the infrared goggles,” he said, handing them to Tyria. “Let’s get a move on.” “Yes, Tyria, get your moves on,” Elassar snickered, only to be cut off by the return of her fierce glare. Kell gave him a curious look, which quickly changed to a warning death stare when he saw the irritation on Tyria’s face even as she donned the infrared goggles. He jabbed Elassar in the chest with one finger. “Let’s get this straight,” Kell said to him. “You mess with her, you mess with me. You don’t want to mess with me.” Elassar, as he always did when threatened by the sizable Tainer, wilted. “Okay, okay,” he said. Biting back a prolonged string of incredibly vulgar and unlady-like obscenities about Elassar and his maternal background, Tyria slid herself inside the tunnel and squirmed her way inside. Kell waited until she was far enough in for it to widen, then slid the pack of tools she would need into the shaft. “Thanks,” he heard over his comlink. Then, he heard a faint scrabbling noise, then nothing, as the stealthy Tyria made her way through the metal duct. Fourth level Face was just outside Volyken’s room. Nobody else was in sight, and it seemed altogether quiet and tranquil. Just before he knocked, he realized his comlink earpiece had been deactivated during the scuffle. Touching his ear, he turned it back on and checked in with the rest of his team. “Dia?” he asked softly. “In position,” she said, sounding vaguely bored. “Rali?” Face called. A single electronic chirp let him know that the slicer was still with them, but was too busy for or couldn’t risk speech. “Kell?” he asked. Silence greeted him. “Kell?” Face tried again, turning up the volume on the audio pickup. “You act like you’ve never seen me undressed before,” he heard Tyria say. “That’s hot,” came Kell’s muttered reply. Face’s eyes popped open. What in the Force were they doing? “What was that?” she asked, but the tone of her voice made it fairly clear she wasn’t talking to him. “Nothing,” he heard Kell’s reply. Nothing indeed, Face thought. “Good,” Tyria said, her voice faint through the pickup “And don’t stare at my butt too much when I get down there.” “What is it?” Kell’s distinctive voice came through. “Is it still too tight?” The sounds of some scuffling and movement came through the speaker, leaving Face even more perplexed. In all the time he’d known Kell and Tyria, they’d never let their relationship get in the way of the mission. Certainly not to the level he thought he was hearing. And where was Elassar? “No, just cramped. Not too hard, though,” he heard Tyria’s voice, sounding faintly out-of-breath. “It’s just tricky to see what I’m doing.” Face had had enough. He pulled out the earpiece and checked to make sure it was set to the right frequency. Then he checked again. The voices had sounded a lot like Kell and Tyria, but he wanted to make doubly sure. Shaking his head in confusion, the Wraith Leader slid the comlink back into place and tried again. “Kell, this is Leader. Come in.” “Here, Lead,” he heard Kell reply nonchalantly. “Were you calling a minute ago?” “Um, yes, I was,” Face said. “And, I’m kind of concerned. What were you and Tyria doing?” “What do you think we were doing?” came the reply. “Well, I hope it wasn’t what I thought I heard,” Face said. “Don’t be so antsy, Lead,” Kell reassured him. “We’re not trying anything too crazy. I’m just getting some tools to assist in the process; we’ll be done in no time. Kell out.” The transmission ended, leaving Face even more confused than before. He shook his head, hoping that this was some sort of elaborate prank. If it was, he would exact revenge on Kell and Tyria later, though he’d at least have the consideration to not pull his joke while on a mission. If it wasn’t, well, he’d deal with that as it came. Maybe one of his superiors, or his mentor, Wedge Antilles, would have some ideas if it wasn’t a joke. Then again, Face figured he’d probably die of embarrassment before explaining it to one of them. He shuddered, trying to wonder what would possess those two to do something like that. Then, he managed to convince himself that it had to be a joke. Had to be. Shaking his head, he turned back to Volyken’s door. He checked his chrono—it was 2258. He knocked lightly on the door. A second later, it swung open to reveal the aged scientist standing there, wearing street garb and a long jacket. Over one shoulder was slung a small satchel. “Dr. Volyken, I presume?” Face asked him in a hushed voice. “Who’s asking?” the man said suspiciously. “We have some friends who want to see you,” Face assured him. “From the New Republic.” “Ah,” he replied. “Then I am indeed Dr. Volyken.” Face nodded, then pulled his holdout blaster, flicking it over to stun. “If you will accompany me, please,” Face said, modulating his voice to sound sterner, in order to play the role of a convincing kidnapper. The doctor nodded, put on a small peaked hat, and stepped outside, maintaining a casual air the entire time. Face stayed locked in right beside him, the muzzle of the blaster pointed at Volyken’s back. There were several reasons for that. First, Face had done enough defections to know that the defector occasionally entertained second thoughts, which could not be afforded here. Second, he was supposed to be kidnapping the scientist. The blaster made the threat real enough, though Face was hoping to avoid shooting Volyken, even on stun mode. Third, Face thought it was rather convenient to have his blaster already out and ready in case he needed to use it. With Shalla watching their back, Face and Volkyen made their way outside the room and down the hotel’s hallway as unobtrusively as possible. Hopefully, they could reach the hangar bay where Dia was waiting without being spotted. That hope was shattered when two uniformed security guards, their manners casual but stern, rounded the corner. Face began sweating. His blaster was still tucked away behind Volyken, but if the security guards spotted it, they would be jeopardized. Volkyen was in between Shalla and the guards. They would have to let the guards pass by before acting. Face knew that he would have no problem staying casual as he ambled past the guards, but Volyken was a different matter. Face silently willed the scientist to remain utterly expressionless as they passed by. The guards approached closer and closer, eyes glancing from one side to another, studying the three people who were ostensibly hotel guests out for a stroll. