| abstract
| - Quinlan Vos stepped down the boarding ramp and wrinkled his nose at the fetid smell of Nar Shaddaa. The air was laden with the odors of millions of inhabitants of numerous species and the pungent odor of the garbage and refuse they generated. The Smuggler’s Moon wasn’t exactly known for its hygiene, but it was a prime destination if one wanted to disappear. He had been here before, years ago, and little had changed since then. The packed masses of skyscrapers and the speeders that wove between them like tiny flitnats still looked the same, and a dreary smog hung over the world. If Coruscant was a shining representation of galactic civilization, Nar Shaddaa was the galactic street urchin, underfed, dirty, and decidedly criminal. Its allure was in the fact that it was nearly impossible to find someone who didn’t want to be found on Nar Shaddaa. There were so many places to hide and the sheer volume of people made finding one sentient among billions a colossal feat. That, of course, was exactly what Quinlan intended on doing. Somewhere on this world, his wife Khaleen and his Jedi friends were under cover, waiting for him. Thinking of Khaleen again warmed his heart and brought him some hope. It had been a dark time for him recently, having recovered from battling his inner demons during the war only to be betrayed by his clones. That had been a hellish experience- fighting the clones and the wildlife of Kashyyyk—until his long-time Devaronian smuggler acquaintance Vilmarh Grahrk had rescued him and conducted him offworld to New Holstice to heal. Then Villie had left him again. Nowhe simply wanted to be with his wife again. They had been separated for far too long, but hopefully that would end soon. Stretching out with his Jedi perceptions, his mind roved through Nar Shaddaa seeking out her Force presence, but he didn’t find Khaleen. No matter, she probably wasn’t near the spaceport. However, he soon felt another presence walk down the boarding ramp and turned to see Selu Kraen standing beside him. “Any sign of your friends?” the younger Jedi asked Quinlan. “Not immediately,” said Quinlan. “But I’m sure they’re not exactly being conspicuous.” “True,” said Selu. The two left unspoken the many dangers that still lurked on Nar Shaddaa. Bounty hunters, assassins, and anyone looking for a fat Imperial reward would jump at the chance to nab a Jedi Knight, or especially a Jedi Master such as Vos, and all of those various underworld types were plentiful on the Smuggler’s Moon. “Well, whoever you’re hoping to meet must be important for you to be this persistent in finding them,” said Selu. “You know that you’re welcome to stay with us on the Hawk-bat of course. At least until we’ve settled some matters.” “Thank you for the offer,” said Vos. “I appreciate it, but I think our paths will diverge soon.” “Why do you say that?” asked Selu. “You’ve taught me so much—helped me reconnect to the Force. You could stay.” “A number of reasons,” said Quinlan. “One of them is that there are people waiting on me.” “Jedi?” said Selu, thinking aloud. “That doesn’t make any sense though—if they were other Jedi, I would think you would introduce me to them.” Then Selu’s memory clicked and he recalled some conversations he had overheard in the Jedi Temple. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?” he said. “Khaleen Hentz, perhaps?” “Yes, it is,” said Quinlan. “I don’t really want to know how you know who she is, but we’ve been married for some time.” “It’s not a big deal now,” said Selu. “We’re not exactly bound by the Jedi Code, you know. Yoda isn’t going to kick you out of the Order, assuming he’s still alive.” “No, but we should still adhere to its basic tenets. Still, I would have left the order for Khaleen after the war anyway.” “Well, that’s one reason. What’s the other one?” “The Force has been telling me things whenever I try and look into your future, Selu. Just like everything else, it’s clouded and unclear, but you are meant to be more than a freighter pilot. “Right—I have a great destiny. Next you’ll be telling me that the fall of the Jedi was masterminded by some crazed holodrama consortium seeking to make a quick cred. That’s absurd.” “I don’t usually think of the indications of the Force as absurd, Selu.” “Well, I haven’t sensed anything like this,” said Selu. “I’m so very glad that I have your vote of confidence,” replied Quinlan drily. “Look, Master Vos, I was barely qualified to be a Jedi Knight back during