So...long time no see on these forums.

 

Before the wipe, I had a series going that a lot of people seemed to really enjoy, and sadly, I never finished because of the wipe. Well, the game is loads of fun and has motivated me to reboot the series so readers can see the end and so I can share with new readers.

 

And so, I am pleased to announce the return of Voyages!

 

 

 

 

The forests of Tython in the early morning rang with the songs of life rising with the cool mists above the trees. Shimmering rainbows glittered in the air as the sunlight bathed the landscape. In one of the clearings, littered with a few ancient ruins, came two persons.

 

Leading the pair was an elderly man. His white hair was long – reaching down to his thighs – and it was separated into two braids. A few feathers were tied into the braids at the ends. His clothes were peculiar – made entirely of animal fur. There was a deerskin cape that hung on his back, and the head of the animal – with its immense antlers thrusting upwards – was made into his cowl. He leaned heavily on a wooden staff shaped like a shepherd’s tool.

 

The second person was far younger, with short brown hair save for a single braid that brushed against his shoulder. He wore modest robes colored white and brown – the typical sort of clothing for a Jedi. His face was full of youth, untouched and bright and soft. He looked far younger than he truly was. Instead of his twenty-one years, he seemed more like eighteen.

 

The elder man stopped in the center of the clearing, and the younger lad stood next to him. Kneeling down, the former reached over and touched a small, delicate flower. Next to it was a piece of one of the ruins.

 

“Do you see this flower, Targon?” he asked, turning to the young man, who kneeled to join him in inspecting the blossom.

 

“Yes, Master Tieru,” the youth replied. “What do you intend to teach with it in today’s lesson?”

 

The old man smiled. His pure white eyes sparkled, and his pointed ears twitched. “Not something as simple and typical as that, my padawan. First, I want you to inspect the flower and enjoy the beauty it presents.”

 

Targon Karashi nodded, and did as he was told. His master, Tieru was unlike anyone in many respects. For one, he did not share the usual Arkanian reliance and fascination with technology and science. He focused his interest in the natural world, and enjoying the beauty it presented. For another, he was not the usual Jedi Master. His lessons were not taught as lectures or tests – but rather he concealed his teaching principles in stories, and in this case, in objects.

 

After a moment, Targon said, “It certainly is a bright and pretty flower, master.”

 

“Go into more detail,” Tieru requested.

 

“Its pattern is simple, yet complex at the same time. It doesn’t follow any discernable course; the petals just follow a random course as they extend outward.”

 

“Are they random?” the master asked pointedly.

 

“I don’t know…they aren’t structured, as a person would create. I think…I think the flower takes its own direction and design.”

 

Tieru nodded. “It follows the path that the Force has prepared for it, not what anything else demands.”

 

“Is this how a Jedi should be, master?” Targon asked.

 

“That is no easy question,” Tieru replied. “In order to be a part of this world, you must learn to be in harmony with all the other life and patterns around you. But, in order to be what the Force wills you to be, you must learn to take your own path, and not simply follow what the world governs.”

 

Targon sighed. “Master, that seems a contradiction.”

 

“It is, and yet it isn’t. You’ll have to find the truth of that matter for yourself. Now, look again at the flower…” Tieru pointed to it. “Tell me, Targon, does the flower appear strong to you? Do you think it could endure a harsh storm?”

 

“No, master,” Targon answered. “It’s too weak; there isn’t the strength within it to match against any sort of threat.”

 

“Yet it has survived,” Tieru said. “Tell me, why do you think it has been able to remain intact for so long despite being such a delicate object?”

 

Targon studied the bloom a little longer and then noted the rock next to it. “It has been sheltered by the rock, master. The ancient ruin has protected it from the heaviest incidents of the weather and from animals that may have passed this way.”

 

“Good,” Tieru smiled. “As you have noticed, this stone – far more experienced and venerable – protects the flower against the threats of the world. However, remove the stone, and do you suppose that the flower will survive?”

 

“I suppose you’re comparing me to the flower and you to the stone?” Targon countered. “You don’t think I am strong enough to withstand the harshness alone because I have been sheltered by you?” Targon knew this was the analogy, and it definitely fit well enough. Targon was young, like the flower, compared to Tieru and the stone. His master was well over one hundred years old.

 

Tieru shook his head slowly. “I do not believe I have failed to teach you to be strong on your own, young Targon. You are a fine young man, and a strong disciple of the Force. However, I have presented this lesson to you to get you in the proper mindset. We are leaving Tython tomorrow.”

 

“Leaving to where, master?”

 

The old Jedi started to lift himself back up to his feet. Targon quickly was up and helped his teacher.

 

“As Jedi, it is our duty to mediate disputes and debates between the people of the galaxy. Your training is nearing completion, my padawan. Your knowledge of history, channeling, and combat has well exceeded the requirements, and now it is time for you to learn diplomacy and to put what you have learned into application.”

 

“Yes master,” Targon concealed his excitement. He enjoyed the peace and safety on Tython, but he was eager to go out and see the galaxy – and to do all the things Jedi did.”

 

“Well, Targon, we’ll get our things together this evening and be off to Ord Mantell on the morrow. There’s a lot of work to be done in order to get the separatists and the planetary government to consider peace talks. It will be our responsibility to bring the two sides to the table. Are you ready for such a mission, Targon?”

 

“Of course, master,” Targon nodded eagerly.

 

“However, there’s no need to rush back to the temple,” Tieru said. “Let’s continue our walk through the forest, and you can take the time to ponder my lesson in your mind.”

 

 

Targon had trouble sleeping during the night. At first it was the excitement of actually going out into the field. He had been cooped up on Tython for many years. Sure, he had plenty of learning and exploring on the capital world of the Jedi Order, but he longed to see the galaxy – and do all the things that the Jedi were meant to do.

 

But that eagerness did not keep him awake. He had drifted off to sleep in the middle of the night, but he awoke suddenly mere minutes later after getting a sudden wrenching in his gut. Three more times that happened.

 

He got himself a drink and used some meditative calming techniques. For a moment, he was calm and felt better. Getting back into bed, Targon then fell asleep. And then the unease came again – worse this time. And he was unable to wake up. He found himself lost in a horrific dream.

 

It was a cold, dark cavern. Targon shivered, but there was no way of getting warm. He felt as though he was down deep somewhere, for he felt the pressure of the dank air. He was standing on a stone walkway, high above a bottomless pit. Down the way, there was a wide, circular platform. Targon made his way over there, wondering if there was anything to see.

 

Sitting alone in the center of the platform was a haggard old woman, dressed in a dark cloak. Her gray hair was ratty and filthy. Her face seemed shriveled by the wrinkles. She looked quite disgusting. And the presence she had seemed even more so.

 

Targon happened to hear some of her thoughts – and they were horrible and dark. It was all about destruction, vengeance, ruin…and death. He figured this woman must be a Sith, for who else would dwell on such horrid thoughts? Targon wanted to leave, but he couldn’t. Something forced him to remain.

 

A presence was approaching. Something even more dark and sinister than this old woman. Targon thought he could smell rot and decay growing stronger in his nostrils. Footsteps came from behind, and Targon turned to see.

 

It was a man, dressed in black robes that seemed to disappear into the dark void. He was human – but he certainly didn’t look like it by his face. His skin was gray and thin, so that it simply clung to his bones. Lips pale, hair thin…eyes inverted. Where they were meant to be white they were dark as ash, and the pupils were ghostly pale.

 

Targon felt fear grip him at the sight of both hideous persons. He wanted to flee, to get away from these grisly, terrible beings. The man passed by him and approached the meditating woman.

 

A cold, grating query arose from the old woman’s lips. “Why do you disturb me?”

 

“I am finished with your tutelage,” came the reply from the man’s cruel voice.

 

The old woman rose, her stern eyes glaring at her pupil. “Is that any way to speak to your master? After decades of training and learning the higher ways of the Force, you dare to come and cast me off like a withered branch?”

 

“Forty-seven years I have endured your preaching, and wallowed under your foot, you worthless hag,” the man snarled. “Always you promised to teach me how to obtain power for my vengeance, and yet all the while you have lied to me and used me for your own glory.”

 

“What foolishness have you concocted here?” the woman asked. “Do you dare to defy your master?”

 

“Master?” the man hissed in foul mockery. “You are not my master anymore, witch. I have seen your true purpose in mind for my power – you desire to use me to destroy your bitter enemies in the Sith. But I will not be used…my power is for my vengeance, not yours.”

 

A lightsaber ignited in the old woman’s hands. Its crimson glow lit up the chamber a bit, but not enough to subdue the darkness around them. “You are a failure, Khan, and I see that my decades of training you have been for naught.”

 

“I disagree,” the man rebutted. His hand rose and the saber was yanked from the witch’s feeble hands. It was crushed in the outstretched hand without any exertion of effort. “I have applied your knowledge to hone and focus my strength. Now see what power I have learned on my own…”

 

The old woman rose into the air, weak cries uttered from her throat. “What is this? How is this possible?”

 

“I am one with the darkness,” the man answered. “I am the master now.”

 

His bony hand clenched slowly, and it appeared as though he was grabbing hold of something. Then his other hand rose and reciprocated the motion. The old woman’s body trembled and shook. At last, the man pulled his arms apart, and the hag screamed so horribly that Targon felt his blood run cold.

 

The molecules of the old woman were ripped apart, and a charred skeleton remained floating in the air for a moment before it too was shattered into microscopic particles. A horrid sigh came from the man, as he seemed to strengthen in stature and power – as though he fed from the death of his former master.

 

Targon cried out in terror, as he happened to see the ghostly eyes of the dark being once again.

 

He awoke in his bed, back in his warm chambers in the Jedi Temple. Back on Tython. Targon did not sleep for the rest of the waning night. Instead, he spent these hours trying to calm and center himself in meditation. The frightening vision did not recur, and it did not seem to replay in his thoughts. But the memory of it was sure enough, and it kept him in a cold sweat until the rising of the sun at dawn.

Edited March 12, 2012 by TargonKarashi

 

Targon kept quiet during the trip. He said a quick farewell to some of his friends at the temple, and then he followed Master Tieru silently to the ship that would take them to Ord Mantell.

 

It was a small diplomatic ship, carrying several other ambassadors, suppliers, and office transfers. The Jedi pair were the last passengers to board before it took off and headed towards the war-torn planet. There, each of the passengers would go their separate ways Most to Republic military bases, others to offices in the cities. It was more than likely, Targon noted, that he wouldn’t be seeing most of these people again. So nobody bothered to get to know each other, despite the long and boring flight.

 

Tieru noticed the troubled thoughts from his padawan’s mind. He let the lad alone for a while, but soon he turned to his apprentice.

 

“Would you like to tell me what is bothering you, Targon?” he asked softly.

 

Targon looked up at his master. “I had a rough night, master.”

 

“So I see,” Tieru nodded. “You’re a little dark under the eyes, suggesting you didn’t sleep well. Not to mention your tired expression. But I’m guessing it was more than simple insomnia.”

 

Sighing, Targon said, “I had a disturbing dream…it may have been a vision.”

 

“A vision?” Tieru’s eyebrows rose slightly. “What did you see?”

 

“It was frightening, master, deeply entrenched in the Dark Side.”

 

“Indeed? What was it? Was it about you?”

 

Targon shook his head. “I was witnessing it, but I wasn’t participating. There was a dark cavern, with a walkway and a platform high above an abyss. There was an old woman…a Sith, I think. She was destroyed by her apprentice.”

 

“Killed? Like a coup or an assassination?” Tieru inquired.

 

“No master…I say destroyed because that’s what it was…She was ripped apart – at the molecular level.”

 

Tieru’s hand came to his chin in a pondering gesture. “I’ve heard of such techniques through the Force – but such is rare and terrible. It requires great power and enslavement by the Dark Side.”

 

“The apprentice,” Targon continued, “he was most frightening. He appeared completely ravaged by the Dark Side, his whole body…and his eyes…”

 

“Were there any names?” Tieru asked. “Did you learn who they were?”

 

“The old woman called her apprentice…Khan.”

 

Master Tieru’s expression betrayed nothing of what he thought. But when Targon mentioned the name of the man in his vision, his master questioned him no more.

 

“Is something wrong, master?” Targon asked.

 

“No, no…It is best to keep our minds focused on the here and now. We’ll be arriving at the planet soon enough and we need to be focused on our mission of diplomacy. We can discuss this later, and devote our full attention to it.”

 

Targon nodded, but he still felt uneasy. It was difficult to set aside such a disturbing vision, but he was able to keep his mind focused on the work ahead of him. He needed to remember all the proper etiquette that would be expected of him, the right things to say – and the proper time and manner in which to say them. While thinking, he happened to fall asleep. Peacefully, this time.

 

 

Seeing Targon asleep, Tieru stood up and walked to a secluded area of the ship for privacy. He then sat down in a meditative stance and closed his eyes. His consciousness left the ship and sailed through the depths of space to a calm and peaceful field of pure white. The light was nearly blinding, but he had long ago grown accustomed to it.

 

Here was where he had often gone in his meditations to find peace and solace. This was also where he could consult his closest friends, wherever they might be in the galaxy. He called out a name, and his voice seemed to echo endlessly through the empty field.

 

“Eseri.”

 

A figure faded in from the whiteness – a female Miraluka, slender and elderly. Her graying hair was tied carefully in a braid. She was dressed in soft blue robes, with a white band that covered where eyes would be, if she had any.

 

“Tieru, how good to see you,” she said with a soft smile. “How long has it been?”

 

“Too long, my old friend,” Tieru replied. “Almost fifty years.”

 

“Yet I suppose we had our reasons,” Master Eseri sighed. “What brings this meeting?”

 

Tieru replied, “A matter of grave importance. Do you know where the others are? Urak and Boreos?”

 

The Miraluka shook her head. “The others have been silent, and I have not been able to contact them over these many years. However, I suppose that could be considered a good thing, considering…”

 

“I’m afraid he is returning,” Tieru stated.