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as they walked by, at least until they walked past the small dark-skinned woman at the tail of the group. One of the guards happened to look sideways and notice the glint of blaster held in the bald man’s hand. He opened his mouth to issue a warning when an elbow unloaded into his solar plexus. Gasping for breath, he doubled over as his equally surprised partner’s head was grabbed and pulled into a flying knee strike from the diminutive woman. His vision swam before him as he tried to recover from having the wind driven completely out of him. There was a loud thump and the other guard collapsed on the guard. The last thing the first man saw was the woman looking at him with a small smile on her face. “Lights out,” she said. When he awoke later, the guard vaguely recalled a fist pulling back and shooting towards his face with the speed of a spined viper right before everything went black. “Nice work, Shalla,” Face murmured. “But that might have complicated things.” “I know,” she said. “I had no choice.” Face grimaced and touched his comlink to activate it. “Lead to Rali,” he said. “I need a report on the guards’ status.” Security control room Rali heard Face’s message just as the security supervisor, a stern hard-bitten former mercenary named Tark Burstid, entered the control room. “Have all guard pairs check in,” the man told them. “Something’s wrong.” The Wraith slicer was forced to acknowledge the order, hoping that the Wraiths hadn’t knocked out any guards, or if they had, that he’d be the one to check in with that particular pair. If they’d taken down more than a few guards, there would be problems. He ran the odds in his head and winced slightly. A few minutes later, his worst fears were confirmed. “Chief, Sosh and Lucest aren’t responding.” “Where were they last?” the supervisor asked. “Fourth level,” another one of the security staff reported. “I’m pulling up the security footage of them passing by camera 107-Aurek-19.” Rali saw the holoprojector out of the corner of his eye and knew that it was about to become unpleasant. Not just, I-forgot-to-dry-my-coat-after-a-rainstorm-and-it’s-been-three-days unpleasant. No, this was more like, there’s-a-vibroblade-sticking-out-of-your-chest unpleasant. His little electronic bait-and-switch was about to be revealed and he didn’t have time to do anything about it. “I don’t see the guards,” Burstid said, looking at the playback. “I don’t understand,” the guard said. “They checked in at this station three minutes like they were supposed to.” “I do,” Burstid growled. “Our system has been compromised. Flush the entire cam net immediately and sweep for slicers. We’re now on full security alert.” “Aye, sir,” the others replied, and Rali was forced to voice his outward agreement along with them. “There’s no way to slice into the security system. It’s on a closed network and the primary access is here,” one of the other operators said. “I know,” Burstid said grimly as a small blaster suddenly appeared in his hand. He walked by each station slowly and Rali’s hands began trembling slightly as the tension level in the room ratcheted up by a factor of ten or so. With such intense scrutiny, he could no longer help the Wraiths much more. In fact, he’d be lucky to escape. He shut down most of his slicing programs and tried to be as legitimately engaged as possible. Burstid was right behind him when his earpiece comlink buzzed. “Lead to Rali,” Face’s voice. “I need a report on the guards’ status.” The noise from the comlink was almost imperceptible, especially in a room full of whirring and beeping computers. Almost. But almost didn’t allow the villain to catch the hero in all of those holodramas. A fitting metaphor for the current situation, Rali reflected. “What was that?” Burstid asked darkly, leaning over Rali’s shoulder. When all else fails, blast everything in sight, Rali figured. Playing by the book hadn’t gone well; it was time to do something unexpected. Having previously drawn his holdout blaster and kept it unobtrusively in the folds of his tunic, Rali gingerly picked up the weapon, pointed it behind him and fired blindly. Given that Burstid was right behind him, he couldn’t miss. The blaster’s report was remarkably loud in the confined room and the mercenary collapsed as the blue stun beams washed over him. Rali scooped up Burstid’s blaster as well and brandished the weapons. “Nobody move!” he shouted. “Touch anything and I’ll shoot you!” The other operators stared back at him in astonishment. Sooner or later, Rali knew one of them would try something stupid. He couldn’t possibly keep his eyes on all six of them at once. Instead, he raised his blasters and shot out several of the giant overhead screens. They shorted out and exploded in showers of sparks. The resulting visual chaos instigated by the flickering, flashing light display was enough cover for Rali to slip out of the room. Several blaster bolts were fired after him, burning through the darkness. One of them tugged at his side, spinning him around and leaving a streak of seared flesh. Rali gasped in pain, blindly fired twice behind him, and staggered away. Blasting open the door to the main computer hub room, he stunned the unsuspecting technician there. Then, raising Burstid’s blaster, he shot up the central tower and the thick trails of cables linked to it. Another series of energy blasts