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| - Selu stumbled through the foul-smelling sewers as he tried to concentrate on hiding the Force-users from the dark side user. His head was aching from the crash-landing, but he kept going through the dimly-lit labyrinth. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep going, but finally, Xlora called a halt. “This way,” she said, pointing to a ladder. One by one, the group of bedraggled survivors made their way up the ladder, through a trapdoor, and into a storage room in a rundown residence. The structure seemed quite ramshackle—but it was also empty and the walls seemed quite thick. “What is this place?” Hasla asked as Xlora turned on some glowpanels which flickered and popped noisily as they came to life. “A . . . friend’s house,” Xlora answered. Daara scowled. “Please tell me you did not bring us to your boyfriend’s house,” she said. “Of course not,” Xlora replied indignantly. “The Matukai would frown on such a relationship, so I don’t have a boyfriend.” “Good.” “However, I might have . . . a fling,” she conceded. Daara rolled her eyes. “Enough,” Spectre said. “Are we safe here?” “For now,” she replied. “He’s pretty well-connected and this house is one of the more secure properties in Darlyn Boda. Also, he’s away on business. It’s just us—and I’m the only other person who knows about the secret trapdoor.” “Good,” Spectre replied, having taken charge while Selu was indisposed. “Try and get some rest. I’ll take first watch with Daara. We’ll take turns except for Selu—we need him to keep us hidden from . . . whoever that was. I know it’s been a long day, but we’re not out of this yet. There’ll be time to grieve and reflect once we’re somewhere safer. Until then, we have to stay focused on survival.” They all muttered acknowledgement and dispersed, trying to find somewhere to rest and sort out the torrent of emotions and loss they had just been hurled through. Selu found a place to hunker down, sliding down gratefully to sit on the floor with his back against a dilapidated couch. His head was still pounding and he didn’t know how much longer he could up his mental block—it wasn’t that exhausting when he used it on himself, but trying to hide over a dozen other people, many of whom were freely pouring out emotions through the Force, for a prolonged period of time was extremely taxing. A few minutes later, Milya came over with two bottles of water and a pair of pills. Selu cocked an eyebrow at the offered bottle and pills. “Are those what I think they are?” he asked. “Yes,” she said. “Enough symoxin to take the edge off that headache, but not enough to put you out.” Selu accepted them gratefully, swallowing them with a swig from the water bottle. “Spectre’s on watch . . . want some company?” she asked him. Selu looked up at her for a moment, weighing the request. He recalled he had promised to be there for her when she wanted to talk, so he nodded. “Sure.” She sat down beside him, initially saying nothing. “How did you know to come after me?” she asked him abruptly. “The Force showed me in a vision,” he said. “We got here as fast as we could.” A sorrowful expression crossed Milya’s face. “I wish it had been sooner,” she said, her head bowed reflectively as she remembered the battle. “What happened?” he asked gently. “I persuaded the Matukai to join the refuge,” she said. “I dueled their leader—lost the duel, but won the argument.” “Sounds painful,” Selu replied sympathetically. She grunted. “Just bruises,” Milya responded. “Hard to believe that was just this morning. I rested for several hours while they prepared to evacuated, but when I awoke, the Empire was about to attack.” She shook her head. “We fought as hard we could, to buy time for the others to escape, but there were just too many . . . and him.” She shuddered, her voice cracking. Selu had only rarely seen Milya exhibit real fear and despair, and knew that whatever had happened before he arrived must have been horrifyingly traumatic to reduce her to this. “It’s okay,” Selu told her, putting an arm around her comfortingly. “You’re safe now.” “He took down Bolfwé Grysloth, the Matukai leader, almost effortlessly,” she said. “I tried to fight him, but he was too strong. And hateful.” Selu knew what she was talking about, having sensed the power of the dark side emanating from the man, even from a distance. “He’s a dark side Force-user,” he told her. “A powerful one.” She closed her eyes, mustering up the mental fortitude to ask a question whose answer she had been dreading. “How many made it?” Selu winced. “We