 

Eseri put her hand to her mouth in surprise. “Are you certain? How do you know?”

 

“My padawan has had a vision – and he saw Khan.”

 

“Impossible,” the Miraluka shook her head. “If he were still alive after half a century, he’d be a terribly old man. Humans do not live very long, and their strength fails them in their old age.”

 

“Not always,” Tieru countered. “You let your prejudice against the human species fool you into false security. Many humans have lived for long periods of time. The Force can strengthen and prolong life. And you know what Khan sought.”

 

“He was a blind fool then, Tieru, and if he still seeks immortality now, he is yet a fool. An old fool.”

 

“Like me, I suppose?” Tieru said, lightening the mood. “If Khan is returning, as my apprentice’s vision suggests, then we must warn the others.”

 

“I have tried to contact them, as I said,” Eseri shook her head. “I wonder if they are still alive. Fifty years is a long time, after all.”

 

“Not according to the universe, or the Force,” Tieru cocked his head.

 

“You continue to humble me, Tieru,” Eseri smiled in resignation.

 

“Only because you have much yet to learn, as do I.”

 

“Will you seek out the others then?”

 

Tieru sighed. “If you cannot find them, then I don’t know if I can. I lack the sight and clarity of the Miraluka.”

 

“You say that,” Eseri smirked, “and yet you seem to lecture me with your greater wisdom.”

 

“Wisdom and sight are not the same,” Tieru held up a finger. “But I have no need to lecture or instruct you, Eseri. You have been a master almost as long as I. Be watchful, my friend, for it would seem a greater darkness than the Empire is returning like a storm. I only hope we can stop it this time.”

 

Eseri bowed and then faded away. Left alone, Tieru at first tried to call out to the others…but as his friend had said earlier, they were not answering. He peered deeper, letting himself be taken on the currents of life through the Force, searching for Urak. That Feeorin was nearly as old as Tieru, and therefore had many more years to live.

 

He followed the path that his old friend had traveled through the galaxy, as though he were following his footsteps. They moved all over the Outer Rim…and then they stopped at a small world in a remote system. There were signs of recent life – whole cities, even – and now there was nothing. No life…and a lingering darkness. This was most distressing. Urak was nowhere to be found, his presence was not among the living.

 

Tieru then started to search for Boreos. He pursued the trail one planet after the other…

 

He suddenly felt himself yanked back into the world. Targon knelt before him, lightly shaking his shoulder.

 

“Master,” Targon said. “The ship has arrived at Ord Mantell.”

 

“Ah, yes,” the Jedi Master nodded and started to get up. He leaned a great deal on his staff for support. Targon took his arm and tried to help him.

 

“Thank you, my boy,” Tieru nodded to his apprentice. “We should be off at once.”

 

“What were you doing, master?” Targon asked. “Besides simply meditating?”

 

“Just meditating, Targon, just meditating.” He didn’t want to delve into this sort of thing at the moment. And certainly not with his padawan. This was something far beyond the boy’s control, and it would only put fear and unease into his mind.

 

 

Targon was frustrated. It had been hours since their arrival, and still they had yet to speak with anyone of importance with the government. The Republic garrison command had simply sent them off to the city center, and then the secretaries of the various departments had simply passed them around in circles.

 

Noting his padawan’s irritation, Tieru stopped before they entered into yet another office. He turned to Targon.

 

“Why don’t you go for a walk to relax your mind?” he suggested. “I’ll handle the obstinate business in here. I’ll contact you if I make any progress.”

 

“Are you sure you should be alone, master?”

 

“What? You think because I’m old I can’t handle a few politicians and their secretaries?” Tieru laughed. “I’ll be fine. It’s you who needs to find focus. And you definitely won’t find any walking in circles and listening to annoying officials direct us to a different department. I daresay the government on this planet is a joke.”

 

“That doesn’t sound very Jedi-like, master,” Targon smiled.

 

“No, I suppose it doesn’t. However, unhelpful individuals annoy even a Jedi Master. Yet, we must continue this work. Eventually, we’ll find someone who has the ability to see to any sort of peace talks. Perhaps you shall find a way on your walk – an unorthodox method. I’ve known many padawans that have done such.”

 

“Yes, master,” Targon bowed and walked down the street. There wasn’t much to be said for sights to see. Everything was run-down or damaged – consequences of the civil war. Soldiers were scattered through the area, most resting, others checking their gear.

Targon, while looking around inattentively, accidentally bumped into one. The bulk of the trooper nearly knocked him to the ground, but he caught himself.

 

“I’m terribly sorry,” Targon bowed.

 

The soldier turned around to face him. He was somewhat tall, and he was certainly a veteran. Targon noted his battle scars and gray hair. His armor was also battered, and well used.

 

“You’re quite alright, lad,” the soldier said. “I never could keep out of the younger generation’s way before, and I suppose it’s no different now.”

 

“I beg your pardon?” Targon raised an eyebrow.

 

“The name’s Marc Avis…but all the young boys call me ‘Old Greyhawk’.”

 

“Pleasure to meet you…Major?” Targon supposed, glancing at the insignia on the soldier’s armor. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean by ‘out of the way’.”

 

“Well, you probably wouldn’t,” Marc sighed. “I am an old dog, a relic of the past war. I’ve no business being around young sports like you.”

 

“I suppose you’ve a few years over me to come up with that philosophy,” Targon said. “But I imagine you’re no grunt when it comes to the battlefield – you’re still here, aren’t you?”

 

Marc smiled. “Well now, I wasn’t expecting praise from a young lad – even a Jedi. Thanks.”

 

“Perhaps you could share your greater knowledge and experience with me?” Targon asked.

 

“How can I help?”

 

“My master and I have come to aid in possible negotiations with the separatists here on Ord Mantell – to put an end to the fighting.”

 

The major interrupted. “After all this time? The Jedi never came before – what’s with the change? All other attempts at diplomacy have failed. That’s kind of the reason this is a war-zone planet.”

 

“Well,” Targon chose not to be offended by the interruption. “The fighting has gone on for quite some time, and my master was hoping to bring an end to it.”

 

“Who’s your master?”

 

“His name is Tieru.”

 

“I’ve never heard of him,” Marc shook his head.

 

“No, you probably wouldn’t have.”

 

“So what’s your problem?”

 

Targon shook his head frustrated. “Everywhere we go to speak with someone useful in the government, we just keep getting sent to another office. And when we get there, they send us off again.”

 

Marc chuckled. “That’s not unexpected. The government of this planet is a bad joke, to be completely honest.”

 

Targon raised an eyebrow again. “My master said almost the exact same thing!”

 

“He was right,” the soldier sighed. He leaned in closer to him. “I’m not supposed to talk like this, but it’s really no secret that the whole planetary government is run by criminal cartels that threw in their lot with the Republic. If anything, you’ll probably find more success in diplomacy with the separatists…but that’s not saying much.”

 

“Thanks for the advice,” Targon nodded. “I certainly don’t want you to get yourself in any trouble.”

 

“Bah!” Marc scoffed. “I’m an old soldier – and command’s been trying to get me killed on the field for twelve years now. It doesn’t matter what I say.”

 

“Is there anything you could tell me about the situation on the planet? Or about the separatists?”

 

“Not much more than you probably already know,” Marc replied.

 

“Do you know any way to contact someone of the opposite side that might be interested in talking?”

 

“I don’t, but I know someone who will,” the soldier answered. “Follow me; I’ll take you to him.”

 

Targon followed, figuring to himself that if his master needed him, he would be contacted directly. Besides, Tieru would probably want Targon to start doing some Jedi business on his own. He needed to if he ever wanted to become a knight.

 

Marc Avis brought Targon to a penurious area, where every structure looked like it was about to collapse at any moment. Poor folk were littered all over the place, digging through garbage to find food. They all seemed to ignore the pair of strangers walking past them.

 

“Doesn’t the Republic do anything to help these people?” Targon asked.

 

The soldier sighed. “Yes, what aid can be spared for this world is sent to alleviate the suffering of the poor…but I’m afraid that most of the supplies never reach the people.”

 

“Why?” Targon asked, though he had a suspicion as to the reason.

 

“The government is full of greedy and selfish criminals masquerading as officials.”

 

“And yet the Republic works with them? Don’t they do more to stop the corruption?” Targon felt disgust rising in his stomach at the idea of the Republic working with criminals that starve their own people.”

 

“If I could do anything about it, I surely would,” Marc stated indignantly, for he felt that the Jedi’s accusatory tone was directed to him as well as his superiors. “I follow my orders, and I do what I’m told. I’m no commander, and I’m definitely not someone with power to bring supplies directly to the people.”

 

“Yes you are,” Targon countered.

 

“If I were a smuggler or a vigilante, then sure,” Marc shrugged. “But I’m a soldier – and there are rules to follow for a soldier. You wouldn’t understand, Jedi.”

 

Targon sighed. “I suppose I wouldn’t. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. It’s just…I’ve never really seen suffering like this…up close and in person.”

 

“Well,” Marc’s tone softened when he himself realized that the Jedi meant well. “As a soldier, you end up seeing a lot of pain – on all sides of the conflict. These folks here, most of them are relatives and supporters of the separatists. I can’t say I blame them.”

 

“Won’t they have a problem with us?” Targon asked.

 

“Nah, they’re too busy trying to survive. And I keep on good terms with the guy in charge here. Jethro Pax, he’s called…and he’s the guy we’re going to see.”

 

“Is he part of the separatists?”

 

Marc nodded. “Head of one of the cells in the region. If you want to talk peace with the separatists, he’s a good one to see.”

 

“How is it you keep an amicable relation with him if he’s an enemy? Don’t your commanding officers…?”

 

“What? You think my superiors know about everything going on here?” Marc cut him off. “They’re too busy trying to run the cities, let alone manage what the troops do. Besides, nobody cares what old Greyhawk does.”

 

They came at last to a building that was supposed to be a library – or at least it used to be. No computers or books remained. Instead, the shelves and ragged furniture was put up as a series of barriers in the building. There wasn’t anyone around, which Targon thought odd, if it was where a separatist leader hung around.

 

Suddenly, three armed men emerged from clever hiding spots. They were out so fast that Targon didn’t have time to even sense their presence and intent before both he and Marc were surrounded – with blasters pointed at their heads.

 

“Are you greeted so hostile every time you come to visit?” Targon asked.

 

“Hostile? No, Jedi, this is a rare friendly greeting. They must have seen me coming a ways off and put down their guard a bit.”

 

Targon glanced at the closest blaster’s muzzle, mere inches from his ear. Friendly, eh? He’d hate to see an unfriendly greeting, then.

 

A man came out of the building. He was dressed in old body armor that was in dire need of cleaning. Actually, everything about him needed some cleaning – but then, Targon figured that the separatists wouldn’t be any better off than the civilians with the government being as it was.

 

“Well, Greyhawk,” the man laughed. “You’ve snuck away from your post for another chat, huh?” He shook Marc’s hand, and then regarded Targon. “I see you brought company…a Jedi, no less.”

 

Targon bowed his head in greeting. “My name is Targon Karashi, and I’m here to…”

 

The man cut him off. “Inside, we talk inside,” he pointed to the entrance of the building. The man led in Marc and Targon, and the armed guards followed behind them.

 

“You must be Jethro Pax,” Targon supposed when they finally came to a stop.

 

“Indeed I am,” the dirty man said. “Now, what’s your business in coming here, Jedi?”

 

“My master and I are here to promote possible peace talks between the planetary government of Ord Mantell and the separatists.”

 

“Those criminals are not our government,” Jethro frowned. “And I don’t like anyone considering them as such, or even hinting at them.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Targon apologized. “All I was meaning to say was that we want to bring peace to this world.”

 

“For all I know, the Republic could be using your Jedi peacefulness to draw us out and ambush us. I’m no fool to underhanded tactics in war, Jedi.”

 

“I assure you this is no plot of treachery,” Targon said.

 

“Yet what good is the word of a stranger?” Jethro asked. He held up a finger to silence Marc before he spoke. “And don’t try to sway me with your personal assurance, Greyhawk. I have no way of knowing whether you’re working for yourself or your masters in this instance.”

 

“Pax, you know me,” Marc protested.

 

“Maybe not as well as I should,” Jethro countered. “And I certainly don’t know this boy here.” He turned back to Targon. “If you really want to convince me of serious intent of peace, then you’ve got to prove it.”

 

“How can I do that?” Targon asked. In the back of his mind, he was starting to get nervous at the whole situation. Technically, he was speaking to a rebel and an enemy…but wasn’t he also a person and a man believing in his actions?

 

“You probably noticed the starving folks outside – my people,” Jethro pointed out the window. “Jedi are meant to help the weak and the suffering, aren’t they? I want you to raid a shipment of supplies that the worms in the government are shipping to their personal estates. Bring the food and aid to the people, and then I can consider going along with your plan to negotiate with us.”

 

Targon’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You want me to steal? I can’t do that.”

 

“They are the one’s who have stolen from their own people!” Jethro said boldly. “You can’t steal from someone when it doesn’t belong to them in the first place. I would have thought a Jedi would know that.”

 

Targon did not know what to say to that. The only thing he could think of was to counsel with his master, and see what he thought about the matter. His thoughts were interrupted by Jethro’s next statement.

 

“Spies say a large shipment will soon pass the river a few kilometers east. That will be your target. Well, Jedi, are you going to help the people? Or are you going to keep throwing in your lot with the government?”

 

There was no time for contemplation, and certainly no time to get back to his master. He had to make a decision…but what? Should he refrain from getting so involved in the conflict? He came to make peace, not join in the fighting. Yet…could he sit and do nothing while people starved? Such was not the way of the Jedi.

 

To Marc it was a clear and easy choice – even though he had some of his own concerns to deal with. He clapped Targon on the shoulder. “Of course young Targon here will accept the mission, won’t you?” He raised a gray and bushy eyebrow.