ruptured a coolant tank, making the air of questionable safety when it came to breathing. Once the main hub was a charred mass, Rali checked the exit, but it was temporarily clear. Diving out, he sprinted for a maintenance accessway even as the sounds of a full security alarm began wailing. Blaster fire chased him, but he managed to evade all of the blasts. Once inside the narrow corridor, he slammed the hatch shut and slagged the lock with Burstid’s powerful hand blaster, turning it into molten metal. “Rali to Lead, I’ve been compromised,” he said painfully and belatedly. “Security is aware of our presence.” “So I hear,” Face replied. “What’s your status?” “Alive and safe for now but kinda hurt,” Rali said. “I’ll try and get to the hangar.” “No,” Face said. “They’ll expect that and cut you off. All members of the intrusion team, head for the fifth level. We’ll try and slip out of the hotel from there and then double back to the hangar or arrange other transportation.” “Understood,” Rali said through gritted teeth. That wound in his side was really starting to bother him. Pulling up the precious datapad he’d retrieved just before jumping, he consulted the hotel’s schematics and checked the labyrinth of passages that formed the maintenance accessways. “I’ll meet you at Junction Cresh Eight, fifth level,” Rali told Face. “There’s a vent there in the public refresher station I can get out of.” “Copy that,” Face said. “Be careful when exiting. Make sure we’re there.” “Of course,” Rali said. “Wouldn’t want to get caught with my pants down.” In spite of all the adrenaline-pumping shooting and running for his life, the snicker Rali got as a reply from Face was enough to prompt a smile. He chuckled, only to have a sharp pain in his side from a torn muscle remind him of the consequences of his earlier foolhardiness. Enough levity, Rali figured. It was time for some quick moving through the cramped corridors. Though he could walk, the ceilings were low enough that he had to stoop down. All things considered, though, Rali figured that the crick in his neck he’d have the next day was the least of his concerns. After all, that assumed he had a next day. Fifth level Rali’s warning was timed quite well, Face figured. No sooner had the slicer given him that bad news than a large number of hotel staff started moving around through the halls. Most of them were no doubt reporting to their pre-assigned stations in case of a security problem, but there was always the risk of some of them being plainclothes officers. And, if Hosk Station proper was informed of this, the hotel would be flooded with security agents. It was time to be somewhere else. “Face to Kell,” the Wraith leader said, pulling out his comlink. “Is everything done on your end?” “About that,” Kell said, and Face instinctively knew something was wrong. “Yes and no.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Face snapped, a bit worried and irritated at the demolitions man. “It means Tyria did what she was supposed to,” Kell said. “Something went wrong, though.” “Face,” Tyria’s voice came through the comlink. “The sleeping gas went off, but nobody was there. Repeat, the guards weren’t in the security room.” “Sithspit,” Face swore. “Where are you?” “Elassar and I are waiting for Tyria to return,” Kell reported. “She’s still in the vents, en route.” “Wait,” Tyria said, her voice suddenly distant. “Kell, go now.” “What?” Kell replied. “They’re coming. Seal the vent and get out. I’ll catch up with you later. Have to go now.” “How do you—What you do mean?” Kell said, but there was a faint double-click as Tyria terminated her transmission. “What did she do?” Face asked. “Some kind of Force usage,” Kell told him with obvious vexation. “She’s been getting more hints from it recently.” “Isn’t that good?” Face inquired. “It might be if they would come with a little more advance warning, and a little less mysteriously,” Kell growled. “Looks like Targon and I will meet you soon.” “Affirmative,” Face said. “Face out.” He shut off the comlink and flashed a subtle signal to Shalla, indicating that they should quicken their pace. Thankfully, his little group arrived at Junction Cresh Eight without incident. Just as they arrived, the door to the refresher swung open with a loud squeak to reveal Rali standing there, one hand pressed to his side. “You’re bleeding,” Face noted. “It’s not bad,” Rali said, wincing. “Not yet at least. I’ll get Elassar to look at it when he gets here.” “If we have time,” Shalla pointed out. “We’re safe for the next few minutes, I think, but not forever. We have to find somewhere to hide, Face.” “No, we need to leave,” Rali countered. “This place is going to be crawling with security soon. Not good, not good at all.” “Precisely,” Face said sagely. “It would be unbearable if a unit of our reputation was caught and captured by a lowly hotel security group.” “Face, not now,” Rali said with exasperation. “I can think of worse outcomes than us suffering damage to our reputation.” “You’re right,” Face said agreeably, utterly unperturbed by the prospect of the security forces bearing down on them. “If we were killed by a lowly hotel security group, that would be worse. Our image would never recover.” “And neither would we,” Shalla commented dryly. “Face, I take it that this joking around means you have a plan.” “Actually . . . no,” Face said. “Unless the good doctor here has a portable cloaking device that could conceal us, I’m not sure. I’m working on it, though.” “I don’t possess such a device,” replied the taciturn Volyken, who was standing off to the side with his arms crossed, obviously frustrated and impatient. “That’s very reassuring,” Rali muttered. “What was that?” Face asked. “I said you’re a skilled leader, you’ll think of something,” Rali answered with artificial optimism. Face glared at him with mock indignation. “Don’t flatter me too much during a mission,” he told the slicer. “I can’t