saved fourteen,” he told her. “Some of the others likely escaped into the swamps before we arrived.” “Fourteen . . .” Milya whispered, stricken by the news. “There were sixty-odd this morning.” “Hey, it’s not your fault,” Selu assured her. “You saved as many as you could.” “Not Jahlel,” she said, recalling the Arkanian’s sacrifice on her behalf. “He saved me.” “Who was he?” Selu asked. “He died for me, Selu,” she said at last. “Pushed me out of the way and took the blaster bolt, right in the head.” “The Arkanian?” Milya nodded. “Jahlel. He met me in the city, saved from a group of thugs. He became sort of my trainer while I was there—Grysloth made me learn from the Matukai. He was always was helping me or saving me from something I couldn’t handle.” “Sounds like a great person.” “He was. You would have liked him.” “I’m sorry,” Selu told her. “He must have known what he was doing.” Milya wiped away a tear that was sliding down her cheek. “Of course he did,” she said. “I don’t know what I’m going to say to his sister.” “The other Arkanian is his sister?” Selu asked. Milya nodded. “Hasla.” “If she knew her brother well, then she’ll honor his selflessness,” Selu said. “And so should I,” Milya observed. “By surviving.” She turned to Selu with a hardened expression on her face. “And taking the fight to the Empire.” “Now, now,” Selu soothed, sensing her anger rising. “Jedi do not take revenge.” “I don’t care,” she said hotly. Selu took her hand in his. “Anger leads to hate, and hate leads to the dark side,” he told her. “What happened today was horrible, but we can’t let that tragedy warp our thinking.” “Why not?” she asked. “We stop them, we make sure they never hurt anyone else again.” “There’s an old saying about revenge,” Selu told her. “If you’re out for revenge, make sure you dig two graves.” “When I was sold as a slave, that didn’t stop me,” Milya told him. “I killed every single one of them, and then I took out the people who murdered my parents.” “And then you were alone, on the run, unable to trust anyone until you met us,” Selu replied. “How did your anger help you then?” “It kept me alive,” Milya said. “It gave me focus.” “You have the Force for that now,” Selu told her. “You can let go of your anger. I did.” She looked up at him with a searching expression. “How?” Selu took a deep breath. “Because being a Jedi isn’t just about Force powers or lightsabers. It’s about mastering your own emotions. It’s about serving ideals that surpass anyone person—peace, justice, and truth.” “It sounds nice,” Milya answered bitterly. “But in my experience, ideals don’t last long in the real galaxy.” “They do if we fight for them,” Selu replied. “You make it sound so easy.” Selu snorted gently. “I wish,” he said. “When the Jedi Temple was destroyed and I was left with barely the clothes on my back, I felt the same way you do.” “What got you through it?” she asked. Selu considered the question, then smiled slightly. “Sarth,” he said. “When I was at the brink of despair, Sarth brought me hope to keep going.” “So what hope do we have?” Milya asked him. “Most of the Matukai were slaughtered. We were shot down and now we’re stuck on this planet with an Imperial army hunting us.” “We’re still alive,” Selu told her. “They haven’t caught us yet. And when we get off this planet, we have a world for our refuge, and the Zeison Sha and Jal Shey will help us build it.” “You’re asking a lot,” she said. “Anger and a sense of vengeance kept me going for many lonely years.” “And now you don’t need them,” Selu answered simply. “You can choose to let them go, if you want to.” “How do you know that?” Selu hugged her a little closer. “Because I trust that you’ll make the right decision,” he said. “Always have.” She looked up at him, startled by his calm statement of confidence in her. Selu met her gaze as she searched his eyes, testing the veracity of his words. “Thanks,” she said at last. She settled in a little closer to him and there was a moment’s silence. “Is it okay if I stay?” she asked drowsily. “I won’t disturb you.” “Uh . . . sure,” he said, withdrawing his arm so it didn’t fall asleep behind her head. She leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Selu envied her that—while the symoxin had certainly helped, he couldn’t rest. He had to stay awake and keep projecting that mental shield to hide the group of Force-users. He looked down at Milya, resting securely in the knowledge that he would protect her, and that sight gave him the mental willpower to keep going. She, along with every other person in the building, was counting on him. Griffin