 

“I…” Targon hesitated, but then he made the decision. “Yes, I will get the supplies. There’s probably no chance of simply talking about the matter and getting the food through diplomacy, is there?”

 

Jethro laughed. “No chance. We’ve been fighting the government for years…and they aren’t about to allow the poor and destitute respite any time soon. You’re probably going to have to fight them for the contents of the shipment, but that shouldn’t be too difficult for a Jedi.”

 

Targon sighed. “I guess I’d better be leaving now.”

 

He was shown to the door, and he walked slowly eastward. There were heavy footsteps tromping a little behind him.

 

“What are you doing, Marc?” Targon asked.

 

“You didn’t think I’d get you into this sort of mess and then just leave you to get out of it by yourself, did you?” the soldier asked.

 

“Couldn’t you get in trouble with the military for aiding the enemy? I can’t allow you to put yourself in that situation.”

 

Marc shook his head. “What does old Greyhawk care for those bums that run the Republic military from their fancy offices? This is about helping real people – about standing up for the principles that the Republic claims to uphold. If I end up being court-martialed for this, well then, I’ll still have felt better about today than my entire career in the military.”

 

Targon was awed by this man’s devotion, and it shamed him that he had actually had to think about his assignment – and even considered walking away from it. Well, now he was involved. It was nice to know he wasn’t going to be completely on his own.

 

He just hoped he wouldn’t disappoint his master.

 

 

Tieru leaned on his staff, using his free hand to rub his forehead in exhaustion and frustration. Yet another secretary brushing him off. He easily resisted the urge to simply force his way through and get results. Such was not the way a Jedi behaved – and he had over one hundred years’ worth of experience to tell him that confrontation is not the way to handle a situation – except in the rarest occasions. A stubborn office clerk was no such case.

 

Still, this work was getting tedious and was wasting a great deal of time. All the while, the conflict continued; somewhere on the planet, someone was dying or suffering. Did these government officials care? It became more and more apparent that they did not.

 

Targon had been gone quite a while, but as he had not made any progress, Tieru deemed it unnecessary to summon his padawan yet. He might be in the midst of getting somewhere Tieru was not. Then again, he might have gotten in trouble. Or he could have simply taken a longer stroll…there was no reason to jump to any conclusions.

 

He remembered Boreos – that old Lorridian – and he decided that since he couldn’t get anywhere, now was the best time to seek him out.

 

Tieru walked just outside the city and found a nice patch of ground to kneel down and slip back into meditation and the field of white. His mind searched and called out to his friend. There was no reply.

 

Following the trail of Boreos’ presence through the Force, he came to a monastery deep in wild space. A place ancient and forgotten. There was a darkness hanging thick in the air, like he felt on the world he tracked Urak to. No stench of death – there was any life there to begin with except one. The familiar feel of his old friend…yet his spirit had passed beyond the mortal world.

 

Tieru sighed sadly. Urak and Boreos were both dead. And there was only one person who could have possibly located them – and have been so dedicated in seeing them dead.

 

So they were being hunted one by one. Yet Tieru couldn’t understand how…how could he be finding them? Nearly fifty years…

 

Something brought him back to his physical surroundings. Three men stood around him. Three dirty, burly, and armed men. Tieru did not have to guess who they were, or what they wanted.

 

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” he asked calmly.

 

“You could hand over your possessions,” the biggest of the trio replied.

 

Tieru shook his head. “I’m afraid I have nothing that would interest you.”

 

“We’ll be the judge of that,” another of the thugs said. “You’ve got a nice animal skin, you might give us that.”

 

“What would you want with that?” Tieru asked, rising to his feet. “It’s so old – I’ve thought about getting a new one.”

 

The first man pointed to his dangling lightsaber. “That would be worth a lot to us, Jedi. Hand it over, and we’ll be on our way.”

 

“And don’t try pulling it out,” the last of the men barked. “I’ve got a blaster pointed right at your head. You try anything, and you’re fried. I’m the fastest shot on this side of the planet.”

 

“Are you separatists or just common thieves?” Tieru inquired.

 

“What’s it matter?”

 

“Not much,” the old Jedi shrugged. “I don’t want to pick a fight, but you’re not getting anything from me.”

 

“You must be senile, old man,” the man took a step closer, keeping the blaster trained on him. “I guess we’ll just kill you and take whatever you’ve got. Starting with the lightsaber…”

 

Tieru sighed. “The saber is not the weapon you should be worried about.” In a blur, he twirled his staff around and swatted the blaster out of the thug’s hand. Then he crashed the thick wood against the man’s head.

 

One of the others drew a knife and lunged. Tieru twirled the staff, knocked away the leading arm, and jabbed at the man’s chest. He dropped, gasping for breath.

 

Then Tieru faced the last man, who had a pair of pistols out and was inching to pull the triggers. Suddenly, he found the guns yanked out of his hands and thrown to the ground. Tieru then swiped his staff and knocked the man’s legs out from under him. The thug fell with a thud, and Tieru incapacitated him by rapping his cane against the man’s gut.

 

The incident was over in a few seconds. All three men were down – one unconscious, two struggling for breath. Before they could recover, Tieru walked off and headed back to the city. He had been meditating for several hours, apparently, by the movement of the planet’s sun. It might be time to find Targon and continue with his business.

 

Still, his mind was heavy with sorrow for the deaths of his friends…and the worry that Eseri was next on the forsaken one’s list.

 

The shipment of supplies was a large one – and the size of it, mixed with the intent of it all, sickened Targon. Four large cargo transports, escorted by three speeders with cannons. And a complement of seven battle droids.

 

Sure, they needed to keep their convoy protected from possible attacks…but if those transports were full of supplies – as Jethro claimed – then they were definitely going the wrong direction from the people who needed it. Targon was willing to help starving civilians if he could, but how was he going to take out all that alone? Well, there was Marc here too, but two against all that?

 

“What do you think?” Targon asked the major.

 

“Looks like they’ve got quite the party,” Marc sighed. “I’ve taken on worse, however.”

 

“By yourself?”

 

“Well…” Marc smiled with embarrassment. “Bah! Don’t worry; we’ll take care of them. I’ve got a plan.”

 

“What is it?” Targon asked.

 

“First, you’re going to go out there and see if you can talk with them. See if they might be willing to negotiate a price for the supplies to be given to the people.”

 

“You can’t be serious. They wouldn’t agree to that…” Targon started to protest.

 

“No, you’re right. They won’t. But your efforts will distract them – since they’ve probably never run across a Jedi before and they’ll be scared of you for a while. Rumors abound and escalate of Jedi and Sith throughout war-torn worlds.”

 

“Alright, that makes sense…sort of,” Targon nodded. “And then what? What will you do?”

 

“I,” the soldier said proudly, “will start the fight.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You’ll know it when it happens,” Marc winked.

 

Targon sighed. “I guess that’s going to have to do. All right, let’s get this over with. The sooner we get it done, the sooner those people can get some help.”

 

He walked out onto the road, right in front of the oncoming convoy. At first, there was no hinting of slowing down, and Targon started to fear they might simply run him over. Well, he wasn’t going to allow that, but he was a little worried that Marc’s mysterious plan would be over before it began.

 

Finally, the vehicles stopped, and the battle droids’ weapons were raised. A man leaned out of the window of the front speeder. “Hey! Get out of the road!” he shouted carelessly.

 

“I would like to speak with the man in charge of this convoy,” Targon stated.

 

“What for?”

 

“To negotiate a price for these supplies.”

 

There was silence, and then the man laughed. “Price? Look, buddy, this cargo is headed for the estate of the District Administrator. He’s not selling these.”

 

“I have a fine offer,” Targon said, wincing inside that he might be getting himself into a big mess of lies.

 

“Take it up with him at his estate, but we’re not making any deals on the road. You might be the pretense for a separatist ambush. If you value your life, stranger, you’d better get out of our way.”

 

Targon pointed to his lightsaber. “I am a Jedi, and I wish to negotiate for the trade of these supplies so that they might reach people who actually need it.”

 

More laughter – including those others inside the speeder. “You look like a kid, pal, and we’re not buying your claim.” He turned to the driver of the vehicle. “Come on, let’s go. If he doesn’t move, then just run him over.”

 

Targon’s hand grabbed his lightsaber and ignited it. The brilliant green blade sprung to life with a soft hum. The men in the vehicles gaped, and the battle droids targeted him.

 

For a long moment, there was no sound but the humming of Targon’s saber and the unnoticed drone of the repulsion engines. It looked like the men were afraid of him…but their fear was passing. Targon started to worry how long he would need to keep this up.

 

“Do you intend to rob us, Jedi?” the speaking man asked. “Because if you do, then the Administrator…”

 

“My intent is to trade for the supplies,” Targon cut him off brusquely.

 

“I don’t like young punks – even Jedi – to boss me around and try to threaten me,” the man said in an unjustified tone of indignation. Apparently, he was not taking the saber display very well.

 

“There is no need for hostilities,” Targon tried to reassure him.

 

The man ignored him, turning to the battle droids. “This man has blocked our path and intends to rob us. Deal with him, now!”

 

Confusion and annoyance coincided in Targon’s mind. Why was this man being so unreasonable? Sure, he had drawn out his lightsaber, but he was not in an aggressive stance. He hadn’t shown any inclination towards violence in his speech or tone. Yet, it looked like there was no deal going to be made here. It looked like fighting was the only course. Hopefully, nobody would have to die…

 

A volley of blaster fire leapt towards him. With quick reflexes, he deflected the bolts away, and then leaped off to the left. The firing followed after, striking against the dirt behind his feet.

 

Then he jumped up onto one of the speeders to gain a good vantage point. One of the passengers within the vehicle pulled a blaster and tried shooting him through the roof. Targon jumped off the speeder to avoid being shot from below, cutting a battle droid in half as he landed next to it.

 

More bolts started zipping towards him. The droids, the men in the speeders…and he noticed the cannons of the escorts start turning towards him. Targon sighed in dismay. He could block and he could run…but soon he would be overwhelmed. He hadn’t exactly been planning on fighting all these guys alone.

 

A small metal ball clanked against the metal surface of one of the speeders, and then rolled beneath the one next to it. With his intuition racing, Targon leaped a distance away as an intense blue surge of electricity exploded and engulfed the convoy. When the blinding flash dissipated, the droids collapsed and the hovering speeders clattered to the ground. All mechanical objects were fried.

 

Marc appeared, a blaster rifle out and pointed at the drivers. “Gentlemen, if you would please exit your vehicles and get on the ground, that would be greatly appreciated,” the major said.

 

The men did as they said – except the offended leader of the troupe. “Do you have any idea what you two hoodlums are doing? I ought to kill you right now…”

 

“I think you’ll find your weapons useless,” Marc cut him off. “And they should remain useless for some time, thanks to the wondrous power of electromagnetic pulses.”

 

“You,” the man snarled. “You’re a Republic soldier! I’ll see to it that you’re put in front of a firing squad for this treachery! The Administrator will be hearing about this…”

 

Marc lifted his boot and kicked the annoying man, knocking him out cold.

 

“That wasn’t necessary, was it?” Targon asked as he approached the downed vehicles. “He’ll only be more upset when he comes to.”

 

“Like I said – what does…?”

 

“Yes,” Targon sighed. “What does old Greyhawk care?”

 

“You’ve got it, lad. I guess the plan didn’t go quite as expected, but it seems to have worked out fine. Now, what do you say about getting this stuff to the folks who really need it?”

 

 

Luckily for the pair, there were hoversleds in the cargo transports to carry the large and bulky crates. They unloaded many of the materials, but not nearly the entire shipment. It wouldn’t have been smart to take all of it anyway. That would have caused major issues down the road.

 

By early evening, Targon and Marc had brought the sleds into the town, and the citizens congregated around them swiftly. The two began handing out supplies to each of the desperate people. Fortunately, they had not become feral in their impoverished state and did not try to swarm and ransack their suppliers.

 

A pale stick of a child approached Targon. Upon seeing the girl, Targon reached into one of the cases and withdrew a treat – an expensive and fancy one. Kneeling down, he handed it to her. The child perked up and grinned with malnourished teeth as she took it.

 

“Thank you, Master Jedi,” she said softly.

 

Targon felt himself blush. He patted her head gently and smiled. This was how a Jedi should act, he thought to himself. This is how a Jedi serves the people – and follows the code. Helping, strengthening, and protecting the weak and helpless…such acts were what truly made a Jedi. However, he felt a little embarrassed at being called a master. He wasn’t even knighted yet.

 

He stood up and continued handing out the contents of the shipment. Coming through the joyous crowd was Jethro Pax. He was clapping his hands lightly.

 

“I must say I’m impressed, Jedi,” he said.

 

Targon nodded. “While I am happy to help people, has this act proved my intent to try and forge a peace to this conflict?”

 

“To me,” Jethro replied, “yes, you have. I’ll contact other cell leaders. It will take time for any decision of diplomacy to be made. We may not be like the government, but we can’t do anything as fast as many of us would like.”

 

“I suppose all I can do is wait then,” Targon sighed. Suddenly, he felt odd. His fingers and toes started to get cold quickly. His eyesight started to dim, and things became blurry.

 

Targon blinked to check if he might be tired…and he felt his legs give out from under him.

His world went black…but then he found himself in a chamber. A place he had never seen before: a circular room, very few furnishings, no window, and a single door that led into a narrow hallway. It was no room like in the Jedi Temple, or any building he had seen on the planet.

 

There was someone within the room.

 

It was a woman meditating on a rug on the far side of the circular chamber. Targon felt a cold chill run through him. She was older, though not as old as the other woman he had seen. The similarity, however, he found quite disturbing.

 

She was a Miraluka, he could tell. A band across where her eyes would have been and a braid of hair covered her upper face. Her robes were light blue, and there was an incredible placidity and peacefulness about her that rivaled that of Master Tieru. However, when he continued to watch her, she stirred and rose.

 

“Who is there?” she asked softly, yet sternly.