the war and my skills haven’t exactly expanded since then. In fact, leading is the last thing I want to do. I can’t even keep my family out of trouble; much less keep a low profile.” “Selu, you can argue with me all you want, but there’s no sense resisting your destiny.” “Master Yoda said that the future was always in motion.” “True. But there’s too much order in the universe for some things not to be set by the power of the Force. It doesn’t make sense. Don’t you think that some of the events in our lives are determined by the Force, while others are more easily influenced?” “I suppose so. Is that why you had me take the lead in getting us off of New Holstice?” “Basically. I knew that if you passed that test, you would be well prepared for future challenges.” “What challenges? What have you seen?” “Would you believe me if I told you that I didn’t exactly know?” Selu rolled his eyes. “Probably not. It’s just another Master-Padawan test.” Quinlan shrugged. “You passed, didn’t you? We’re not dead and we’re off New Holstice relatively cleanly, right?” “Okay, point seen. Can I ask you a question?” “You just did, but you can ask another.” “Should I still be following the tenets of the Jedi Order even in seclusion? Obviously, staying in the light side is a must, but what about the things like staying isolated from your family.” “Selu, the only thing I can absolutely tell you is what you already said: stay in the light side of the Force. In my opinion, the other parts of the Order’s regulations are not so absolute, and can therefore be eh, modified, if that’s what you wish. At any rate, I don’t see the point in adhering to the mandates of a defunct group.” “So the Jedi are defunct.” “As a galactic organization, yes. And we should remain that way, at least for a while. We must make our own way in the galaxy until the Order is ready to rise again.” “You’re right, I suppose. I just have one more question Why is that Devaronian on the landing pad across from us staring at you?” “That’s the last reason our paths will probably diverge,” replied Vos, not even bothering to look over the expanse that separated the landing platforms suspended over the air and protruding from the spaceport building. “Why?” “Do you remember that I told you about a Devaronian acquaintance of mine who brought me off of Kashyyyk to New Holstice?” “Of course,” said Selu. “Vilmarh Grahrk.” “Well, that’s him. He’s probably wondering how I got here and if I’ve noticed him.” “Shall we drop by and say hello?” inquired Selu. “It would be rather unfriendly not to,” replied the Kiffar Jedi wryly. “I suspect he’d be thrilled to see me again.” The two former Jedi walked back up the boarding ramp of the Hawk-bat, but stopped short of fully entering the ship. Calling on the Force, they cloaked themselves and walked back down to their landing platform. Jogging towards the edge, they both took a running start and launched themselves across the expanse with a Force leap towards the platform where Grahrk had parked his own battered-looking ship, the Inferno. As they landed, they let their Force-woven camouflage dissipate. At the sound of their boots hitting the rusty metal tarmac, Grahrk jumped in surprise and whirled around, blaster in hand. However, Selu was much faster. There was a lightsaber hilt pressed against the Devaronian’s sternum before he had even finished turning around. “Hello Villie,” said Vos evenly, crossing his arms and turning to look sternly at the Devaronian. “Ah, Quinlan Vos. Villie so glad to see you again,” Grahrk wheedled, drawing the Jed Master’s last name out into a sibilant hiss. “I’m sure you are,” said Vos evenly. Selu said nothing, but merely favored the roguish Devaronian with a dark look. “Can Quinlan ask nice friend to remove lightsaber from Villie’s chest?” “Maybe,” said Quinlan. “After you answer a few questions.” “Villie always happy to help.” “Then why did you leave me on New Holstice?” “Silly Jedi. Doesn’t recognize Devaronian brilliance when he sees it.” “Silly Devaronian. Doesn’t recognize annoyed Jedi with a lightsaber when he sees it,” said Selu, speaking for the first time. “Heh heh, Jedi has point. To get his own point straight, Villie came to Nar Shaddaa to pick up Quinlan’s Jedi friends and yum-yum. Then Villie was going to be coming back to New Holstice with friends and everyone be happy again. Except now Quinlan is here.” “I’m glad to see you’re as honest and well-planned as ever, Villie. So where are they then?” asked