Detention Block Trip stirred and slowly awoke from an uneasy daze to feel a weight lying against him as he took in his surroundings. Glancing downward, he saw that Taskien had rolled over and ended up lying alongside him as he had napped. She still seemed to be sleeping and Trip thought it best not to wake her. Most of the other soldiers were still asleep as well, trying to get as much rest as possible. Only Doctor Rothery was awake, standing near the edge of the shock field and looking out through its translucent blueness. “You should rest as well,” she told him in a soft whisper, without even turning around. “I was,” he said in the same soft tunes. The aged doctor turned around and walked over to squat beside him. “We need to get out of here,” she told him. Trip nodded. “If the Imperial forces received our message, they’ll do something. Until then, I’ll keep looking for opportunities.” Rothery gestured at Taskien. “She’s not going to survive much more,” the doctor said. “She wasn’t fully recovered, and if that butcher Romierr gets his hands on her again . . . it won’t be pretty.” “I understand,” Trip replied firmly. “We’ll do our best—so will she.” Rothery rolled her eyes. “Spare me the trooper credo,” she said. “Oh, I know you believe it, but you could at least be honest with yourself.” Trip gave her a confused look. Rothery replied with a knowing smile. “It’s clear to everyone who’s not a clone that you’re quite taken with the agent,” Rothery said. “The way you look at her. The way you subconsciously protect her.” “It’s tactical,” Trip replied. “I can take more punishment—but we need her ingenuity.” Rothery snorted gently. “Keep telling yourself that, soldier,” she said. “And she’s young, attractive, highly intelligent, and understands your career. You could do a lot worse.” Trip stiffened defensively. “I live to serve the Empire,” he replied reflexively. “Not my own interests.” Rothery chuckled. “She told me the same thing,” she said. “Believe it or not, she’s not that good at hiding her feelings either.” Trip recalled the arrogance and superiority that Taskien had showed him on Zeru Neimodia, to the point of subverting his authority. She had constantly ordered him around, and while he had seen brief flashes of empathy, the agent had made it very clear who was in charge. “I doubt that,” Trip said, glancing down at the sleeping agent again. “I saw nothing of the kind.” Rothery rolled her eyes. “Yes, with your tremendous insight into human emotions,” she said sarcastically. “Commander, you need to let yourself live a little.” “I’m a soldier,” he said. “I live for the Empire.” “Sure you do,” Rothery replied. “But that’s not the name you were whispering in your sleep.” She rose and walked off, leaving Trip mystified and feeling slightly guilty. He glanced down at Taskien, wondering if Rothery was completely off-base, or if there was truth in her words. He had always been one to follow rules and regulations verbatim, a cog in the giant wheel of the Imperial military. Now the doctor and Agent Taskien were challenging those self-imposed strictures, and he wasn’t sure how to handle that. Nevertheless, he allowed one arm to drift downward and rest on her arm. Griffin Bridge Ardo Romierr swore. Imperial fighters were circling overhead, rotating in shifts of eight at a time, shadowing his ship, and the acting engineer had reported they weren’t ready to lift off yet. Curse that Star Destroyer for arriving on some secret mission, and curse those prisoners for alerting it to their presence. His planned auction was completely out of the question now—his highest priority was getting off this world. Unfortunately, with the fighters shadowing him, he couldn’t expect to escape without being tracked, and the Griffin lacked the trained crew to shoot them all down. No doubt the Imperials were already planning some kind of operation to recapture the stolen ship and retrieve their prisoners. He considered bargaining with the prisoners’ lives, but knew that was pointless—the Empire would not negotiate with someone with his record, not even for the life of an Imperial advisor. Also, Ardo Romierr had not gotten this far by bargaining his way out of difficult situations. He paced up and down the bridge of the ship, ignoring the handful of intelligence agents and loyal crewers manning the stations. The Griffin was running on a skeleton crew, and while Sarwas had done an excellent job in assigning as many of the agents and naval officers in Romierr’s network as possible to the ship, they hadn’t expected to need them to be able to take the ship into battle. Even