spend the time to truly bask in the glow of the admiration. But back at base . . .” Shalla groaned. “We’re being led by a juvenile. You know, you’re just as bad as Janson.” Now it was her turn to receive Face’s glare. “That’s entirely untrue,” Face replied with the same assumed haughtiness. “Janson is far better at flying X-wings than me and far worse at everything else. I couldn’t make nearly as much of a fool of myself as he has on multiple occasions.” “Really?” Rali replied skeptically. “Of course,” Face said. “For example, one time back in my academy days, one of my fellow cadets managed to lock me out of my room naked right as a rather cranky executive officer came walking around. That was bad.” “And . . .?” Rali replied. “Are you saying Janson’s done worse?” Face grinned, a wicked, conspiratorial grin that had no place in polite conversation. “Oh yes,” he said. “A couple years back, while you were still in diapers, we were helping Han Solo hunt down Warlord Zsinj. Which meant we were cooped up on this humid Mon Cal cruiser with nothing better to do. So, Janson had been giving Wedge—that’s General Antilles—something of a hard time over a few weeks, and Wedge got even.” “What did he do?” Rali asked. Face’s grin broadened even more as he told the story, despite their danger. “Let’s just say that Wedge tricked Janson into somehow ending up naked inside a room where we were all gathered with only a stuffed Ewok to cover himself. That’s worse.” “You’re kidding,” Rali said, his jaw dropping in disbelief. “Ask Shalla,” Face told him nonchalantly. “I believe her exact words were ‘Nice rear, Lieutenant.’” Shalla colored nicely, but she couldn’t fully suppress a snicker. “Something like that,” she said. “It was pretty funny to see Janson embarrassed for once.” Rali laughed, then coughed and winced. “Stop making me laugh,” the slicer complained. “It hurts.” Face’s eyebrow shot up and then an impish look formed on his features as he assumed the suave, overly energetic performer once more. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here at the comedy club all weekend. You’ll be guaranteed for lots more hilarity and side-splitting gags for sure! Don’t forget to tip your waiters and waitresses.” Shalla gave Face a withering look. “Forget the gags. When we get back to base, I’m going to kill you, Face. That was the worst pun ever,” she informed him flatly. Face had the gall to look insulted. “Some people have no sense of humor,” he said, shaking his head mournfully. “Go a couple rounds in the ring with me, and we’ll see how funny it is,” Shalla promised, holding up one clenched fist in warning. “That’s insubordination,” Face told her indignantly. Shalla smiled at him, a smile that was all teeth and no mirth. “I’d like very much for you to write me up for that one,” she said. “Remember your record?” Face frowned, then looked crestfallen. “I was afraid you’d say that,” he admitted, then heaved a sigh. “I yield, but only under duress and because I’d be laughed out of the service for writing somebody up for insubordination.” “See, that’s the kind of superior-subordinate discussion I like,” Shalla commented. “You know, if Kell and Elassar arrived right now, it wouldn’t be soon enough,” Rali opined. “I’d almost prefer to be caught by security.” “That’s the nature of Wraith Squadron,” Shalla remarked dryly. “We’re too busy cracking jokes to worry about the security forces coming down.” Thankfully for Rali, he got his wish as the tall mechanic and the Devaronian soon appeared into view, walking up to meet with Face and the growing collection of Wraiths standing around Junction Cresh Eight. “Look sharp,” Kell said, his eyes darting over his shoulder as he approached. “Lots of security out there right about now.” “Any trouble?” Face asked. The big man shrugged. “Just the usual,” he said. “We’ve still lost Tyria.” “Oh, is that all?” Face asked nonchalantly. “I asked her to pick me up a lunch to go before we left. She’ll be along shortly.” “Good to know,” Kell replied facetiously. “Security,” Elassar hissed, subtly indicating two stern-faced individuals casually sauntering down the hallway. Face swore under his breath even as Rali turned to hide his injured side. Thankfully, the slicer had already ditched his security staff garment. There was no way that a group of people standing around like they were wouldn’t attract attention, especially considering that some of them looked like hotel guests and some of them were dressed as hotel staff. Not good at all. They couldn’t just scatter, as that would only draw even more unwanted questions. His mind raced furiously, then he decided on a quick improvisation, an old trick drawn from his actor’s bag of tricks. Face carefully modulated his voice to sound loud and dramatic, pulling on a personality of incredible self-awareness, the façade of a street performer who knew he’d gotten the audience’s attention. “So, there was a Bothan who took his gornt into a cantina . . .” Face began, launching into one of the most awful and off-color jokes that had been circulating around the ranks of junior officers in New Republic Intelligence. The others caught on and looked positively enrapt as Face built the joke into its completion. When he hit the punch-line, they all laughed uproariously. Face timed the punch-line to fall just as the security guards walked by. At first, it looked like one of them was about to ask them for identification, but he’d caught enough of the tawdry joke that his serious demeanor broke and he managed a good-natured chuckle. Seeing that his tactic was working, Face followed up with another impolite joke. The two guards continued past the jokester and his audience, leaving the assembled Wraiths to breathe a sigh of relief once the guards had safely passed. For most of them, the relief was twofold-first, that they’d escaped detection and questioning again, and second, that Face could stop telling his bawdy jokes. The