 

Targon felt nervous. Who was she speaking to? Was this a vision, or was he truly there in the room with her? But if he were physically there, then she would see him through her sight in the Force.

 

She repeated her question, louder this time.

 

Figuring he might as well test the situation, he answered, “My name is Targon Karashi. I don’t mean to disturb you.”

 

The Miraluka’s head cocked like she was straining to hear a faint whisper. “Where are you? You are not here in my chamber…you are distant. Who are you and how did you find me?”

 

“My name is Targon,” he reiterated, more confused than she seemed. “I don’t know where you are…I don’t even know where I am.”

 

“You are a Jedi…a padawan,” she stated.

 

“I am apprenticed to Master Tieru,” Targon figured he might as well say what he knew. She didn’t feel dark at all – she wasn’t like that other woman.

 

“Tieru?” she exclaimed. “Is he here?”

 

“No…” Targon supposed. He didn’t feel his master around, anyway. “You know him?”

 

“Of course I know him. I spoke with him just this morning.”

 

“What? How?” Nobody ever knew Tieru…

 

There was no time for answers. Footsteps could be heard outside in the hall – and a frighteningly familiar presence consumed by darkness approached.

 

“Someone is coming,” Targon stated.

 

The woman’s face grew grim, yet calm. “Khan,” she breathed.

 

In a crash, the door to the chamber burst in. Targon rushed to a wall to avoid the shivers, though it was unnecessary, as he discovered when a piece of the door flew right through him. He wasn’t there physically.

 

The entryway was filled with the form of the dark man Targon had seen in his nightmare. In the greater light, he looked far more haggard and spent – like a man who hadn’t slept in years. There was cruelty in his inverted eyes.

 

“Master Eseri,” the dark man said in his malicious voice. “I would have thought you harder to find…given your history.”

 

The Miraluka’s hand was to her lightsaber, and the blue blade ignited – lighting up the room with its glow. “The years look like they haven’t been kind to you, or your sense of dramatics,” she said.

 

Khan bared his foul teeth. “Still holding to foolish banter, and wallowing in your pride…I see the Jedi don’t change even after half a century.”

 

“I know what you’re here for, and you shall not have it,” Eseri stated with intense boldness. “You will not find the vengeance you seek.”

 

“When I have taken your head, and the pieces of the secret you possess, your spirit might want to reflect on that conclusion.” From his hand ignited a ghostly green blade. Targon was surprised – having expected a Sith’s blade to be red.

 

No more words. The man flung forward, swinging his saber. Eseri stepped to the side and blocked his attack. He continued a full assault, swinging from left to right, high to low…yet he didn’t seem like he was exerting himself. It appeared it seemed more like an exercise with him.

 

“What’s this?” Eseri asked. “Forty-seven years, and still you have not grown in strength? Where are you powers you claimed to be mastering? Where are the skills in the manipulation of matter, Khan?”

 

“A bit of sport always comes first,” her opponent replied. “I want satisfaction in this beyond simple victory. A quick kill is a wasted kill.”

 

They fought on. For a while, it looked like Eseri would be able to hold out forever against her attacker. But then his strikes became faster, stronger, and sneakier. The wicked snarl on his face grew larger as the battle dragged on.

 

Their blades locked for a minute or two, both struggling over the strength of the other. Khan twisted the blades in a circle, and then flung Eseri’s weapon out of her hand. Before he could take advantage of her disarmament, she hurled him back with the Force. She then sent another wave towards him to shove him through the wall.

 

Khan lifted his arm and covered his face. The blast crashed into a barrier he had set up, which parted it and sent it into the wall behind him. He stood unmoved.

 

“This bores me,” Khan hissed. “I had hoped you might provide a more impressive confrontation than your brethren…but it looks like you have disappointed me as well.”

 

“I’m not here for your entertainment,” the Miraluka said.

 

“And you won’t be here for much longer,” the man countered, lifting his left hand towards her. “Now see what power I have mastered over these many years…”

 

Eseri grimaced in pain, but she tried to remain calm and push back the power being exerted over her. Blood began oozing from her pores and her robes began to tatter into shreds. She started crying out in pain, and that soon escalated to screaming.

 

“Impossible!” she shrieked. “This is impossible!”

 

The man smiled cruelly. “Is it impossible that I have such ability? Or impossible that I am stronger than you? You Jedi should know full well that nothing is impossible through the Force. And I control the Force.”

 

Her cries became horrendous, much like the old witch. Targon turned away so that he might not witness the disturbing scene again. As he faced the wall, the room became silent. Terrified, he noticed that the vision continued, and he rotated to see what more there was.

 

Khan stood alone in the chamber. There was no remnant of Master Eseri. The dark man took a moment to stand triumphant, and then he felt a presence.

 

“Tieru?” he inquired. “Is that you, old druid? You’re the last one left – and I’ll find you just as I’ve found the others. And when you are dead, I shall have the secret you and your friends have failed to keep hidden.”

 

Targon felt his blood turn to ice. Who was this abominable person?

 

“You do not know who I am?” the man hissed, frightening Targon by responding to his thought. “You are not Tieru, then. Well stranger, know that I am Khan Arc-Saal, and I am Death.”

 

With that, a foul whisper arose and Targon felt himself fall into blackness once again. Yet in his soul, he could still see Khan’s dread eyes.

 

Targon awoke with a start; sweat beads were all over his face. He was lying on a weak and rickety cot. It was dark outside, and he had no idea how long he had been out. Standing over him were Marc and Jethro. Their looks were of relief, but also concern – probably with the intensity of how Targon awoke.

 

“You’re awake!” Marc gasped. “Are you alright?”

 

“What happened?” Targon asked weakly.

 

Jethro answered, “You collapsed while giving out supplies. No one could wake you, and some thought it was an attack.”

 

“An attack?”

 

“A fearful proposition that was disproved quickly,” Marc waved his hand. “Do you know what happened to you? Why you fainted?”

 

“I…” Targon hesitated. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had seen. It was a vision, yet somehow he was interacting with it. That wasn’t normal. It was almost like he was communicating his voice and presence through the Force…and the two people had felt him and spoken to him.

 

“We don’t have much time to sit around chatting,” Jethro said. “The government authorities know about the missing convoy, and they’re probably going to hit here fast and hard. It’s time to get out of here. I’ve already started evacuating the civilians – my soldiers’ families. I think we need to go now, as well.”

 

“Why haven’t you already gone?” Targon asked.

 

“You weren’t in any condition to move,” Marc replied.

 

“Then you should go now, without me.”

 

“What?”

 

Targon sighed. “I need to take responsibility for my actions.”

 

“You’re only in this as far as I am,” Marc stated.

 

“But I may be able to help you. The government of Ord Mantell doesn’t hold authority to punish a Jedi. They will take me to the city where I will be sent back to the Order to stand judgment. That gives you time to escape and avoid any retribution.”

 

“You’re willing to make that sacrifice for an enemy?” Jethro asked, amazed.

 

“I am. My master and I came here to build peace, not continue the civil war. Hopefully, this will help both sides see reason.”

 

“Then I’m staying with you,” Marc said. “I’ve got you into this, so I might as well face the consequences as well.”

 

“There’s no need,” Targon shook his head. “They might not even know who you are. If there’s a chance you can get out of this mess, take it.”

 

“Either you’re selfish for attention,” Marc sighed, “or you’re one of the most noble Jedi I’ve ever met. If they arrest you, I’ll be sure to bust you out – or die trying.”

 

“I pray that will not be necessary,” Targon said as he began to stand. “I’ll meet them outside the village. You need to get everyone out – including yourselves.” He wobbled a bit, still weak and uncertain from his experience. The vision remained clear in his mind…clear and horrible. But he pushed the fear aside so it would not distract him.

 

He walked out of the building, noticing the abandonment of the area. It looked like nobody was taking any chances with government retribution. From reports he had heard about the civil war, Targon remembered that many times whole villages were destroyed for housing enemy soldiers. It didn’t matter which side.

 

Targon was nearing the part of the city where he had left his master – the district of government administration buildings that had been ever so hospitable to them. He didn’t sense Tieru’s presence anywhere. And he didn’t see him…or anyone else, for that matter.

 

It must be a government curfew, or something. Nobody was about on the streets. But that wasn’t for long. Targon soon noticed half a dozen men coming his way. They were armed, and wearing the uniforms of the planet’s police force.

 

“Halt!” the lead man ordered when he saw Targon.

 

He did as he was instructed.

 

When they came nearer, the man observed, “You’re a Jedi.”

 

“Yes I am, officer,” Targon replied coolly.

 

“You match the description of a Jedi that raided a supply convoy earlier today. We are here to place you into custody and proceed with questioning.”

 

“Very well,” Targon submitted.

 

“You were also in the company of a traitorous Republic soldier. Where is he?”

 

“Well, he’s not here,” Targon replied.

 

“I don’t like smart-mouths,” the officer frowned. “Where is he?”

 

Targon sighed. “Truthfully, I couldn’t tell you.”

 

“You’re a fool if you think you can lie to us,” the officer got up in Targon’s face. “We know full well where the supplies you stole were taken.”

 

“If that’s so, why are you bothering with me?”

 

The officer smacked Targon’s face with his baton, sending him to the ground. Then cuffs were harshly put on his wrists and he was yanked back up to his feet. The officer pulled out a cigar and lit it. He took a puff and blew the exhaust into Targon’s face.

 

“You’re conspiring with separatists, Jedi,” he said. “Such treachery is punishable by death. And your friends will suffer the same fate. Fighter squadrons have been dispatched to nullify the hive of separatists you’ve aided. Those supplies had tracking beacons on them for such a case as this.”

 

Targon coughed at the smoke in his nose, but he kept calm. Perhaps the officer was lying? Trying to force a confession or a reaction? That would be plausible, but it didn’t make sense.

 

“Are you done? Are you going to take me away?” Targon asked. “I’d like to make sure my head is not badly injured.”

 

“Giving me attitude, are you?” the officer growled.

 

“So, sir,” Targon said, defiantly. He knew by his training that he shouldn’t get agitated, but the behavior of this officer was starting to rile him. And his discipline was starting to fail. These brutes had no idea what Targon had just seen. They were concerned about aiding the enemy, when he had just witnessed a Jedi Master be slain by unholy means.

 

“Let’s take this fool away,” the officer said to his group. A sound of distant explosions was heard in the silent night. “Ah, you hear that, Jedi? That’s the sound of your rebel friends being annihilated.”

 

The nasty smirk on his face made Targon angry. He shoved his elbow into the officer’s gut, but as he did so, another officer struck him from behind. Targon fell to his knees and felt a blaster be shoved up to his head. Targon tried to calm himself and focus on getting out of the cuffs.

 

He heard footsteps a little ways off. And then he heard a man shout, “Get back, citizen! This is official business!”

 

Suddenly, all the group’s weapons were pulled out of hands and holsters and thrown a great distance away. The footsteps grew nearer, and Targon could hear the distinct sounds of two feet and a wooden staff clapping against the road.

 

“Gentlemen, what is this all about?” the welcome voice of his master asked. “Unless my old eyes deceive me, you’re arresting my padawan.”

 

“This young man has stolen cargo from the District Administrator and given the supplies to separatist forces. He is an enemy to the government of Ord Mantell.”

 

“Now I find that just ridiculous,” Tieru said. “You must be mistaken.” That addendum was said in a familiarly dictated tone.

 

“I…must be…mistaken…” the officer responded slowly. “Yes, I must be mistaken.”

 

“You will release him and speak of this matter no more,” Tieru said.

 

“I…will release him and speak of this matter no more,” came the obedient repetition.

 

The cuffs on Targon’s hands were released, and the officers left. He remained on his knees for a moment. His head hurt, he worried that his master was displeased…and he feared that the people he had helped had been killed. Maybe they had escaped…but he wouldn’t be able to tell.

 

His master’s firm hand rested on his shoulder. “Well, Targon, I see we’ve had a bit of trouble today.”

 

“I’m sorry, master,” Targon said quietly.

 

“Well, why don’t you tell me what happened?”

 

Targon proceeded to relay his meeting with Major Marc Avis, his visit to the hideout of separatist officer, Jethro Pax; and the assignment he had been given to prove his honest intent on promoting peace. And then he told about his escapade with Marc against the Administrator’s convoy. Tieru listened intently, nodding with each new development.

 

“Have I done wrong?” Targon asked when he finished.

 

Tieru did not answer right away. He tapped his chin in thought, and then he answered, “No, Targon. I believe you did very well.”

 

“But, master?” Targon said, confused. “I stole, I attacked a government convoy…and I nearly got myself arrested.”

 

“Yes, that’s true. But, you found a way to talk to the separatists, you offered to negotiate for the supplies, and you fought only when they had provoked the conflict. And you gave the supplies to those who desperately needed it to survive. In my book, that’s how a Jedi should be. However, I think other – more traditional – masters would think differently.”

 

Targon smiled at his master’s praise, and thanked the Force he had a teacher who would have done the same as he had done. But the fear he had suppressed entered back into his mind. “Master, there’s something else.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“I experienced another vision…but it was different, and much worse.”

 

Tieru beckoned his apprentice to his feet. “Let’s get indoors. Some quarters have been prepared for us in an apartment complex a few blocks from here. It took a while to actually get them, but we might as well use them to our comfort for tonight.”

 

 

They arrived at the apartment, and when they were warm and settled, they each sat on one of the beds and faced each other.

 

“Now, Targon,” Tieru said, taking off his deerskin cloak and cowl. “Tell me about this vision.”

 

Targon related how he had collapsed suddenly, and then found himself in a chamber with an elderly Miraluka Jedi.

 

Upon her description, Tieru nodded. “Master Eseri, a very old friend of mine.”

 

Targon continued, informing his master of her sensing his presence and speaking to him, as though he were actually in the room. To that, Tieru admitted he was not sure how that was possible. Targon noticed his master holding something back and inquired into it.