Vos. “Not on Nar Shaddaa,” replied the Devaronian cunningly. “What? Are you sure about that?” said Quinlan. “Villie very sure. Been lookin’ for them for couple weeks, Villie has. Yum-yum and Jedi not here, but Jedi forget how well connected and brilliant Villie is.” “Get to the point, Grahrk.” “Jedi so impatient. Villie knows where they went.” “Where?” “Kashyyyk.” “Why did they go there?” “Villie hear that she was here, but left. Went to Kashyyyk looking for someone. You, methinks. No one else on Kashyyyk but Wookiees and bucketheads. Is remembering you said something about seeing her on Nar Shaddaa after you left Kashyyyk.” “If you’re lying to me, Villie. . .” “Villie not lie. Not this time. Is no way to make friends.” “Friends, eh? Do friends strand friends on planets for weeks at a time?” “Is very sorry about that, Villie is. Regrettable. Villie not wanting to be captured by bucketheads. Villie could make it up to Jedi though.” “And how is that?” “Villie slip you back into Kashyyyk, go see yum-yum and Jedi pals again.” Quinlan considered the Devaronian’s offer. As annoying and generally untrustworthy as Villie could be, he did seem to be sincere about knowing where Khaleen was. His longing to see her again filled him, and in that moment, he decided. “All right, Grahrk,” he said, shouldering his small bag of possessions. “Let’s make space.” “In that case, this appears to be good-bye, Master Vos,” said Selu. “That it does,” Vos answered gravely. “I’m sorry to leave, but there are people waiting for me. We each have obligations to tend to. You have your family, and I have mine.” “True,” said Selu wanly. Any such notion of he and Quinlan dispatching wave after wave of Mistryl together vanished like a credcoin in front of a politician. “May the Force be with you,” said Selu, as Vos turned to board the ship. “And with you, Selu,” replied Vos. “And remember what I said about destiny.” Vos smiled, then turned and walked up the ramp of the Inferno after Grahrk. As the Jedi Master disappeared, Selu stood there as the ship began powering up. Eventually, he realized that he should probably move. Camouflaging himself once more, he leapt back to his own platform, saddened by the departure of the Jedi Master. As close and guarded as Vos had been, his presence had been a reminder of happier days and fonder memories. The Jedi Master had also helped Selu regain confidence in his use of the Force, not to mention getting off of New Holstice. Now, he was once again stuck on a strange world and not with the best of crowds anyways. A mental check of the crew of the Hawk-bat reminded him that he was shipping with a despondent first mate and a stowaway mercenary. And no captain. Great. Selu looked out over the crowded, chaotic vistas of Nar Shaddaa. There was no order to the world, just teeming masses of people trying to survive and subsist on whatever income they could earn or take off those who had earned income. He sighed. It was ugly to him, just as ugly as the battlefields of the Clone Wars had been. Everywhere he looked, people were suspicious, selfish, and secretive. And those were the role models of society—it went downhill from there. The sooner he was off of this world, the better. Watching as a pair of Ugnaught techs refueled the Hawk-bat, he figured he could lift off in about an hour or so if all went well. Fat chance of that happening. “Are you okay?” Selu, startled,turned, to see Milya standing beside him. “Yes, I’m fine. Just thinking,” he answered idly. “You must have been thinking pretty hard if you didn’t even notice me coming down the ramp,” she probed. Selu grunted, not in the mood to play mind games with Milya. There were too many other things on his mind for that, and he didn’t respond to her attempt to prod him into conversation with her observations. “It’s obvious something is eating away at your thrusters,” she said. “There’s no point in trying to hide it.” “Look,” Selu answered sharply. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m not inclined to share, so if you’d just leave it alone . . .” “Fine,” she said, turning to walk back up the boarding ramp. Thoroughly perturbed by now, Selu stared out into space until the ship was ready for liftoff. Who did she think she was, approaching him like they were friends or something? He barely knew her, after all. Silently, he then returned to the cockpit and began warming up the ship, speaking in monosyllables and only when addressed by one of the other crew. Even as the ship lifted off of the gloomy moon and shot into space, he was quiet, contemplating and brooding over the disappearance of yet another mentor figure. First, it had been Plo Koon, and the Empire had killed him, then there was R’hask Sei’lar, who had met a similar fate. Now Quinlan Vos, whom he had only interacted with for a few weeks, was gone. To add to his worries, there was a niggling sense of danger or threat that he kept sensing. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. The sooner they were back on Commenor, the better, he figured as he made the jump into hyperspace. Commenor Annita Daowot reached for her fifth cup of steaming caf of the night. She was sitting at her extremely cluttered desk while poring over various droid analyses and investigative reports of the Mistryl attacks. Yawning, she ran a hand through her thoroughly mussed hair and noted that it was extremely late at night, but she couldn’t stop now. The lone glowpanel in the room illuminated the datapads, datacards, and other various articles of equipment she was using that were strewn across her desk. This case had been doing its best to stymie her, but Annita refused to give up. Besides the irresistible challenge the Mistryl seemed to present, the added personal dimension fueled her resolve to crack the case and determine where the other Mistryl were lurking. Some of them were still here, she was certain of it. The problem was that there was no way to tell when they had arrived or what ship they had landed in, at least not thus far. Part of her mind hoped that, by solving the case, that Sarth Kraen would finally appreciate her and view as something more than an old friend. She had thought the world of him for years, only to now find him not nearly so unreachable—a mere freighter engineer—and still as unapproachable as ever with his attraction to his crewmember—Cassi was her name? For some reason, his intelligence and close-knit family had drawn her to him and she couldn’t persuade her heart to cut off that desire. Saving each other’s life in that café shootout hadn’t done anything to assuage that desire either. On the other hand, he was still just as obstinate and oblivious to her feelings as ever, treating her with more concern and pity than even respect or platonic interest. Sighing, Annita returned to the spaceport traffic pattern analysis she had been looking over. There was nothing to it but to get back to work. Perhaps if she narrowed her search parameters, the computer would give a clearer resolve. She was searching for young to middle aged human females who had arrived within the last two months, but had come up with a huge list of possibilities. Assuming the Mistryl had some proficiency in forging passports and identicards, there was no easy way to facilitate some sort of sorting query. Meaning that each entry would have to be hand-checked, and even that might not yield anything. Suddenly, she was distracted by the sound of something slamming into a wall or floor. She reached for her comlink to call Dolp, the lone guard on duty at the Investigator station, when the door to her rather crowded office burst open. A lithe looking woman wielding a blaster and wearing a dark jumpsuit and hood strode into the room. Annita unexpectedly found herself staring down the business end of a blaster pistol. “Drop your weapon,” said the woman coldly. Annita complied numbly, carefully extracting the service blaster from its holster and dropping it on the floor. It clattered loudly as it landed on the dull tile floor. “Now get up and come quietly. Hands in the air, you know the drill. Make a false move and I’ll blow a hole through your dense skull,” ordered her captor. Annita stood up, raising her hands above her head. “What do you want with me?” she managed. Her answer was a sudden, swift starburst of pain in the back of her head that sent her to her knees as her vision wavered. A strangely functional part of her mind connected the pain as likely caused by being hit with the barrel of the blaster. “You will not speak unless I want you to. You will not move unless I want you to. You will not do anything unless I want you to. Is that clear?” grated the hooded woman. Fighting back tears and waves of pain shooting through her skull, Annita nodded, wincing at the additional agony that the motion caused. “Good. Get up.” Annita staggered to her feet and, at an indication from her attacker, walked down the hallways to the back entrance of the