with only minor casualties incurred when they had sprung Romierr and the others from their cells and seized the ship, there weren’t nearly enough personnel. He glanced at the large master sensor board as he passed by it, noting the small blips of the fighter contacts on the screen. If they could shake those fighters, they could take off and possibly outrun the Star Destroyer to get into hyperspace. Sarwas approached him. “We can be ready to lift off in twenty minutes,” he said. “That’ll give the Empire more than enough time to get here,” Romierr answered darkly. “And the fighters will slow us down long enough for that Star Destroyer to catch up.” Sarwas nodded. “I know,” he said. “I wish we had my ship here. It’s no starfighter, but it could at least give us a fighting chance.” “Where is it?” Romierr asked. “At the spaceport,” Sarwas said. “I moved it there so we could have a quick getaway vehicle in case the auction went sideways.” Romierr shook his head. Sarwas’s ship was an AIAT/i gunship, an armed troop carrier designed to ferry small units between systems. It was a reliable and widespread, if older, military platform, and also was popular among smugglers for the same reasons that planetary defense forces used it. The ship had fit well into Sarwas’s cover identity on Darlyn Boda on his Imperial Intelligence assignment, and could have been useful. Then Romierr looked at the sensor board. There were always eight fighters on patrol at a time, rotating through the hours. A gunship like that could take on one or two, but not that many. “One gunship can’t stop eight fighters,” Romierr said dismissively. “Not even if a Jedi was flying it.” “A helpful Jedi? Might as well wish for a Lucrehulk battleship to take down that destroyer,” Sarwas replied scornfully. The small datapad clipped to the double agent’s belt beeped. He picked it up and activated it, frowning as he did so. “What is it?” Romierr asked. “A little surveillance system alert I put up in my house here,” Sarwas informed him. “Somebody’s there.” “Who? Imperials?” Romierr asked. Sarwas shook his head, looking at the grainy imagery from the tiny cams. “It looks like . . . my g—uh . . . this local woman I’m on good terms with,” he said, then added with a certain measure of confusion. “And a lot of other people.” “Do you recognize them?” Romierr inquired. “Not at all,” he said. “But they seem to know her.” “Well, you didn’t leave anything there that could harm us, did you?” Sarwas chuckled. “Of course not.” “Then it’s not a priority.” Another intelligence agent walked up to the two men. “Hey boss, I found out why that Star Destroyer is here,” he said. “Sliced into the Imperials’ comm traffic. You’re not going to believe this.” “Go ahead,” Romierr told him. “The Imperials were here to hit what they’re saying was a Jedi enclave. Looks like they put up quite a fight too.” “Jedi? On Darlyn Boda?” Romierr said derisively. “Doubtful.” “Not Jedi,” Sarwas corrected him. “They’re called Matukai.” Romierr looked at him suspiciously. “And what do you know about them?” he asked. Sarwas shrugged. “Another monastic order, kind of like the Jedi, but they don’t use lightsabers. Big on physical fitness.” “And they just told you about their presence?” Romierr asked skeptically. Sarwas grinned. “You can learn all sorts of interesting things when you have the ear of a beautiful woman.” Romierr rolled his eyes. “You should know better than to consort with a Force-user,” he said. “They are nothing but trouble.” “I didn’t know at first,” Sarwas replied lightly. “You don’t seem very concerned for her welfare,” Romierr pointed out. Sarwas arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying you don’t have a bevy of women in every spaceport you frequent?” he asked. “If she and her Matukai friends take some heat of us so we can escape, I’ll have a moment of silence for her later.” “Perhaps that can be arranged,” the other agent suggested. “Those people she’s brought to your house are mostly likely the Matukai survivors. Maybe we can trade them to the Empire.” “Won’t work,” Romierr said. “They’re never going to bargain with us. This is useful information, but it doesn’t help us. Whoever these Matukai are, they aren’t going to shoot down twenty starfighters, unless your girlfriend has other talents besides the ones you chased her for.” Sarwas grinned again. “I don’t think she can fly,” he said. “And I doubt that Delta-7 starfighter they impounded in the spaceport belongs to any of them either. But hey, take a look—I clearly have good taste.” He passed around the datapad with the surveillance