laughter immediately ceased once the guards were out of earshot. “Not funny,” Shalla stated flatly. “Not funny at all.” “Again with the sense of humor,” Face said. “We need to work on that, Lieutenant.” “Oh, kriff,” they heard Elassar say absently. “What is it?” Kell asked, noting that the Devaronian was standing a bit apart, his eyes watching the path that the guards had taken. Elassar looked distracted and worried at the same time. Correction—Elassar usually looked distracted and worried. But this was even more so than usual. “I heard the refresher door open down the hall,” he said. “It had that same squeak.” “And that means . . . ?” Face asked, then realization hit him and he grimaced as he finished his own thought, “they’ll see any blood spatters left there by Rali and follow the trail.” Rali nodded. “The carpet here is dark enough that they probably didn’t see anything, and I’m not bleeding that badly. But the refresher floor is white, and I didn’t have time to clean up the mess.” “Now we’ve got to hide,” Face said hastily. “They’ll come back at any minute and I don’t think a few bad jokes are going to satisfy their curiosity this time.” “Where?” Rali asked. Face looked around, then hit on the only possibility that entered his mind. “Kell, find a room. An empty one. These are all suites. We should be able to hide in one easily for as long as we need to,” he ordered. Kell nodded brusquely and retrieved a thermal imager that he’d retrieved along with the infrared goggles from his jacket pocket. He quickly began checking each of the rooms by holding the device up to the doors and scanning for heat signatures. “Got one,” the big man replied. “Make sure it’s empty,” Face insisted. “I don’t want to walk in on some poor tourist finishing up a sanisteam because you were in a hurry.” “What if she’s pretty?” Kell asked. “Well, that might be different,” Face admitted. “Then I wouldn’t mind, as long as we didn’t scare her too badly.” “Boys,” Shalla interjected impatiently, “is the room empty or not?” “It’s empty,” Kell reported. “At least as far as I can tell with this. If Tyria was her, she could maybe use the Force.” “Forget it,” Face said. “If it’s empty, it’s empty. Shalla, the lock.” She moved silently up to the door and pressed her head against it, listening carefully. Once she was satisfied there was nobody inside, she knelt down and and slid a narrow tool into the lock, tunneling into its security. “At any rate, there are no holocams in the individual rooms,” Rali added. “Finally something goes right,” Face replied. “How’s that lock coming, Shalla?” “Almost there,” Shalla told him. A minute later, the lock clicked and the door slid open, admitting them into the suite. “There you go,” she told them, ushering the Wraiths and Volyken inside. “Nice place,” Kell said, admiring the suite with its nautical-themed décor and the bubbling mini-fountain. “We can’t be here too long,” Face insisted. “Elassar, get a pressure bandage on Rali. Once they discover the trail of unconscious bodies we’ve been leaving in our kidnapping escapade with Dr. Volyken here, we’re going to be found rather quickly.” As it turned out, Face was only partially right. They would be found, but it wouldn’t require security to find their previous victims first. It would happen much sooner than that. The suite they had entered was, despite its innocuous appearances, not unoccupied. Both Sarth and Cassi were still in their protective enveloping bubble of the Force illusion when the Wraiths entered the suite. They’d sensed the intruders almost immediately. Get the safety bags, Sarth sent to Cassi through their mental link. She’d gone to retrieve their weapons-filled bags. Meanwhile, Sarth had remained motionless on the floor, listening in on the intruders and concentrating on keeping Cassi shielded. If his concentration slipped, the kidnappers would almost certainly hear or see her. Given that at least one of them was armed and there were several of them, Sarth had no desire to experience that outcome. His focus held and Cassi soon cautiously crept back from their room, bearing the requested items, still shielded by the Force illusion. The protective field screened her from the visual, infrared, and ultraviolet wavelengths, as well as diffusing any sound waves inside the bubble of concentrated Force energy around her. Cassi handed Sarth his lightsaber and he accepted the proffered Jedi weapon. Once she was back next to him, Sarth informed her of what he’d overheard: the intruders were kidnappers and their target was a prominent scientist, Dmelte Volyken. The fact that Sarth had been reading one of his treatises earlier made the occurrence even more ironic. I wonder if this was the trouble we sensed earlier, Cassi thought. With that mental agreement concluded, they silently advanced until they were within striking distance of the kidnappers. Sarth closed in on the bald man who seemed to be their leader, while Cassi eased her way to the big, muscled human who appeared to be the next biggest threat, interposing herself between him and Volyken. None of them were aware of their approach, though the big man shifted uneasily in their direction as Cassi crept up on him. She froze, but though he looked around in her general vicinity, he didn’t seem to notice her. She continued her advance until she was in striking distance. I’m ready, Cassi sent. She received Sarth’s mental affirmation as he shut down his Force camouflage and ignited his lightsaber simultaneously. It was perhaps the most surprised Garik Loran had been in quite some time. Not only had a middle-aged man appeared out of thin air next to him, but he was holding a metal hilt from which had sprouted a very distinctive glowing blue energy blade. Wisely, he froze, though out of the corner of his eye, he saw a petite blond woman about the same age had materialized next to Kell. “Nobody move,” the man said sternly. The Wraiths and Volyken obeyed