Investigator station. As she walked, she noticed Dolp slumped onto the ground, his face and neck battered. He was obviously dead, lying at the end of a small blood slick that started a little less than two meters on the wall. Her training told her that he had died from some sort of throat-inflicted wound that had destroyed his larynx. The bruises and damage to the face were likely the result of blunt trauma. Connecting that with the sound she had heard earlier, it was likely that the intruder had slammed Dolp face-first into the wall, and then jabbed him in the throat to kill. Annita shuddered. Approaching an armed guard face-first and then dispatching him unarmed before he could get off a shot implied both arrogant expertise and a level of brazenness not typically found in criminals. The neck jab alone indicated years of training and experience. This wasn’t a local crime job. This was a professional, whoever she was, or really desperate. Or both. Guided by terse orders of the woman, who was careful to avoid revealing the position of her blaster by poking her with it, Annita was conducted out the back entrance of the Investigator station. Outside, she found that it was rather cold and rainy. Apparently, a cold front had blown in while she was working and now she shivered from the wind’s chill as the stinging rain pelted her. Her head throbbed as the water hit it and she was quickly soaked by the driving precipitation. She was led away from the entrance to a dank alley, where a fully enclosed, nondescript gray speeder was parked. “Get in,” ordered her captor. Annita hesitated. The odds of rescue diminished rapidly after one was carried away from the site of abduction, and the speeder would allow her to be taken across a continent if her kidnapper so desired. Suddenly, an arm grabbed her uniform at the nape of the neck and slammed her face into the side of the speeder truck. Reeling, Annita was vaguely aware of the metallic taste of blood on her lips. Her captor drew her back again, but this time opened the door first and shoved her in. Annita tumbled into the speeder, cold, wet, and still stunned. However, the woman lost no time in quickly pinning her arms behind her back and painfully securing a pair of binders around her wrists, wrenching Annita’s arms until she thought they would be pulled out of their sockets. A few seconds later, the woman slid into the driver’s seat in one sinuous motion and pulled the speeder away from the alley. Lying in the back of the vehicle, Annita had no way of telling where they were going and dared not risk moving for fear of retaliation at the hands of her captor. At that point, Annita’s rational mind morbidly reminded her that she was totally alone, with no way to escape or be tracked, and by an assailant who appeared to be completely ruthless. Various horrible fates ran through her mind, tormenting and taunting her. Damp and shivering, she hoped it was all a terrifying nightmare, but to no avail. Elsewhere on Commenor Sarth Kraen sat quietly by the hospital bed, trying to tear his eyes away from the horrific injuries of the man lying there. The former ARC trooper Twone had sustained them while trying to protect him and his family from Mistryl Shadow Guards. Even two days after a full team of Securers had evacuated his family and the surviving bodyguards from the compromised safe house to a secure government medcenter, the ex-trooper still lingered between life and death. Twone’s partner, Spectre, had also been injured, but much less severely. He was ambulatory, but still weak. The other bodyguards, the Twi’lek Bwilor and the Tunroth Drelve Tlaleo had suffered minor injuries also, though Bwilor would walk with a limp for the rest of his life as a result of his blaster wound. Sarth grimaced as the remorse hit him again. This was just the latest in the list of people who had been injured or killed trying to protect him from the Mistryl. Was there to be no peace for him? He had never done anything to them, but his knowledge of droid programming made him a target for seizure for the Mistryl war effort, and they didn’t seem to let up. Maybe the only solution was to surrender—after all, hiding from them didn’t seem to work that well and even a Jedi and two elite ARC troopers had barely managed to hold them off. “He’ll be okay, Sarth,” said Cassi, sitting beside him. Turning to face her, Sarth saw the bandage on her chin and was again reminded of how he was placing those he loved in danger. “Even if he is going to make it, that’s not good enough,” Sarth answered. “What do you mean?” she asked. “The Mistryl won’t stop hunting me, Cassi. Even if I keep hiding and avoiding them, people will die—and all because of me. I won’t have that.