 

Tieru sighed, “A lesson for another time, I believe. Suffice to say, it is possible for Jedi Masters to project their consciousness and communicate with other masters over great distances. However, I must say I know of only a few who can do so, and never has it occurred with a padawan. We must look into this, when we have the proper time to look into it. Now, please continue.”

 

Nodding, Targon then told of how the same dark person had entered, and destroyed Master Eseri the same way he had killed the witch in the previous vision.

 

Learning this, Tieru sighed, and grief was apparent on his face. “I was afraid of this,” he said solemnly. “It appears it was unavoidable. We knew about this…and we should have done more to guard against it…but perhaps that was not possible.”

 

“Master,” Targon said softly. “He sensed my presence in the vision. He mistook me for you – and he called himself Khan Arc-Saal. Who is he, master?”

 

Tieru was silent for a long while. His apprentice waited patiently until he spoke. “He is a man I had hoped would not return – yet I feared it may have been inevitable. Many years ago, not long before the Great War had begun, three Jedi Masters and myself discovered the secret to a hidden world deep in Wild Space from an ancient holocron. This world was a nexus to the Force – a power beyond all comprehension. Knowing the possible danger of such power, Masters Urak, Boreos, Eseri, and I hid the holocron away, never to let it be accessed by anyone. Not even ourselves.”

 

“What does this have to do with Khan?” Targon asked.

 

“All things in time,” Tieru said. “You must know the background first, and then you can understand the present. After a time, we thought there was no threat of anyone discovering the secret. But a scholar, who had spent his years studying the great Jedi Library, had happened upon a mention of it, and he sought us out. His name was Khan Arc-Saal, and he neglected the duties of a Jedi Knight in his pursuit of knowledge and power. We denied him the holocron, or any knowledge of it, and we foolishly thought he might forget about it and pursue other studies.”

 

Tieru paused and sighed sadly. “How foolish we were. Days later, Khan embraced the temptations of the Dark Side and slew his master. He was brought to judgment by the Jedi Council, and because of our involvement, we were part of the Council’s decision to denounce him as a Jedi and banish him. As he was taken away, he swore in a rage that he would find the secret, and use the power to become immortal and destroy all who challenged him. It was then that the four of us decided to destroy the holocron and divide the knowledge of the secret between us. Then we separated – each of the others went to remote areas across the galaxy and I remained at the Jedi Temple.”

 

“And you never spoke with them – your friends?” Targon inquired.

 

“No,” Tieru shook his head. “As I said, some Masters have been able to communicate over great distances. We may have never been together in person, but we were often in council through the Force. But it is apparent now that Khan has slain the others. And now he will be coming for me. I hold the last piece of the puzzle…he must never find it.”

 

“So we should retreat and return to the Jedi Temple,” Targon said. “He can’t assault Tython with the entire Order to stand against him.”

 

“It would be wise to fall back, young Targon,” Tieru nodded. “But not at the expense of others. Khan must be stopped – we must do what we failed to do nearly fifty years ago. I must destroy him.”

 

“How? He has killed the others!”

 

“I know. But I must try…and I think I can lure him into a place where the battle could be in my favor.”

 

“Where?”

 

“If he has been able to locate the others so quickly, then he likely knows that we are here on Ord Mantell, and will be on his way. Perhaps I can choose the field to face him.”

 

“You mean we will face him,” Targon said.

 

“No, Targon, I cannot ask you to face this monster.”

 

“Master, I cannot let you face him alone. He has slain the others – they were alone. I am not afraid of him.”

 

Tieru shook his head. “No, I can tell you are afraid, but you have courage – for you are willing to face that which you fear. You have the makings of a great Jedi, Targon. There is no sense in saying anything different. Your fear is well placed, for I too fear this man.”

 

“Then I suppose our mission to forge peace on this world is cancelled,” Targon sighed. “Our efforts are meaningless.”

 

“Do not be so sure,” Tieru said. “No acts of kindness and compassion are ever wasted, Targon. Your actions today may have great ramifications that lead to peace in the future…”

 

There was a knocking at the door. Tieru rose as Targon answered the door. Without any sort of greeting, the visitor walked in. He was dressed in business attire and he was flanked by a police officer.

 

“Master Tieru?” he asked the Jedi Master.

 

“I am he,” Tieru replied.

 

The man continued, a tone of franticness in his voice. “I come on behalf of the Administrator. We have lost all contact with one of our orbital stations. From last report, a vessel – of unknown origin, make, and even energy source – sent docking codes. And soon afterward, there was a brief distress call, and then complete silence.”

 

Tieru frowned. “So, all day I ask to speak with officials to discuss diplomacy with the separatists and am continually denied, but as soon as a crisis occurs, the Administrator seeks me out?”

 

“He was aware that the Jedi were here on the planet.”

 

“Might he consider our requests to discuss possible peace talks if we investigate this?” Targon asked, but Tieru held up a finger.

 

“We shall look into this at once,” Tieru nodded to the messenger.

 

“The Administrator will be most grateful,” the man bowed and left.

 

Tieru put on his deerskin as Targon handed him his staff. “So much for using the apartment,” he sighed. “And so much for choosing the field.”

 

“How could Khan have arrived so soon?” Targon asked.

 

“Eseri wasn’t too far from here, I believe, and perhaps he has found many new things in his long exile. It does not matter, regardless. He is here, and so we must face him.”

 

“Do you think there are any survivors?” Targon asked.

 

“The sooner we face him, the better the odds,” Tieru replied, but there didn’t seem much hope in his tone. “Come, Targon, whether or not the government decides to be cooperative afterward, this task is of greater importance than one world. If Khan obtains the secret I have tried to keep from him, then the galaxy will be lost.”

 

Tieru and Targon arrived at a government hangar where a shuttle had been prepared for them. Three Republic troopers had been assigned to join them. The commander, a Kel Dor, addressed them.

 

“I’m Lieutenant Ko,” he said. “The Administrator and my commanding officers asked me to convey their best wishes to you, Master Jedi.”

 

“I thank them,” Tieru bowed. “Though I must admit I would be more impressed if I could see them in person. But such as it is…”

 

“We should set off immediately,” Ko gestured to the shuttle.

 

Tieru boarded, followed closely by Targon. The troopers got on board after they were on. They wasted no time in taking off and zipping up through the atmosphere to the orbital station. From outside, it appeared completely normal…but Targon could feel darkness about it. And if he could feel it, Tieru must be sensing it with greater clarity.

 

As they approached the station, the shuttle began sending docking codes…there was no response. They prepared to enter the nearest hangar. The shields weren’t up, so they set down on the landing platform.

 

Across the wide hangar was a strange ship. It was small, only capable of holding a single person, and it was shaped like a claw.

 

“That must be his ship,” Targon supposed.

 

“Whose ship?” Ko asked.

 

Nobody answered. The ramp went down and everyone exited. The troopers surrounded the Jedi, their rifles and heads remaining on a devoted swivel. They exited the hangar and entered the corridors. There were signs of fighting – scorching on the walls and weapons and objects littered the floor.

 

Searching the rooms they passed, there were a few bodies. But not enough to account for the entire population of the station.

 

“Where do you think they all are?” Targon asked.

 

“They probably herded into a single area when the threat came,” Ko answered.

 

“That is likely,” Tieru nodded, leaning on his staff. “Targon, I want you and the others to search all living quarters and areas where the crew of the station would congregate. I will head down towards the power core.”

 

“The core, Master Jedi?” Ko asked. “Why would you go down there? It’s not wise to split up with so few of us. There should be a full squadron here with us, but the Administrator felt we were all that could be spared.”

 

“I know it isn’t wise, lieutenant,” Tieru said. “But I don’t think he’s planning on ambushing us. This fight is between him and me, and he wants to face me in a place of the greatest power.”

 

“Why?” Ko persisted.

 

“Probably for dramatic effect,” Tieru smiled.

 

“Master, I should go with you,” Targon protested. “You stand a better chance if you’re not alone.”

 

“I don’t want you near him,” his master stated. “He is too dangerous. You must see to finding any survivors.”

 

Targon sighed. “As you wish, master.”

 

“Believe me, nothing is going as I wish today.”

 

With that, Tieru headed off down the hall, indicating with a finger that they should start down the other. Targon and the troopers watched him walk off, and then turn a corner and disappear. Then they started down their own path.

 

As they went, they continued to check each room. More bodies…nobody alive. Targon felt the fear in him shiver through his body, and he could feel the discomfort and disturbance in the soldiers’ minds as well. Thinking for a moment, he considered the possibility that talking with them would alleviate their tension.

 

“Have you been stationed on Ord Mantell long, lieutenant?” he asked.

 

“What?”

 

“I think that if we keep ourselves cool and easy, we won’t let anxiety start getting the best of us.”

 

The lieutenant nodded in agreement after considering the idea. “We’ve been assigned to this planet for eight months, padawan.”

 

“Has it been difficult? Has there been a great deal of conflict?”

 

“With the separatists? I’d say there’s been plenty. Firefights occur almost on a daily basis.”

Targon sighed. “And nobody has considered bringing the fighting to an end?”

 

“I was briefed about you,” Ko said. “I know about why you and your master are here. Personally, I find your business here insulting.”

 

“Insulting?”

 

“It’s like you’re saying that what we soldiers are doing here – dying for – means nothing. That it’s simply a hindrance to peace. Like our lives don’t matter.”

 

Targon was shocked. “That’s not how we view you at all!”

 

“Really?” Ko gave him a glance. “Well, you’re doing a poor job of showing that you care. You Jedi are the reason behind the Sith Empire’s slaughter…”

 

“I don’t think we need to get heated here…it’s not the place.”

 

Ko sighed. “You’re right, Jedi, I shouldn’t have let my personal feelings show in our current situation. I apologize.”

 

Targon nodded. “I guess I can understand you opinion. And I can understand if you don’t trust me. But right now, there may be survivors that need our help, and we need to work together.”

 

“Right you are,” Ko replied.

 

They turned yet another corridor, finding the area much the same as what they had seen before.

 

“Do you know Major Marc Avis?” Targon broached a new subject.

 

“Old Greyhawk? Sure I do, every soldier knows of him. He may be a bit of a geezer, even he accepts that, but he knows how to fight. Or rather, how to end a fight real quick.”

 

“Yes, I noticed,” Targon muttered.

 

“You know him?” Ko posed the question in return.

 

“We met today, he helped me in my endeavor. I just hope he isn’t paying for it.”

 

“What do you mean?” Ko asked.

 

Targon couldn’t answer. At that moment they opened the door to on of the major dormitories that held a mess hall. It was probably a center where the crew gathered for occasions, briefings…and cases of emergency.

 

The sight made the troopers gag, and Targon felt his blood run cold once again. There were no bodies…at least in the sense they were expecting. There were bones – skeletons – hundreds of them.

 

As one of his men leaned against the doorway, feeling sick, Ko shook his head and turned around. “I think we can assume we’ve found the rest of the station’s crew.”

 

Targon could not answer. He barely even heard him as he gaped at the gruesome sight. The remains were in the positions that the people had died in – positions of fear, cowering, and a few trying to protect each other. Throughout the chamber, he could feel the lingering fear and terror, as well as the darkness that had consumed them.

 

Something told him that their skeletal remains had been left like this on purpose. Not simply killed, not disintegrated like the two he had witnessed…a scene to inspire pure horror and to break the spirit of anyone who saw it. Or to provoke the soul to rage and vengeance. Either outcome, it would weaken his foes so that he would have the advantage.

 

“There are no survivors,” Targon said. To be sure of his claim, he focused his senses, trying to detect any other presence at all. A flicker of fear, desperation, confusion…any sort of sign of life. Nothing. Just a void of darkness.

 

“We should try to find your master,” Ko suggested. “There’s no reason to remain here.” He lifted up his men and nudged Targon’s shoulder.

 

Targon knew he was right. There was nothing to be done here, except pray that somehow these souls may find peace in death. He turned around and followed the troopers back out into the hall.

 

 

Tieru opened the door and entered onto a great walkway, overlooking the immense core of the station. Massive intestines of conduits ran along the walls, and walkways up above, with computer consoles adorning the sides. There was a surprising silence, despite all the machinery and electronics. Still, being enclosed by so much unfeeling metal and wiring made Tieru uncomfortable.

 

That was no doubt Khan’s intent.

 

Across the bridge was the dark one. Where he stood, it seemed the low light would disappear. His black cloak hung about him, and he appeared like a foul vulture with his pale, bare head. The glazed eyes stared at the Jedi Master.

 

Tieru’s staff against the metal caused a resounding echo through the massive chamber. He advanced towards the dark figure, without any sort of hesitation.

 

Khan’s paled head cocked and he bore a soulless grin. “Still wearing the garb of a hermit, old man? That looks like the very same deerskin I saw you wear forty-seven years ago.”

 

“It may be indeed,” Tieru replied. “I don’t recall. I see the years haven’t been kind to you, Khan. You look like you haven’t been sleeping or eating well.”

 

“I am beyond requiring any sort of mortal nourishment,” Khan stated.

 

“You are not immortal yet, Khan,” Tieru said simply. “You should remember that.”

 

“Once the last of the four are dead, that fact will be null.”

 

“Your slaughter ends here, Khan. I will make certain of it.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll try,” Khan nodded. “But you’re wrong. Death does not stop, and I am Death. When I have finished with you, there will be no one who can challenge whatever I do – or whomever I choose to kill.”

 

“All this time,” Tieru sighed. “And still you cling to foolish notions as pride, glory…and drama, I might add.”

 

“When I am immortal, such emotions will become irrelevant.”

 

Tieru stopped, still a distance away from him. “Immortality cannot be obtained the way you suppose, Khan. You will learn this when you fall into the darkness that awaits you.”

 

“Bold words,” his opponent said. “Let’s see if you can prove them with greater effort than your defeated brethren.”