the order, though they were still too surprised by the sudden appearance of the two strangers to do anything. “Set the blaster down,” he ordered. Face complied, all too aware of the lightsaber mere centimeters from him. “Who are you?” Sarth demanded. “Why are you kidnapping Dr. Volyken?” “Our group has need of his talents. Our employer will pay handsomely to see him safely delivered,” Face replied ambiguously. “Who do you work for?” Sarth asked. Face’s mind raced. Lightsabers were traditionally associated with Jedi, and if these were Jedi, it would not be a good idea to claim allegiance to an Imperial warlord. He hastily modified with his story with an alibi that seemed at least somewhat plausible. “We’re part of Bakuran Intelligence,” Face lied, modifying their cover story and adding a trace of a Bakuran accent. “We were sent to obtain Volyken as part of an effort to develop advanced technology for the betterment of Bakura.” Face was a proficient, and, depending on who was asked, a constant liar. It was simply part of intelligence work. However, though his body language betrayed none of the falsehood of his statement, he’d never gone up against anyone trained in the use of the Force. Sarth was not amused. To illustrate that point, he halved the distance between the lightsaber blade and Face’s skin. “We can tell that you’re lying,” Sarth told him coldly. “And, the Bakuran accent is pretty good, but the fact that you weren’t using it earlier means you’re not Bakurans.” “It’s not that good,” Cassi replied, her own Basic tinted with her native Bakuran accent. “Great,” Face muttered. “We get caught by Bakurans who have lightsabers and who can detect lies. What are the odds of that?” “What now?” Shalla muttered, positioning herself for a quick strike at Sarth. “Actually, she’s the Bakuran,” Sarth said, “and don’t try anything funny. You could try telling the truth for a change.” Face stared at him long and hard, as if Sarth had just suggested he take a swan dive out of an airlock without a vac suit. “I highly doubt you can get me to say anything,” Face said. “Even if you are a Jedi or whatever you are.” “Maybe, but you’re not leaving here with Dr. Volyken,” Sarth said. “And I imagine that hotel security will be very interested in what you’re doing here.” “The same is true for you,” Face replied casually. “Jedi aren’t exactly commonplace these days.” “The only chance for you to walk away from this is for you to tell us the truth,” Cassi told them forcefully. “Surely you see that.” Face looked around at the other members of his unit. They were waiting for a signal from him. However, at the moment, they were at an incredible disadvantage. True, they had numbers, but only numbers. Their captors had appeared out of nowhere with strange weapons and apparently some skill in wielding them. And, while the Wraiths had apparently been overheard, their opponents were completely unknown to them. He did seem to recall that the Jedi, at least Luke Skywalker’s variety, were friendly to the New Republic. With any luck, they’d be nice enough to let the Wraiths and Volyken continue on their way. “Okay, we’re with the New Republic,” Face admitted. “New Republic Intelligence.” “That’s better,” Sarth said. “And the doctor?” “They’re not kidnapping me,” Volyken inserted. “They are helping me defect. This is apparently their cover.” “At last you’re telling the truth. Not going very well, is it?” Sarth observed. “At the moment, no,” Face conceded, then he turned resolute again. “There. You have the truth. Now, I just want you to know that my former squadron commander used to fly with your Jedi . . . commander or whatever they are several years ago. So that makes us . . .” “Absolutely nothing,” Sarth cut him off. “And, if you’re talking about Luke Skywalker, we’re not with him. Never even met him.” “Oh,” Face responded, suddenly dejected. “Well, we’re with the New Republic, which as far as I know, is pro-Jedi.” “And?” Sarth asked flatly. “That means you should let us go on our merry way,” Face said hopefully. Sarth and Cassi exchanged looks and, though the Wraiths couldn’t detect it, thoughts also. They deactivated their lightsabers, but kept them in hand. At a nod from Face, Elassar sat Rali down on the couch and began examining his wound. “Maybe,” Sarth said slowly. “That’s a possibility, for sure.” “As fascinating as this discussion is, we’re on a strict timeline,” Face said. “And I have people, at least one, in danger. Another is wounded. If you’re going to let us go, do it. If not, allow my medic to do his job.” “We’re not on a timeline,” Cassi replied. “Here’s our proposal: we let you go with the doctor here, but you never mention this little encounter with anyone.” “Of course not,” Face said. “I’d have a hard time convincing my superiors that I saw two Jedi who materialized out of nowhere anyway.” “That’s not all,” Sarth said. “In return, the doctor gives us a copy of his research and you and the New Republic possibly owe us a favor later.” “A rather tall order,” Face said, frowning. “What do we get in return?” “You get to escape here with Volyken,” Sarth told them. “And, we’ll help with your casualty and your person still out there.” “How are you going to do that?” Face asked suspiciously. “I have some skill with Force healing,” Cassi told him. “And Sarth here can try and sense whoever this person is, tell you where they are.” “Her name is Tyria,” Kell spoke up. “She’s Force-sensitive, if it helps.” “It does,” Sarth told him, brightening somewhat. “Come over here.” Kell and Sarth sat down on one of the couches while Cassi joined Elassar. “Blaster graze?” she asked. “Yes,” Rali said painfully. “Kinda hurts.” “May I?” Cassi inquired, motioning at the raw, seared wound. “Go ahead,” Rali replied, while Elassar fixed a dubious eye on her. She laid her hand on the wound and closed her eyes, concentrating on the Force. It came naturally to her, enveloping her hand in a hazy blue aura. A