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Cassi replied. “I’m not being ridiculous. I have to surrender, Cassi. There’s no other way.” “Have you told your parents?” “No, and I’m not going to until I’m already gone,” he told her firmly. “I’ve already written them a letter on my datapad, but I don’t want them trying to dissuade me also. I almost didn’t tell you, but I thought you needed to know.” “Sarth, you don’t have to do this. Don’t leave me,” she pleaded, shocked by his sudden revelation. “No, I do,” he insisted. “I’m leaving you because I love you and I don’t want you to be hurt anymore.” “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” Cassi asked, her tone filled with resignation and realization. Her eyes widened with horror. “You’ve made up your mind.” “Yes, I have,” said Sarth. “At least tell your parents,” she told him. “Let them see you off, one last time.” However, their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a heavily armed Securer sergeant with a datapad. “Secure transmission for Sarth Kraen from a Micor Kraen,” he said. “That’ll be for me. Thank you, Sergeant,” Sarth answered. Sarth took the datapad and activated it as the sergeant turned and left. “Sarth, how are you? Is this link secure?” Selu asked as his face shimmered into view on the datapad. “I’m good, uh, Micor,” said Sarth. “And yes, the link is secure. What happened? We were worried about you.” “Sorry about the delay—there was an embargo and communications blackout that kept us from leaving New Holstice. And there were other complications as well. It’s a long story, but you need to know this: R’hask Sei’lar is dead.” “What? How?” asked Sarth incredulously. “There was a shootout between government forces and rebels and R’hask got caught in the, uh, crossfire. We had to ‘persuade’ the local garrison that he wasn’t involved, but we got offworld after some tense negotiations and the help of an old friend. I’ll tell you the complete story later. We also have a new crewmember. That’s another herd of nerfs to sort through.” Sarth sat back, shocked. Selu’s report was overloading to say the least and his synapses were having a hard time processing the deluge of new information. Next to him, Cassi sat in a similar state, clearly distraught. “I know, it’s shocking. It’s hard for everyone here too, especially Jorge,” Selu told him. “I’m insystem now, so I’ll meet you at your location if you can provide that.” “I’ll get the coordinates to you,” said Sarth, barely able to speak. Renewed grief had caused a giant lump to form in his throat, so getting the words out was rather difficult. Sarth felt even more overwhelmed than before. Part of him wanted to ask his brother a thousand questions, but the other part of him wanted to just curl up in a ball and will it all away. Except for the presence of Cassi and parents, his life seemed to be turning into one waking nightmare. He wasn’t sure how much more he could deal with. “We had to move after another attack. Cassi, my parents and I are okay, but the bodyguards were injured pretty badly,” Sarth explained. “Another attack?” Selu inquiredly concernedly. “Don’t worry, we fended them off. Anyway, here’s the landing co-“ Suddenly, the hologram sparked, flickered, and was replaced by another image. A hooded woman’s face appeared, a slight smile adorning the jade-hard face. “What in the nine Corellian hells?!” swore Sarth. “Good evening,” said a cool, hard voice. “I trust that Sarth Kraen is one end of this transmission. Don’t worry—this is pre-recorded, so I can’t see your precious little secrets and you can’t trace my location. Suddenly, Spectre was inside the room, holdout blaster at the ready and looking with a dark fury at the holographic image. “I called the Securers,” Spectre informed them. “That’s one of them isn’t it?” There was no doubt as to who he was talking about. Cassi, numb and pale with fright, nodded faintly. “I congratulate you, Kraen. You’ve put up a long and difficult fight, but it’s over. We would have you gotten you eventually, but this way will be much less difficult, I think. “You have apparently surrounded yourself with competent and skillful guards, but your friend here was not so prudent.” The image suddenly shifted