 

Computer panels ripped off from the catwalks above and flung themselves toward Tieru. He stood unmoved and did not make any motion to dodge the approaching objects. Just before the first one struck him, he swung his staff and knocked the computer away. Then he did the same with three more that followed. The crashed against the walls as they fell into the huge pit.

 

Khan frowned that his first attack was handled so easily. He motioned his hand and one of the giant conduits unhinged from the wall and collapsed towards the Jedi Master.

 

Tieru saw it, and he raised his own hands, holding the towering object back. He pushed it back and hooked it back where it belonged.

 

With a snarl of annoyance, Khan hurled bolts of lightning form his fingertips at his opponent. As the dark energy streaked towards him, Tieru spun his staff around and caught the lightning and absorbed it into the wood. Immediately, he sent the energy out and back at its progenitor. Khan could only hold up his hand and deflect it into the wall, causing an explosion of one of the conduits.

 

Khan then ripped a huge portion of one of the walkways above and sent it down to crush Tieru where he stood.

 

The Jedi Master thrust up his staff and met the arrival of the rubble. Incredibly, the catwalk shattered into tiny fragments upon encountering the staff. The harmless pieces clattered off the bridge and down into the pit below.

 

“Your mastery of the Force is incomplete,” Tieru said.

 

“We shall see,” Khan pointed his outstretched hand towards his target and projected his will over the matter that made up the old Jedi. Shockingly, his power was rebuffed. The Master’s power created a barrier around him – an impenetrable barrier that hid the molecules of his body from Khan’s sight.

 

“We shall have to settle this in the more traditional fashion,” Khan growled, grabbing hold of his lightsaber. Activating it, the viridian blade came alive with a foul hiss. He didn’t look like a Sith – he looked something far more wicked – something dead.

 

Tieru was not intimidated. He held to his staff with his left hand, and his right remained calmly at his side. His lightsaber hilt unhooked from his belt and floated into the air. The metal cylinder had a leather grip and two feathers hanging from the bottom.

 

Reaching up with his free hand, Tieru clutched it and activated the bright yellow beam. The golden light lit up his features, bathing him in a shining glow.

 

Khan charged forward, his blade swinging. Tieru met him and the blades of energy crackled against each other. The attacker then swung from the lower left, forcing the Jedi to counter accordingly. Four more strikes, all blocked by Tieru.

 

Their fight continued. Khan pressed the offensive, trying to force Tieru to give ground. He made a bold move, but it left his side open. Tieru wasted no time in smacking him away with his staff. Khan stumbled, and the master made another swipe at his face with the cane.

 

Khan recovered and leaped over Tieru’s head. He landed behind him, but the Jedi quickly rotated to face him again. Khan made another swing, but Tieru held it off with his blade and forced their arms to the side, leaving his opponent open. Tieru then lodged his hooked staff around Khan’s neck and swung him through the air, slamming him onto the ground. He made a slash to finish him, but Khan rolled to the side and got to his feet.

 

Blaster fire struck around Khan’s feet. Both looked up to see Targon and the troopers on a walkway a little ways up. The soldiers had begun firing at Khan, while Targon called to his master.

 

Tieru shouted back, “Targon, take the others and get out of here!”

 

“Master? We’re here to help you!”

 

“No! Get them out!” Tieru then returned to facing Khan.

 

But the dark one had no intention of allowing these intruders to escape. Force pushing Tieru away from him, he hurled his saber up at the group. One of the soldiers was slashed, and his body crashed into his fellow – who lost his balance and fell.

 

When his saber returned, Khan began to buckle the bridge as he ripped it from its supports. The remaining persons struggled to keep their footing – the padawan went as far as to grab hold of the floor and lie on his stomach.

 

The last soldier, Lieutenant Ko, took a chance to fire a well-aimed shot at Khan’s head. His blaster rifle sent out a blue bolt, but Khan’s reflexes easily reflected it back at its sender, striking him square on the head. The soldier flew back from the hit and fell into the abyss.

 

But Khan had nearly forgotten his first opponent. He felt a hard wood smack across his face, and then a Force push hurtling him backwards. Khan barely regained his footing when Tieru was upon him, not the Jedi had taken the offensive. A slash, then a kick, followed by yet a series of successive swings of the golden saber. Khan could not keep up with the assault, and a few of the attacks made it through to slash through his skin.

 

In an attempt to stop him, Khan sent a shockwave through the Force that buckled the bridge, causing it to shake and contort slightly. Tieru was knocked away, but he was up quickly. He did not, however, try to charge forward again.

 

Khan laughed as an ideal tactic became apparent. “So much for help, and so much for protecting your weak friends,” he taunted. “You couldn’t stop me from killing the soldiers, and now you can’t stop me from killing your pathetic apprentice.”

 

He turned to eye Targon still holding tight to the failing catwalk. It didn’t look like it would hold up much longer. He lifted his hand to extend his power towards the helpless young man. There was no way the boy could see what was coming…

 

Suddenly, an intense flash struck him, and he felt his skin searing – as though it was burned. He looked down at his cloak and saw smoke rising from a charred area of his cloak. Turning to face Tieru, he barely saw a fireball headed straight for a split second before it struck his face. He roared in pain – something he hadn’t truly felt for years. Touching his face, he felt the skin charred and broken.

 

Tieru’s stern face stared at the abominable sight before him. The left half of Khan’s face was burned away, revealing his skull, and the other half was charred heavily. It seemed impossible for him to still be alive and functioning, but Khan’s dark eyes looked back at him just the same as they had before.

 

“What new trick is this, old man?” Khan hissed.

 

Targon struggled, but he was able to get to his knees and look down at the scene. He saw the burned face of the enemy, and something odd about Tieru. His staff was…on fire. Flames were ignited all over it, yet his hand was unharmed.

 

“The Force can hold flesh together,” Master Tieru stated, regarding Khan’s face. “And it can also manipulate molecular energy. Your mastery of its power is hardly complete, Khan.”

 

He jabbed the burning staff forward, and another ball of flames burst forth and hurled towards Khan, who could do nothing but simply endure the impact. He held up his arm, and the fire flashed around him.

 

Khan roared in a primal, terrifying savagery, and then charged forward. Tieru met his blade, and countered by swinging his staff to strike his blackened skin. The two continued on, blow after blow, in an intense and brutal dance. Finally, Tieru crashed his staff powerfully on Khan’s neck, sending him to his knees. He then twirled through the air and prepared to land a final stab into Khan’s chest.

 

But in a flash that happened so quick that Targon could barely register, Khan rose to his feet and slashed Tieru along the chest. The Jedi Master tumbled to the floor and his staff landed by his side – its fire extinguished.

 

A cry of anguish and despair and rage erupted from the young Jedi. He had just witnessed his mentor, counselor, protector, and essential father brought down by the monstrous coward. To see such dishonor to his master was more than Targon’s discipline and conditioning could bear.

 

He leaped from the catwalk and landed on the bridge before the dark one, sending a massive wave through the Force as he did so. Caught completely off-guard, Khan was thrown to his back.

 

Soon recovering, Khan rose and saw the padawan activate his own saber and charge forward.

 

Their blades crashed against each other, over and over again. The speed Targon attacked with was astounding, and the anger in his heart made his nerves tremble and spark.

 

Khan knocked him away and stretched his hand out. Tieru was not there to protect him now; he would be no match for…

 

His power was rebuffed, much more intensely this time. Through his Force-attuned eyes, he saw the padawan accompanied by the spirit of the Jedi Master he had just slain. Tieru’s body had vanished, save for his clothing, but his personage was standing there, glowing and in full regalia. He couldn’t understand, and he was stunned.

 

Targon felt a presence in his mind, and he heard his master’s voice.

 

“Don’t give into hatred and wrath, Targon,” Tieru said. “Do not let the Dark Side consume you as it has Khan. The time has come for the rock to be removed from its guard of the flower. Now prove to yourself that you are a Jedi. The Force will be with you, Targon…always.”

 

Targon heard his master, and he quieted the storm within his soul, until he was fully at peace inside. He felt fully in control, and he leapt forward united with the Force. His foot raised and he kicked the dark one’s chest.

 

Too consumed by confusion and fury, Khan could not react soon enough, and he was thrust off the bridge. Screaming like a banshee, he plummeted down into the deep darkness of the station’s core.

 

At last, the dark presence of Khan Arc-Saal vanished, and Targon could feel himself return to his physical status. There was silence.

 

He deactivated his saber, knelt next to his master’s empty fur robes, and wept.

 

Targon carried his master’s belongings with him to the shuttle and returned to the planet. There was no time to continue the work of diplomacy, for the Jedi Council summoned him. He had no real desire to remain on this world much longer, anyway. There had been no word about Marc Avis, and that concerned him. Yet, somehow, he had the distinct feeling that he had not been killed, and that he would see him again. That gave him a small bit of comfort.

 

All charges against him had been dropped; some of the officials figured it was well enough that he had stopped the threat that had slaughtered the people on the station. Those that weren’t so convinced decided that the Council would likely try Targon for his actions in aiding enemies of the Republic. And that was enough to sate them.

 

A transport was leaving to the Core Worlds, and Targon boarded it silently, carrying his master’s things along with his own. Jedi do not have many possessions, so there was no issue in carrying too much.

 

Targon then made the long and silent journey back to Tython. Alone.

 

He stood before the Council, the wise and respected masters regarding and speaking to him calmly. Finishing his report of what occurred on Ord Mantell, there was a long moment of silent thought. Then there was discussion, questions, clarifications…all the sort of business that is to be expected with such a unique development. Over all, they showed great remorse for Tieru’s death, and the deaths of so many others – Jedi and civilian – by the hand of Khan.

 

There was only one master who remained on the Council that witnessed the exile of Khan Arc-Saal. He was Iotar Wixas, a small creature with gray fur and long pointed ears, like a rabbit’s.

 

He nodded at the padawan’s story. “Yes, it is better for the galaxy that Khan is dead. His intent and ambition were dangerous then, half a century ago, and it would appear that his power was too great for anyone to ignore. I believe Targon is to be commended.”

 

“I agree on that matter,” Master Karus Salar said. He was a human with a signature head of platinum blonde hair. “But what about his actions on Ord Mantell? Master Tieru should have taught him better than to fraternize with…”

 

Targon felt a rush of indignation prepare to burst from him. How could he dare to judge what Tieru should or should not have taught? How would he know what the circumstances on Ord Mantell were if he wasn’t there to see them? Targon had seen both sides of the conflict, and government was certainly not any better than the separatists.

 

Fortunately, a voice that shared his view kept him from making an outburst and shaming himself before the Council.

 

“Let’s not speak out of ignorance or personal prejudice,” Master Arbir Cyrus said. “I’m sure Master Shan would tell you the same were she here with us.”

 

“You should not speak for the Grand Master in her absence,” Master Salar countered.

 

“We should all show more respect for Master Tieru,” Master Shado Nalos, a violet-skinned Twi’lek, stated.

 

“Yes, you are correct,” Salar admitted.

 

“Padawan Targon Karashi,” Wixas said. “Please return this evening while the Council deliberates the recent events and what shall follow in consequence of them.”

 

Targon bowed and exited.

 

“You intend to discuss whether he is ready to be named a Jedi Knight?” Master Salar supposed.

 

“I do,” Wixas replied.

 

“He is old enough, surely,” Nalos stated. “And he shows a great affinity to the Force.”

 

“Yes, but his master is no longer here to present his own recommendation,” another of the Council stated.

 

“Then we must make the decision ourselves,” Wixas said.

 

“He showed a disregard for politics and attempted to work with members of the separatist movement on Ord Mantell,” Salar stated. “That is not fitting for a Jedi, who is meant to protect the Republic.”

 

“We Jedi show little interest in politics on a regular basis,” Shado said. “Besides, we do not follow the directives of the Republic as some branch of the military.”

 

“True,” Cyrus said. “And I would point out that Targon showed the compassion and kindness of a Jedi by giving aid to the starving citizens.”

 

“Aid that he stole from the planetary government,” Salar held up a finger.

 

“This is one situation that has been seen in the lives of many Jedi Knights over the years,” Wixas said. “How can we judge him on an act that is repeated by others? Even ourselves?”

 

“Are you suggesting…?”

 

“Let’s consider the bigger issue,” Cyrus cut in, before the debate went in an off-topic direction. “The issue of Khan.”

 

“He showed prowess in skill and connection to the Force in defeating such an opponent,” Shado said. “Khan killed four Jedi and countless more people in his rampage. Including Targon’s own master.”

 

“Those four were aged and venerable,” Salar said.

 

“But no less powerful,” Wixas stated. “I knew Masters Urak, Boreos, and Eseri, back during the time when Khan was exiled. And we all are familiar with Tieru. He may have had…different techniques and philosophies, but none can dispute his strength.”

 

“And I would venture to suppose that he passed on his knowledge and strength to his apprentice,” Cyrus said.

 

“That does not prove…” Salar started to get agitated.

 

“Calm yourself, Karus,” another of the Council said. “What is your reason for getting upset with young Targon?”

 

“Too many Jedi are starting to slip away from the direct code. They are following tangents that can lead to the Dark Side. Targon Karashi is no different. He flew into a rage with the death of his master. To knight him would be to accept a great risk.”

 

“Orthodoxy is a difficult thing to enforce and follow entirely,” Shado tapped his chin. “None of us can claim that we adhere strictly to the code at every given moment. There are temptations of the Dark Side for all of us, no matter our position or strength.”

 

“Targon is no different,” Cyrus added. “And he overcame his fury with the final guidance of his master. Such is to be admired given the circumstances.”

 

Shado continued. “You, yourself, are upset at this moment. Peace is the first edict of the code, Karus. If you – or any of us – do not always show complete discipline, then how can we ask of such perfection from a young man such as Targon?”

 

“I see your point,” Salar conceded. “But I still have my reservations.”

 

“As do we all,” Wixas said. “But Targon is young. His journey as a Jedi is still just beginning. Even a Jedi Master has much to learn.”

 

Salar nodded slowly. “Yes, that is true.”