footage. Romierr scowled, glancing at the datapad in passing. The information as to the Imperials’ original reasoning for coming to Darlyn Boda was interesting, but ultimately not helpful. The Matukai wouldn’t even make a useful diversion—the Empire would send stormtroopers, not fighters, after them. Unless they had a ship to escape on . . . A sudden idea struck him. “Sarwas,” he said. “I think it’s time you showed some concern for this woman of yours.” “Boss?” “The Empire is not known for its good treatment of civilians on worlds such as this,” Romierr said. “Perhaps you should offer her a way to escape the impending occupation—say, with a gunship?” Sarwas nodded as he caught on. “They’ll have to send the fighters if they want to catch the Matukai—and we’ll have a chance to get away while they’re distracted.” “If this works, I’ll join you in that moment of silence for her,” Romierr quipped. “Call her.” Sarwas retrieved his comlink and activated it. “Xlora?” he said. “It’s me.” “Sarli!” came the reply after a brief delay. “Where are you? Are you okay?” “I’m outside the city with some business associates. We just got back,” he said. “I saw the Imperial ships landing—are you okay?” “Mostly,” her voice said after a second. “I went to your place—I was scared.” “That’s fine,” he told her. “You should probably get out of the city.” “What about you?” she asked him. “I’m fine,” he said. “My associates have a ship—you should take mine and get out of there.” There was another brief delay. Romierr’s eyes narrowed. The pauses in the conversation were too long to be natural. “Give me that datapad,” he said to Sarwas, who handed it to him. Romierr flipped through the various cam views until he found the one in the kitchen where a Falleen woman was standing with a comlink held up to her ear. She was talking with three humans, two men and one woman. One of the men was wearing combat armor, but the other had his back turned to the cam. “You’re just going to give me your ship?” Xlora asked. Sarwas chuckled, maintaining his good-boyfriend-and-easygoing-spacer shtick. “I’ll want it back, but right now you need it more than I do. Consider it a loan to make sure the Empire doesn’t bother the prettiest thing on Darlyn Boda,” he said. “Meet me on Abregado-rae in two weeks or I’ll call in the bounty hunters.” Another delay and Romierr watched the four consult via the cam feed. “Sarli, that’s very sweet of you, but I can’t fly a ship,” she said, then her voice dropped in register. “And you don’t need bounty hunters to chase me. Just do it yourself—I promise I won’t be too hard to catch.” Interesting, Romierr noted. They didn’t immediately accept the offer, probably suspicious of something that sounded too good to be true. No doubt the possibility that “Sarli” was working for the Empire had occurred to them. He was dealing with suspicious, cagey people—understandable given that the Empire had just attacked their compound and was actively hunting them. However, if Sarwas pointed out that she had other people with them who might be able to fly it, he would reveal that she was under surveillance, and possibly even give away the plan to have the Matukai serve as a distraction. “Do you know anyone who could fly the ship for you?” Sarwas asked her. “It’s big enough to accommodate several people.” Another hesitation, another hurried conference. “I might know someone, but they’ll want to bring their family,” she said. “Don’t worry, that ship can hold over twenty people,” Sarwas assured her. Relief sounded through her voice. “That’s very kind of you, Sarli,” she said. “How will we access it?” “I’ll give you the codes for the docking bay and the ship’s locks,” Sarwas told her. “It’s pretty easy to fly—your pilot friend should have no problems with it.” “What about the Imperials?” she asked. “They have the spaceport locked down.” Sarwas snorted. “Listen, honey, I outfly Imperials all the time in that ship. Once you take off, they can’t catch you if you play your cards right.” “I saw starfighters in the sky,” she said. “Those could catch us. I don’t know about this, Sarli.” “There aren’t that many,” he answered confidently. Romierr watched another round of animated discussion between the four in the kitchen of Sarwas’s apartment. The man whose back had previously been to the camera shifted, giving Romierr a good view of his face for the first time. It took him a second to confirm it through the grainy resolution, but when he did, Romierr’s eyes widened in recognition. He laughed aloud at sheer irony of the situation, drawing strange looks from his two subordinates. “Boss?” Sarwas