to show a drenched Annita, gagged and bound with her hands behind her and a pained expression on her face. The dark background betrayed no indication of where the holo had been taken. “Yes. I have her, and I want you. Here’s the deal—no negotiation. You arrive at Munto Spaceport Bay 38 in three hours alone and unarmed, or I kill her—slowly. Even if she meant nothing to you, the knowledge that the death of this innocent is on your hands will haunt you for the rest of your life. Bring any kind of datacards or whatever that you need to for your programming, but don’t try anything stupid.” Freighter Hawk-bat Selu stared with dismay at the cockpit’s communications console as the transmission flickered and returned to Sarth’s face. “Did you catch all of that?” asked Sarth ashenly. “Every word,” replied Selu grimly. “Then you know that there’s only one option,” said Sarth. “I have to turn myself in.” “And go to Mistryl captivity willingly?” asked Selu incredulously. “You heard her,” said Sarth doggedly. “She’ll kill Annita, and it’ll be my fault. There’s no other choice.” “There’s always another choice. Hold fast until I arrive, then we can talk. Did you trace the signal?” “The Securers tried, but nothing doing,” broke in Spectre. “I figured as much. I’m setting down in Munto soon- give me the coordinates and I will meet you shortly.” “Not a good idea,” said Spectre. “This ‘secure’ transmission has already been broken once—they could be eavesdropping.” “Give it to me in code, then,” said Selu. Spectre gave Selu the coordinates in a series of ARC hand gestures developed for communication during the Clone Wars. “Got it,” said Selu, after he finished. “What are you going to do?” asked Sarth. “I have an idea,” said Selu. “Just trust me. Spectre, keep an eye on things until I get there.” “Copy. Spectre out,” replied the ARC, shutting off the comm. “All right,” said Selu to Jorge. “Take the landing please.” “Why? What’s the matter?” “I need to do some thinking and meditating.” With that, Selu vacated his pilot’s chair, striding down the corridor past a startled Milya back to his quarters. Commenor Spectre stood wearily, trying to assess the situation and come up with an alternative to Sarth surrendering to the Mistryl. So far, he was having a difficult time conceptualizing a scenario in which the Mistryl died and Annita and Sarth didn’t. ARCs were good at improvisation, but he wasn’t one hundred percent. Actually, he was barely fit for combat, if even that. The burns on his back and leg were still very fresh, but he pushed back the pain. People were counting on him to make something happen. Suddenly, his concentration was disrupted by Twone’s voice. “Spectre,” called Twone hoarsely. “What is it?” said Spectre, kneeling down at the ARC’s bed. The injured soldier was pale and shaking, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Not . . . gonna last much longer,” said Twone. “I’m get-getting weaker.” “No!” said Spectre sharply. “You’ll be fine. Just pull through it.” “Listen to me,” said Twone, coughing slightly. “Sorry I couldn’t, couldn’t get them all.” “It’s not your fault,” said Spectre. “I-I know what the pilot is going to do.” “What?” “He’s wearing a lightsaber—forgot to take it off during transmission. He’s your Jedi . . . friend, isn’t he?” Spectre thought about it, then admitted the truth. Twone wasn’t in a position to harm anyone at the moment, nor even turn Selu in to the Empire. At least, not for now. “Yes, he is Sarth Kraen’s Jedi brother. I knew him during the war.” “Tell him I’m s-sorry about his friend on Cato. I understand now . . . about the Jedi and their sacrifices.” “All right. But what is he going to do?” “Come . . . closer.” Spectre leaned in close and Twone hoarsely whispered to him what the Jedi planned on doing. In response, Spectre’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?” he asked. But he received no answer. Twone’s eyes were frozen forever. Spectre put a hand to his neck and found no pulse. Glancing up at the lifesign monitor confirmed it: Twone was gone. Too late, a nurse rushed in and began performing attempts at resuscitation and other orderlies and medical droids followed. Spectre backed off and let them through, remaining knelt on the floor several paces away. Eventually, Spectre stood up and that motion hurt more than any injury he had ever sustained did. He had been shot nearly to pieces on several occasions and had seen countless comrades die, but somehow seeing Twone’s cheery