conscious thought extended the Force’s healing aura to engulf the blaster scorch. Rali, Elassar, and Face watched as the wound underwent a time-accelerated healing process. Under the influence of the Force energy she was exerting, it shrunk and diminished until it was reduced to a pale red patch of skin. “Fascinating,” Elassar said. “That feels . . . better,” Rali told her. “Much better.” “The rest should clear up soon,” Cassi said, withdrawing her hand and opening her eyes. “Try not to make any sudden movements for the next day or so; the healed flesh will still be tender.” “Incredible,” Elassar commented again, watching as the blue glow dissipated from Cassi’s fingers. “How did you do that?” “The Force can manifest itself in many ways,” Cassi told him. “I have a talent for healing.” Simultaneously, Sarth’s eyes were closed in concentration as he extended his mental senses outward, searching for the Force-sensitive Wraith. A concerned-looking Kell Tainer was sitting beside him, his attention fixed on Sarth. “You said her name is Tyria?” Sarth asked. “Yes,” Kell replied. “Do you have anything that she’s touched recently?” Sarth asked. “Uh . . . sure,” Kell said, digging into his tool bag and retrieving Tyria’s jacket. He handed it to Sarth, who held it in his hand and concentrated. “Ah, yes, now I know what to see,” Sarth said. “Was she posing as a waitress?” “Yes, she was,” Kell confirmed. “She served us cocktails the other day,” Sarth told him with a smile. “Had I been paying attention, I would have noticed she was Force-sensitive. She has a powerful gift.” “That’s not what she says,” Kell replied. “’The Force is weak with me,’ is usually how she describes it.” “You two are close,” Sarth said knowingly. “We are.” “Then let me tell you that she underestimates her own abilities,” Sarth answered. “I sense her now.” “Where is she?” Kell asked. “In a maintenance corridor,” Sarth told him. “Shall I direct her here?” “Can you do that?” “I believe I can,” Sarth said. “The Force can allow me to plant a mental suggestion in either a weak-minded person or someone who’s Force-sensitive who’s receptive to the message.” Despite the tenseness of the situation, Kell’s serious expression broke momentarily as a wicked thought came to him. “Weak-minded, eh? You know, I have an idea involving Face that could really use that skill.” Face, distantly hearing his name but little else of the statement, looked over at Kell, who shrugged innocently. Face obviously didn’t believe him, and Sarth’s slight chuckle didn’t help things, but the Wraith leader was otherwise occupied, so he didn’t push the issue. This time. “I’ve given her a mental picture,” Sarth said. “She should be seeing you, telling her to come to Junction Cresh Eight and make her way to this room.” “You know, this better not be a trap,” Shalla interjected suddenly. “If this is some kind of stalling tactic, you’re going to regret it.” Cassi stood up to face her accuser. “If it was a trap, we could have severely injured or killed all of you when we first found you. If it was a trap, hotel security would already be here. And if it was a trap, I doubt I would have offered to heal your injured man.” “Stand down, Shalla,” Face said. “She’s right.” The diminutive commando shot a final dark look at Sarth and Cassi, but complied with the order. Her hand still stayed by her hold-out blaster, though. Soon enough, there was a tentative knock at the door. “That’s Tyria,” Sarth told him. Face opened the door to reveal a disheveled-looking and mostly undressed Tyria Sarkin. She darted inside quickly as Face closed the door behind her. The various males in the room, Kell excepted, tried hard to not to stare. They really did. However, male biology was and is rather uncooperative when it comes to such things. “Uh . . . Tyria, where are all your clothes?” Face asked. Tyria glared at Elassar. “Ask the genius Devaronian,” she shot back. “Kell, please beat him to death.” “Not now, Tyria,” Kell said. “We have more important people to kill.” “Here, take this,” Cassi offered diplomatically, handing Tyria a robe. “Let me see if I can’t find you something a little more practical for your trip.” “Thanks,” Tyria replied, draping the garment over her frame. “How did you find us?” Face asked. “I got this . . . leaning, a message from the Force, I think,” Tyria said slowly. “It told me that I should come here.” “That’s because I sent it,” Sarth said, standing up. Tyria’s eyes narrowed. “Who are these people anyway?” “They’re apparently Jedi of some kind,” Face said. “We sort of crashed into their room.” “You crashed into their room?” Tyria asked in disbelief. “What kind of commando are you?” “Let’s not go there,” Face replied. “I’d hate to soil the impression of the others towards their fearless leader.” “Too late,” Tyria retorted. “And what do you mean, Jedi?” “Note that both of our hosts are modeling the latest in lightsaber fashions,” Face told her dryly. “We do have some skill in the Force,” Cassi told her. “After some initial . . . negotiations, we offered to help.” “You have the same potential,” Sarth added. “You also could become a Jedi.” “No,” Tyria said, shaking her head. “I talked to Skywalker. He said that it wasn’t possible.” Cassi laid an arm on Tyria’s shoulder gently. “With all due respect, he was wrong,” she said. “I sense the potential inside you. Open your mind and see.” Tyria nodded slowly and closed her eyes as Cassi attempted to touch the other woman’s mind with the Force. And there, in her mind’s eye, Tyria was transported to the same endless calm sea that was Cassi’s visualization of the Force. “Relax,” Cassi said, floating on her back on the endless waves as Tyria’s nervousness seeped through their mental link. “Go with the flow.” Tyria did a passable job of calming her mind, until she too could see herself floating on the glassy smooth water as well. “See?” Cassi told her mentally. “Not so hard.” “You’re right,” Tyria said