 

The Council continued its discussions on the matter for a while longer, and it was quite some time before they contacted Grand Master Shan. All the while, Targon was out in the gardens outside the Temple. He sat on a bench by himself, reflecting upon himself, and what had happened. His feelings were full of sadness. He knew it was over, but he couldn’t come to terms with the death of his master and the rage that had filled him.

 

And now the Council was deliberating on his fate. Would he be assigned to a new master? Given new assignments as a janitor or gardener? Expel him from the Order? That was a bit extreme…but it might be a possibility, given his actions. Tieru may have approved of his escapade with Greyhawk, but the Council did probably not share the view.

 

Still, from what he heard, he might have supporters among the Council. Wixas knew Tieru for many years, and knew the history behind Khan. Masters Nalos and Cyrus seemed on his side…and they were rather strong voices on the Council…but so was Master Salar. It didn’t take great insight to see there was something Salar saw in Targon that he did not approve.

 

As he wandered, he did not notice the sun begin to set behind the forest. Soon, several hours had passed and he was summoned to go before the Council again. Sighing with resignation, he returned to the Council chamber.

 

The light was dim, and at first, Targon suppose that no one was there. Then the light of a holoprojector illuminated the faces of the Council members in their seats. The image of Grand Master Shan appeared; her kind eyes seemed to pierce into him.

 

“Take a knee, padawan,” she said softly.

 

He did so. The other Council members stood up and kept their eyes directly on him. Targon felt a twinge of nervousness tingle his senses – a feeling of fear that he was to be punished. Still, he subdued the emotion.

 

“Targon Karashi, after reviewing your actions and the training you received from Master Tieru, the High Council names you a Knight of the Republic.”

 

The words echoed in his ears for what seemed an age. He was shocked…he hadn’t even considered being knighted. It simply wasn’t something he had thought about. Yet the feeling of gladness at this step forward was lessened, as he realized that his master was not here to see him attain knighthood. Honor was mixed with sorrow in his heart.

 

“I can sense your pain,” Master Shan said. “Your master lives on through the Force, Targon. He no doubt is very proud of you. Rise a Jedi Knight, Targon Karashi.”

 

He did so, and stood to his full stature before the Council. There was a smile on his lips, and tears trickling down his cheek. His emotions were confused – caught between joy and grief. He had become a Jedi Knight, as he had worked so hard to achieve, yet he knew a great deal of responsibility came from such a rank. And he would not have his master’s counsel readily available.

 

“Thank you, masters,” he bowed. “I am greatly honored.”

 

The stars were out, silently watching Targon as he entered the clearing in the forest, walking between the great ruins. He came upon the same spot where he and his master had knelt not too long ago. Only now it seemed so much longer.

 

He found the flower next to the stone. It seemed to glow in the starlight. He watched it for a while; studying the details his master had wanted him to notice…and pondering on what else he might learn from it.

 

There was a soft whisper of the night wind. He shivered from the sudden breath of cold air. Staying for a while longer, he then returned to the Jedi Temple. In one of the shrine rooms, he worked with the librarian to find a proper place to display his master’s deerskin cloak. It soon joined the belongings of the many masters of the Order, objects that signified their legacy and lasting work for the galaxy.

 

Tieru’s staff was hung on the wall as well. Targon stared at it a long while. He could see the strains on its frame, after his master’s long use of it – especially his heavy leaning. It was incredible to him that he had once seen it flaming with energy of the Force.

 

“You taught me well, master,” he said softly. “Now I am a Jedi Knight, and I stand alone, without your protection. I still have your wisdom…and I promise that I will not disappoint you in my duties to the people of the Republic. Be at peace, master. May the Force be with you.”

 

He then tied his padawan braid on the staff, next to the ornamental feathers that Tieru had kept during his many years as a Master. Targon walked slowly away, looking back at his master’s staff before leaving.

 

 

So, that was the beginning...again. As with most stories, all comments and opinions are welcome. I'll try to get an episode or two up each day so I can get everything caught up...and then I'll be trying to reach the end of the series.

Edited November 5, 2012 by TargonKarashi

Well if it isn't Targon! Welcome back, my friend! I've been waiting to see what happened to Targon and Co. since the end of the last chapter you posted, before the forum wipe. I'll be eager for you to catch up, or at least get up to... that Nautolan... again. Once again, welcome back, and glad to see the story up again!

 

Targon awoke covered in sweat. The dream again…the fifth this week. Every time he fell asleep, he would witness Tieru’s death just as vividly as that terrible day. All the emotions, all the fear and anger…

 

He sat up from his bed and rubbed his forehead. It had only been two weeks since he had watched his master suddenly slain by Khan. He had remained at the Temple, trying to center himself. Meditation, practicing, even more meditation…he was starting to get restless. And then there were these dreams.

 

Standing up, he got a drink and put on his robes. He looked up at the mirror and for a second he thought he saw Khan’s face looking back at him.

 

He jumped back in alarm, but then a second look showed there was nothing but his own reflection. Sighing to put himself at ease, he combed his hair and then left his chamber. The halls were silent and empty – it was dawn. Most of the Temple was still asleep, or deep in meditation.

 

His soft footsteps echoed lightly in the hall as he made his way down to the library. Targon knew the hallways well enough to manage perfectly fine even in the dark. It was all he had really known during his life. However, he rarely walked the halls alone. Usually he was in the company of Master Tieru.

 

Targon shook himself mentally. “Quit acting like this,” he told himself aloud. “Tieru wouldn’t want you moping about like this, lost in self-pity.” He didn’t notice the light on in the room he was passing at that moment.

 

“I see I’m not the only one who talks to himself,” Targon heard a familiar voice from behind the door. He stopped short as the door opened and Master Cyrus’ figure appeared in the frame.

 

“Master,” Targon stuttered slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

 

“It’s quite alright,” the Council member smiled. “I’ve been up for some time. Why don’t you come in?”

 

“I, uh…”

 

“Come in,” Cyrus stepped back to allow him in. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to speak with you – when it was appropriate. I think now is a good time.”

 

“What do you want to talk about, Master?” Targon asked as he sat down on the pad where Cyrus gestured. The Master sat across the mat on the floor, on another cushion. Targon had known Cyrus for a long time – he and Tieru were close friends – yet he hadn’t really noticed the features of the man.

 

Master Arbir Cyrus was the son of a human father and an alien mother, and he bore the resemblance of both. He had light brown hair, sharp nails, blue eyes, and strings blue and green speckles on his arms and cheeks. For the most part, he looked normal – to human standards – and so didn’t seem very odd to anyone, unless one was extremely focused on specific details. Targon thought him fascinating.

 

“Tieru was a friend,” Cyrus said softly. “And to show that I remain his friend, I want to extend my friendship to you. Targon, I know you’re going through a difficult time – I feel the pain, but not to the degree you do. If there’s anything you need, or want to talk about, I’m here.”

 

“Thank you, Master Cyrus,” Targon smiled. He figured now would be a good time to take him up on his offer. “I’ve been having dreams that disturb me.”

 

“Dreams reenacting that day?” Cyrus supposed.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I understand. In my experience, everyone finds himself or herself caught seeing a traumatic event over and over again, especially in their dreams.”

 

“How do I get through it?” Targon asked.

 

“It’s not easy,” the Master interlocked his fingers. “You can never forget a tragedy, but it doesn’t have to consume you. Some never get over it, but I believe you can be successful in overcoming your fear and grief by becoming actively engaged in your duty. Tieru would want you to go on with your life, and he wouldn’t want you becoming lost in sorrow, even at his own death.”

 

“But how? How can I go on without his guidance?”

 

“You still have him to guide you, Targon. You remember his wisdom? You spent years under his teaching? Apply what you have learned. Beyond that, remember that he lives on in the Force.”

 

Targon nodded, though he felt doubtful and not entirely satisfied. “I understand.”

 

Cyrus nodded slowly, thinking. Eventually, he said, “I think you would find peace in you mind if you left the Temple for a while and went out into the galaxy. The Republic still needs Jedi, even if it might not want to admit it. And there are plenty of people in need of help. Immense sadness is overshadowed by immense joy, and for a Jedi – at least, in my opinion – there is not greater joy than in helping someone.”

 

“I think you’re right, Master,” Targon perked up a bit. “Helping those destitute people on Ord Mantell was extremely satisfying…just the feeling of knowing that they weren’t hungry anymore.”

 

“Ah,” Cyrus grinned. “Yes, you do see.” He stood up and walked over to Targon, who stood up in response. “Now, young Jedi Knight, I want you to go and do more good for the galaxy. I’m willing to predict there’s someone you will find to help – and can probably help you.”

 

Targon bowed. “Thank you for your guidance, Master Cyrus.”

 

“May the Force be with you,” the Master said.

 

The sun was starting to come up as Targon left, walking out into the hall and considering what the Council member had said. He was right, after all. A Jedi Knight needed to be out, defending justice and strengthening the weak – not cooped up in the Temple meditating. Such was for stuffy old masters…those who weren’t like Master Cyrus, of course.

 

Targon made his way to the spaceport. There was a transport that would be leaving for a number of worlds later in the morning. He decided he might as well take it and see where he could go and what he could do. There was a twinge in the memory that this was the dock where he had left for Ord Mantell with Tieru. However, he put the pain aside as best he could. He was going to try to go on with his life…wait; there was no such thing as try. He would.

 

It was midmorning and the sun was up in the sky before the transport started loading up on passengers. A few other Jedi and visitors to Tython got on with Targon, but not many. There were many empty seats, and the whole cabin was quiet.

 

The flight was long, and it stopped on several planets as it headed toward the Outer Rim. At each stop, people got off, but no one got on. When Targon noticed this, he felt quite awkward, and a little nervous. At the next port, the last of the other passengers got off and Targon was alone. There was only one stop left – a world called Calpronica V.

 

Figuring there wouldn’t be any bother, Targon headed up to the cabin to see the pilot and the crew. He might as well see where this last planet was. He hadn’t ever heard of it.

 

He found that there was only a crew of five, and they were all in a lounge room chatting and smoking. Apparently, there was a droid up in the cockpit, and the ship was on autopilot anyway.

 

“Do you mind if I join you?” Targon asked.

 

“No,” the captain shrugged. “Though if I were you, Jedi, I’d find a change of clothes.”

 

Sitting down, Targon asked, “Why?”

 

“It’s just a suggestion.”

 

“What can you tell me about Calpronica V?” Targon posed to anyone who might be a bit more helpful than the captain.

 

A crewman – the cook – pulled out his cigar and blew a plume of exhaust from his mouth. “Calpronica’s a big city planet. It’s not in Hutt space, but it might as well be. You can find just about anything there that you might find on Nar Shaddaa. And those slugs have just as much power. Though, I don’t know about that anymore.”

 

“Why is that?” Targon inquired.

 

“The Empire’s made a deal with certain Hutt cartels to gain a foothold on the planet. There isn’t any Republic presence there, and I guess the Sith are piling on the garrisons.”

 

“What?” Targon was shocked. “Well, how are you going there? When did this happen?”

 

“About three days ago,” the cook answered.

 

The captain coughed. “We’ve still got a contract for a cargo to deliver there, so we get to make this last trip. But you can see why there aren’t any more passengers…and why you might like to change your clothes before you get off there.”

 

Targon’s eyebrow rose, still confused and dumbfounded at this. “So it’s not part of the Sith Empire, or the Hutt cartels?”

 

“Like I said,” the cook replied, “it might as well be. And probably will soon enough. Have a nice stay there.” The crew laughed.

 

Targon stood and left to deal with what he had just learned. Calming himself, he wondered if he should just turn around. Well, that wasn’t really an option. Even if he stayed, the ship would be inspected, as it was unloaded.

 

An odd feeling came to him. Perhaps he was meant to go there? Maybe Calpronica was where he would be able to help people? After all, the folks there would no doubt be largely in need on a world run by both the Empire and the Hutts. It made sense, and yet it didn’t.

 

A Jedi wouldn’t exactly be welcomed there. So Targon decided to take the captain’s advice and figure out a way to change his appearance. Robes would be easily recognized.

 

There was a suitcase that looked like it had been sitting on one of the seats for a long while. Targon opened it up, hoping that there might be some clothes in there that he could change into to disguise himself. Inside were women’s clothes.

 

Targon sighed in frustration. Even if he had the audacity to try to wear them, they wouldn’t fit him at all. It looked like he was just going to have to cover himself in his brown cloak, put up his hood, and try to keep a low profile.

 

The ship shook slightly, and he knew they had exited hyperspace. Looking out a window, Targon’s nerves tingled with anxiety. There were several Imperial ships in orbit around the planet. And it looked like they were keeping an eye on who came and went. Not a blockade, per se, but a close monitor nonetheless.

 

He didn’t like it, but he sighed and sat down to await their landing. It looked like his first mission as a Jedi Knight was going to be an interesting one. He just hoped he wouldn’t cause too much trouble – and that trouble wouldn’t find him. There had been plenty of stories about the Empire circling among the padawans. Targon didn’t want to be one to find out if they were true or not.

 

Calpronica was a city planet to rival the other major metropolises in the galaxy – greater than Taris was three centuries ago, before its destruction. It wasn’t on quite on par with Coruscant, but then again, the Republic’s capital had suffered quite a beating during the war and hadn’t quite recovered.

 

While the gleaming skyscrapers shone of prosperity, Targon could easily smell the stench of poverty and corruption. He could see it too. Unlike Ord Mantell – ravaged by war – this world had not experienced any serious conflicts. Instead, the poor lived in destitution by the greed and exploitation of the wealthy.

 

Targon scowled as he exited the ship. Those wealthy were no doubt the Hutts – and their constituents.

 

He wasted no time in making himself scarce around the docking authorities. Rushing off before anyone could see or question him, he made his way to a crowd of people that were headed along to their numerous destinations.