face frozen in death hurt more than anything before. Losing a friend was a relatively new experience for him. It was much simpler in the army. When people died, orders took precedence and commitment to the GAR was placed over individual survival. There were no friends—only brothers and comrades and superiors and civilians. Things weren’t so clean cut now. Now that he was out of the army, what anchor did he have to cling onto in the middle of loss? He hadn’t been working for Bwilor long enough for any type of lasting commitment to endure, and there wasn’t that same brotherhood between the Durashield Employees as there had been in the army. Spectre tried to ignore the dull ache in his gut, but the realization that Twone was gone forever would continue to haunt him.. Never one for expressing emotion, he sat rigidly for a while, disregarding all concepts of time, his face frozen in a visage of intensity. “Seed the stars, Twone,” he said softly, reciting the ARC creed. Spectre was still sitting like that when Selusda Kraen filed in an hour later, followed by Jorge and Milya. The Jedi stopped at the sight of Spectre and the now-shrouded body of the ex-trooper. Motioning the other two on ahead into the room where Sarth, Cassi, Lena, and Samtel were, he stood there silently. “What happened?” he asked finally. “He didn’t make it,” said Spectre quietly. “Twone gave his life to take out some of the Mistryl and warn me of the danger.” “In that case, he died defending my family,” said Selu. “Rest assured, I will not forget it.” Spectre looked up at Selu, and for the first time let his pain be expressed on his face. “He wanted you to know something,” Spectre said. “You knew Bairdon Jace, didn’t you?” “Yes,” said Selu, the name conjuring up memories and pain. “He was a colleague and friend of mine. He was killed on Cato Neimodia.” “Twone was one of the ones on Cato Neimodia when the order came down, and he followed his orders. He killed your friend those months ago. He wanted me to tell you that he was sorry, that he understood now.” “What?” said Selu, his respect for the former ARC nearly ruined by the anger that arose at the thought of Bairdon being cruelly gunned down. “How did he know who I was?” “You forgot to take off your lightsaber during your transmission.” “I wondered if anyone had noticed that,” said Selu, the lightsaber now safely tucked away. “I realized it after the transmission ended. What did Twone understand?” “He said he understood why the Jedi were so willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good after he did the same thing. He wouldn’t have wanted hard feelings.” Selu slowly composed himself and realized that Spectre was right. The past couldn’t be altered. Instead of clinging on to resentment, he released the sentiment and honored the sacrifice of the ex-trooper. Twone had been following orders when he killed Jace, but had voluntarily given his life to save Sarth. In that sense, it seemed to Selu that the trooper had been made of nobler stuff than it seemed initially. Following orders was the duty of all the clone troopers, as horrific and treacherous as it seemed, but Selu could think of no greater sacrifice than to willingly lay down one’s life for another, especially someone who was not well known to him. No matter what Twone had done to Bairdon Jace, he had died to save Sarth, and that was what mattered at the moment. “I am indebted to him. He was a great warrior,” Selu said finally, not yet meeting Spectre’s eyes. “He told me what you were going to do, about the choice of the Jedi. He was right, wasn’t he?” Selu looked Spectre straight in the eye. “Yes, old friend. I am.” “Are you going to tell the others?” “No. There isn’t time for argue it out with them. I need to do this quickly and I need your help to pull it off. Whenever Sarth goes to do what he has to, I’ll be one step ahead of him. Would you do something else for me?” “What is it?” replied Spectre, resisting the urge to automatically add the “sir” honorific to each sentence when addressing a Jedi. “Give this to them,” Selu said, handing Spectre a disk. “There are some specific instructions for you on there. I suppose it goes without saying that it’s imperative that they’re carried out. Keep an eye on Milya too, she’s the new girl, and I’m not entirely sure about her.” “Understood.” And with that, Selu turned sharply and left the room, heading for his appointment with destiny.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)