slowly. “I can see—sense the others.” “This is a flow state,” Cassi explained. “When our minds are calm and attuned to the Force, we can harness its power more easily.” A small exertion of Cassi’s mind sent a small crest of water inexplicably surging upward. It enveloped itself around a mini-fountain that had seemingly materialized out of thin air into their mental perceptions. “Telekinesis is one of the first skills many Jedi learn,” Cassi told her. “I don’t know,” Tyria said uncertainly. “It all seems so daunting.” “That’s what I thought as well,” Cassi said. “I didn’t develop my Force powers until much later in life, and it was hard. I’m still not very skilled with them. That’s no reason to not develop your own talents. You have the potential.” “Are you sure about this?” Tyria asked her. “I am,” Cassi said. “Sarth is as well and he has better control over Force-sensing that I do. If you devote the time and effort, you can become a Jedi Knight. It might take years, though.” “That’s a long time,” Tyria said. “I don’t know if it’s worth it.” “The choice is yours,” Cassi replied. “You must ask yourself if this is something you should do, if your life will serve a greater purpose by embracing who you are and the gifts you’ve been given. Is it the right thing to do?” “Then I think I know,” Tyria answered. “It just seems so hard.” “You’re not alone,” Cassi said reassuringly. At a touch from Cassi’s mind, the mental perception of the endless sea vanished, leaving Tyria standing there in the suite again with the other Wraiths. Face gave her an impatient look. “I hate to interrupt the Jedi communing ritual, but we’re on a timetable here,” he said. “You know, if this is how all New Republic operations go, then I know why you haven’t won yet,” commented Volyken wryly from one corner. “Thank you for that vote of confidence, Doctor,” Face replied sarcastically. “Tyria, can we go now, or are you having too much fun?” “We can go,” Tyria said, as Cassi headed off into the next room. “Good,” Face said. “Rali?” “I’m fine, chief,” the slicer answered. “As fine as I’ll ever be.” “Even better,” Face said, pulling out his comlink. “Dia?” “This Wraith has been sitting around awaiting launch orders,” Dia replied lazily. “Hurry it up already.” “Here,” Cassi said to Tyria as she returned, handing her a pair of pants and a blouse. “It’ll be a little big on you, but less conspicuous than the robe.” “Thanks,” Tyria replied. “Don’t forget the research,” Sarth reminded Face. “Yes, yes,” the Wraith leader said in response. “Doctor, give it to him.” Volyken did as he was told, and the Wraiths began slipping out of the room in twos and threes in their assigned groups so as to avoid detection. Volyken went first with the performers, then Rali and Kell, and Tyria last. “Thank you for everything,” Tyria told Sarth and Cassi. “I feel like my eyes have been opened.” “I know the feeling,” Cassi told her. “May the Force be with you.” Tyria nodded gratefully, then slipped out of the door. “Well, that was interesting,” Sarth said. “So much for staying out of trouble.” “I think the Force led us here, right now, to speak to her,” Cassi said. “We just might have helped start another person on the Jedi path.” “Maybe,” Sarth replied. “If she can give up all that cloak-and-vibrodagger work. And if she has the drive to devote years to learning the ways of the Force. We may never know.” “Maybe,” Cassi said with a small smile. “Unless she finds that token I slipped into her pocket.” The Wraiths reached the hangar bay without incident. Their smaller numbers and guest or worker passes allowed them to slip through the security net with almost ridiculous ease, and soon, they were all aboard the fancy high-powered ship that Dia had stolen. A signal from Face was enough for Dia to obtain clearance to launch and send the ship hurtling out of the docking bay. Two X-wings flown by Runt and Piggy soon formed up around them to escort the ship out in preparation for the jump to hyperspace. “Well, that was interesting,” Kell commented. “How much of that goes on the mission report?” “As little as possible,” Face told them. “We’ll work out the exact details of what we’re going to say on the way back. My superiors already have a hard enough time believing my reports as it is. Vanishing Jedi and . . . whatever Tyria was doing would not help.” “It’s your own fault,” Shalla said. “Ever since the gurrcat incident in the tapcafe.” “That was not intentional,” Face protested. “Ask Tyria.” However, Tyria seemed to be lost in her own world, sitting off to one side and thinking long and hard about what she’d heard from Sarth and Cassi. One hand was absently resting on her leg when she realized there was something in her pocket. She slipped it out to reveal a small coin-like metal token. It was smooth and featureless, but Tyria wasn’t content with just an outward look. She frowned, and on a whim, tried to sense it with the Force. It took her a few tries to reach a mental calm to the point where she could see it, but when she did, her efforts paid off. With her mind, she saw that engraved on one side was some markings that had to be a form of code, possibly a numerical sequence. The other side had writing she didn’t recognize. A translator droid would fix both of those. The two Jedi must have left that for her, a means of finding them again. Tyria then knew deep inside her that this was the path she was meant to walk. “Tyria?” Face asked, interrupting her introspection. “Are you okay?” “Oh, sorry,” she replied, snapping back to reality. “I’m fine. In fact, never been better.” He gave her a curious look, as did Kell, but she simply smiled at both of them. She knew what her path was now, and though they wouldn’t understand, at least not at first, Tyria had the reassurance that came from knowing her destiny. She was meant to learn the ways of the Force. She was meant to be a Jedi.
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