asked. “Of all the people to meet,” Romierr said, still laughing heartily. “And of all the times. It had to be him.” Sarwas and the other agent exchanged quizzical looks. Romierr saw their confusion and pointed at the man he had just recognized. At second glance, he was sure of it. “That man,” he said, pointing at the screen. “Is no Matukai.” “Who is he?” Sarwas asked. “That,” Romierr informed them, “is a Jedi Knight, or at least he’s probably a Knight by now. His name is Selu Kraen. I ran afoul of him and some of his friends on Ando before the Clone Wars. They tried to catch me and made a decent try of it—didn’t work, of course.” “Are you sure?” Sarwas asked. “Trust me,” Romierr said. “I never forget a face. That’s him.” Sarwas peered in closer at the image. “He is wearing a lightsaber,” he observed. “All three of the others are as well . . . even the one that looks like a Fett clone.” Romierr shook his head in amusement. “And you were saying a helpful Jedi was impossible to wish for,” he said. “He hasn’t agreed to help us,” Sarwas pointed out. “Didn’t you say there was a Delta-7 starfighter impounded in the spaceport?” Romierr asked. “Sure,” Sarwas replied. “Jedi flew those during the wars, remember?” Romierr told him. “A gunship flown by a Jedi might not be able to take down eight fighters, but a starfighter could.” “So why would he help us?” Sarwas asked. “It doesn’t sound like you were on best of terms.” “Because we’ll give him the gunship to help his friends if he does,” Romierr said. “I’d give him safe passage on this ship if it gets us away from the Empire.” “Enemy of my enemy,” Sarwas agreed. “You both have that in common.” “You know what they say,” the other officer said, with a wink at Sarwas. “War makes strange bedfellows.” Sarwas groaned while Romierr rolled his eyes, taking over the comlink. Time for a more straightforward approach to their negotiations. “Time to lay our cards on the table,” he said. “I’d like to speak with Selu Kraen, please.” Romierr took significant pleasure in watching the shocked expressions develop on the faces of the people he was watching. Their astonishment was quite delicious and he could see them struggling to come up with a reply. “Excuse me?” Xlora’s voice asked, injected with just the right amount of confusion. “Who is this?” She was buying time, and it was a good effort, but Romierr already knew better. “Spare me the act,” Romierr replied. “It’s quite good, but I have a cam feed of you and your friends. Tell Jedi Kraen that it’s been a long time since Ando, but I hope he hasn’t forgotten me.” He watched as Selu finally took the comlink while the other scanned the room for the cam. It didn’t take long for them to find it and Selu faced it while holding the comlink. “Ardo Romierr,” Selu said, the words rolling off his tongue like a curse. “Small galaxy, isn’t it?” Romierr asked cheerfully. “What do you want?” Selu asked. “I’ll cut right to it,” Romierr said. “You and your friends are being hunted by the Empire. They’re after us too. We help each other get off this miserable planet and away from the Imperials, then we go our separate ways.” “What are you proposing?” Selu asked skeptically. “Similar to what my man was pitching to your friend a minute ago,” Romierr said. “Except you take that Delta-7 in the spaceport and take out the Imperial starfighters while we make our escape in our ship. In return, you get the gunship.” Selu frowned. “You do realize there’s a still a Star Destroyer overhead?” he pointed out. “A Jedi such as yourself should have no problems outflying it,” Romierr countered. “Do we have a deal?” “So I fly cover for you and your ship, and in return you give us the gunship to make our escape?” Selu asked cautiously. “Nothing else.” “Nothing else,” Romierr said. “This is your best chance to get off Darlyn Boda, and we both know it.” “Yours too,” Selu countered. “Or else you wouldn’t be calling me.” “Then it’s in our best interests to cooperate,” Romierr pointed out. “I gain nothing by deceiving you. We’ll transmit those codes shortly.” “This time,” Selu muttered, considering the offer for a minute longer. “All right. We have a deal.” The Jedi sounded distinctly unhappy about it, not that Romierr felt much better about the arrangement himself, aside from a pragmatic satisfaction that they needed each other, and the Jedi would need to take the fighters out anyway to escape through the air. “Believe me, Selu,” Romierr told him. “The irony is killing me too.” “Let’s just hope we survive long enough to appreciate it.”
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