 

The people were dressed in peculiar fashions. Some wore filthy rags, some wore high-end fashion material, and there were plenty of styles in between – and the distant bizarre as well. Targon figured he wouldn’t stand out too much, being draped in a cloak and hiding his face with a hood.

 

Still…if he ran into Sith, they would probably recognize his garb.

 

The streets were packed with people – even as streams of hover-vehicles flew overhead. There were folks headed to and from work, beggars looking to elicit sympathies, and drunks lying about in their stupor. Except the alleys were full, so many were in the middle of the street, forcing people to step over them as there was no room to go around.

 

Targon kept with the flow for a while, observing the buildings and sights – though most were rather unappealing. Advertisements for drugs and other vices, scandalous and offensive advertisements…things that should be expected on a world run by two groups that care little for the details of the population.

 

On nearly every street corner, there was a Sith trooper or two. They had rifles at the ready, as though they were expecting to be shooting someone at any moment. Each time he saw one, Targon felt himself tense up and twinge with apprehension. He tried to keep them in his sights while avoiding their attention.

 

A large patrol happened to be walking through. The crowd incredibly was able to part to allow them passage through. They came within a few meters of Targon, and his heartbeats quickened.

 

He needed to get out of the way and get his bearings. It wouldn’t do to be simply walking around the streets forever. He couldn’t do any good that way. However, stopping to help anyone in the middle of the street would certainly draw attention. So he started to look for a place to rest – away from the eyes of the Sith soldiers.

 

Targon noticed a change in the atmosphere a little ways past the patrol. While the streets were definitely lacking care and cleanliness, the ones up ahead appeared even more so. And there seemed to be no troops standing around. Instead, there were signs of gangs marking out territory and hanging out in alleys and on corners. After a moment of pondering, Targon figured he had just left a Sith controlled region of the city, and had entered gang turf – area under the Hutts’ influence.

 

“Well, I guess that suits me well enough,” he sighed to himself. “At least the Hutts aren’t discriminating against certain individuals – such as Jedi.”

 

Yet it wouldn’t do to be mugged and be left for dead in the street, Targon decided. There was little in the way of rest areas in this part of town, and the apartments were atrocious. He wasn’t excited at the prospect of long-term stay, but to be a real benefit to the people of this city, it was going to take time. However, the apartment complexes looked like they saw gang fights on a regular basis. Targon had no desire to get caught up in that.

 

There was only one place that actually looked good enough to consider. One of the blocks was dominated by a large structure adorned with multi-color fluorescent lights. Signs called it “Hondor’s Cantina”, but to Targon, it looked more like a club than anything else. There were bouncers at the door – two burly men who kept a close eye on who went in and who went out.

 

That didn’t bother Targon much, though, as there were no Sith troops around. He could handle a few thugs that gave him trouble well enough. Soldiers brought more soldiers, and they had bigger guns.

 

He didn’t see any line, which he found odd since everything else seemed like a club. Folks that the bouncers seemed to recognize just walked right in. Soon he was near enough to draw their attention, and unfortunately, he happened to be far away from anyone else that they could tell he wasn’t a member of a party. That meant he would be dealing with them one on one.

 

“Good evening, sirs,” Targon nodded. One of the men stepped in front of him and held up a hand.

 

“You got an invite?” he asked.

 

“Invite?” Targon raised an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, pal, an invitation. Not just anyone gets to go into the Hondor’s Cantina. You think this is some open place to the entire city? We have standards, bud.”

 

“I see,” Targon nodded. “And I don’t fit them?”

 

“Not necessarily, but you do look suspicious. And we don’t like suspicious people.”

 

Targon waved his finger subtly. “I can go in,” he said.

 

“You…can go in,” the bouncer repeated. He stepped aside and allowed Targon to pass.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Targon said as he went through the door.

 

Once he was through, he caught a huge whiff of the atmosphere and gagged. The air was thick with odors of alcohol, sweat, and filth. Not to mention the haze of smoke that hung just below an average head’s height.

 

There were plenty of tables, and drinkers occupied most. Some were slumping in their chairs, some were starting to sink into unconsciousness, some were lost in revelries and grievances they freely voiced in their intoxication…and some were getting ready to pick a fight. The bartender – a four-armed Besalisk – was busy getting rounds to the many patrons.

 

Targon knew the building was large, so there were probably more rooms to be had. And he might be able to see if they had rooms available. The place might stink, but at least there was security to be found here that would not be available in those apartments he passed by earlier. It wouldn’t hurt to check.

 

He made his way through the tables, and stopped at the bar.

 

“Excuse me,” he said.

 

The bartender turned around and growled. “I’ve got a lot of orders to handle, you can wait your turn.”

 

“No, no,” Targon shook his head. “I’m not looking for a drink, I’m wondering if there’s rooms available?”

 

The large alien chuckled, causing his great potbelly to jiggle. “You must be a new customer. Just invited – or did you sneak in?”

 

“Does it matter?” Targon asked.

 

“Not to me, as long as you’re pay for your drinks. I don’t do tabs here.” He handed a glass off to a man sitting nearby, who scanned his credits on the table to pay his fee. “Here’s the deal, stranger: you got invited, so you got a place to stay. There are couches in some of the other rooms, and plenty of entertainment. You can stay as long as you like, just pay for drinks, food, and pleasure up front. If you want privacy, there are a few bedrooms. Extra charge, though.”

 

“Ah, I see,” Targon nodded. “Thanks for the information.”

 

“Yeah, sure, now I’ve got orders to take care of.”

 

Targon left the bar and headed off to the hall to check out the other rooms. Hopefully, he’d be able to find one that smelled better.

 

 

There were only a few tables in this lounge – one of the more exclusive areas. Most of the patrons of the room were focused on the platform in the middle of the room, where they could drool over the dancing girls.

 

But there was no time for such foolishness at one particular table. Three men, a human, a Trandoshan, and a Devaronian, sat at it, a pile of credits in the center. They were deep in the business of high stakes card playing.

 

The human, Rick Orlan, stared at his opponents. He then glanced down at his cards for a second, and then his eyes went back to the aliens.

 

“Alright, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s the moment of truth. Let’s see the cards…” He turned to the Trandoshan. “Molsskin, what have you got?”

 

The lizard placed his cards on the table, face-up. Rick nodded as he looked at it.

 

“Two pair…not bad, not bad,” he said. He then looked at the Devaronian. “Jagi? How about you? Think you can beat that?”

 

With a grin, the horned alien showed his hand.

 

“Ooh,” Rick grimaced. “That’s a good hand. That’s a very good hand.”

 

The two aliens stared at him, waiting. He let them wait a while longer as he scratched his head and then his bristly chin.

 

“Well?” Jagi asked.

 

Rick ignored him for a moment, running his hands through his brown hair that was in need of a visit to the barber. Then he sighed in a sorry tone. “Well, gentlemen, it’s been a fun game…” He revealed his hand. “…But it looks like I win again.” It was clearly a game ending hand.

 

Jagi and Molsskin’s eyes widened, and they shoved their fingers into Rick’s chest as he was gathering the credits.

 

“Cheater!” Molsskin howled.

 

“Nobody can win that many times!” Jagi snarled. “Nobody!”

 

Rick sat back in indignation. He scoffed. “What? Are you accusing me – Rick Orlan – of cheating? Do honestly think I would do that to you?”

 

Jagi’s fist answered for him, smashing into his face. He fell backwards in his chair and the aliens were about to leap on top of him when a security droid entered and picked Rick up.

 

“Come with me,” the artificial voice ordered.

 

“Don’t touch me! Get your hands off me!” Rick shouted, thinking that it was some normal person and not a machine.

 

“Comply,” the droid said in a tone that could almost be called menacing.

 

“Oh, okay,” Rick resigned.

 

The room had become silent with the scene. As the droid dragged Rick out, his opponents started gathering up the credits.

 

“That cheater!” Jagi growled. “I should have seen right through him…Hey! These credits are mine!” The two began squabbling and when the door closed behind the security droid, the music and entertainment resumed as though nothing happened.

 

Rick was taken down the hall to the door of the owner’s chamber. There was a Rodian standing there, with lugubrious amounts of piercings on his face – ears, nose, mouth, and even antennae. He regarded Rick with his one good eye; the other was completely removed.

 

“Well, well,” he said in his blabbering language. “It’s the little troublemaker. Still wearing that jacket, I see?”

 

“Are you kidding, Leedo? I’ll wear this jacket to the day I die,” Rick pointed to his clothing. His jacket was a rusty red that stood out against his tan shirt and light brown pants.

 

“It’s been a while, Rick,” the Rodian said. “But as usual, you manage to cause a ruckus that brings you here. As head of security, I’m seriously thinking of having you banned from this establishment.”

 

“Banned? This was just a simple misunderstanding!” Rick protested.

 

“I’ve heard that one before.”

 

There was a deep, rumbling laughter from behind the door. Rick’s eyes widened. “That laugh,” he muttered. “I know that laugh…”

 

“Leedo,” came the loud voice of the Hutt, “bring him in.”

 

The Rodian opened the heavily secured door, grabbed Rick by the arm, and thrust him into the large chamber. The room was heavily lavished, with all sorts of fine linens draped on the walls, and gold trinkets littering the floor and tables. There was a large bed, adorned with dozens of expensive pillows. On top of the cushions was a large Hutt, surrounded by half a dozen slave girls rubbing him with oil. Three guards stood watch, two behind Rick at the door and one near the boss.

 

Again, the Hutt gave out a booming laugh.

 

“Ho-ho-ho! Rick Orlan, what a coincidence to find you here in my joint!”

 

“Hey, Gardogga,” he said hesitantly. “Fancy seeing you here. I thought you were still running your businesses on Hutta.”

 

“I recently…acquired…this place from old Hondor. I’ve been meaning to change the name and issuing new invitations out to the patrons.”

 

Rick laughed, but without humor. He knew what he meant by “acquired”. He felt a little shaky in the boots. “Look, Gardogga, my favorite slug…this really is just a big misunderstanding. I was just playing a game of cards when…”

 

“Save it, Rick,” the Hutt cut him off.

 

“Okay,” he shut up.

 

The Hutt chuckled. “Cheating again? Getting caught again?”

 

“Nah,” Rick scratched his head. “They were just poor losers.”

 

“Right, the usual story,” the cat eyes narrowed. “You probably know what I do with troublemakers, but I think I could let you go if you do a job for me.” He waved his hand to all the others in the room. “Leave us.”

 

The slaves and guards did as they were told. Leedo remained still for a while.

 

“I said leave,” Gardogga said.

 

“Great Gardogga,” the Rodian argued, “I am head of security and Mr. Orlan here is a security risk.”

 

“Leave!” the Hutt bellowed.

 

“You heard him,” Rick made a scooting gesture with his fingers. “Out you go.”

 

Leedo finally bowed and left.

 

“I see your employees aren’t taking orders too well,” Rick turned back to the Hutt.

 

“He’s a remnant from Hondor’s employ, and I was trying to cut costs with keeping most of the workers signed on,” Gardogga sighed. “However, it appears that they’re being more trouble than they’re worth.”

 

“That’s a shame.”

 

“Which is why I’m glad you’re here,” the Hutt smiled. “I’ve got a job for you, and doing it will let this whole misunderstanding slip.”

 

“A smuggling job?” Rick asked. “No way, I’m not doing that anymore.”

 

“Oh?” the Hutt’s giant eyes widened. “Why is that?”

 

“Haven’t you heard – oh wait, you wouldn’t have – I’ve gone straight.”

 

Gardogga erupted into a fit of laughter that shook the room. “Rick, you’ve always been able to tell the best jokes!”

 

“Um…I’m serious.”

 

“And yet you’re cheating at cards?”

 

Rick pulled out a high card from his sleeve and chucked it. “Not anymore.”

 

“Come now,” Gardogga liked his lips. “Just do the job, get paid, and…”

 

“Oh, wait, you’re paying? Why didn’t you say so?”

 

Gardogga smiled. “There’s the mercenary attitude I like. Of course I pay – this is business. You get the job done, and I’ll easily reimburse your losses in the lounge several times over.”

 

“Well…” Rick thought for a second, and then he sighed. “Alright, Gardogga, I’ll do this last job for you. But that’s it – I’m going straight.”

 

“Yes, yes,” the Hutt smiled. “We’ll see how long that lasts. I’ll have some men load up the spice onto your ship. I assume it’s still in your usual docking bay?”

 

“You know me too well,” Rick smiled.

 

He bowed respectfully to the Hutt, no less egotistical than others of his race, and walked out.

 

Mentally, he kicked himself in the cargo hold twice. Of course it was going to be an illegal substance transportation. What else did crime lords deal in? And the Empire had already got itself dug into Calpronica’s system of imports and exports. It was going to be extremely difficult to get this job done and still be alive to reap the benefits. He had quit the smuggling business for a reason.

 

But he needed the money. Big time. There were other debts to be paid, and creditors that were far worse than any Hutt.

 

Rick groaned. Slugs, smugglers, thugs, officers, sharks… He really needed to find better friends.

 

Targon didn’t like the looks of the other rooms – they were full of gambling, fighting, illegal dealing, and crowding over exotic dancers. Such things were not what a Jedi Knight should participate in. However, he was here, so he might as well rest in the lobby for a little while. There was only drinking going on there.

 

Reentering the lobby, he sighed in dismay. It apparently was time for some entertainment to liven the mood of the customers. A scantily dressed troupe of girls had been brought in, and they were dancing on just about all of the tables.

 

Targon ignored the swooning onlookers and made his way over to the bar. He sat in a chair and studied the vast assortment of drinks to choose from. He wanted cheap – and preferably nonalcoholic. There weren’t many that fit his criteria.

 

“So what’ll it be?” the bartender asked.

 

“Water,” Targon said simply.

 

The alien balked. “Water? You want water you can dunk your head in a puddle.”

 

“Surely water is free?” Targon asked.

 

“A cheapskate, are ya?” The bartender shook his head. He poured a glass full of the simple liquid and squeezed in a wedge of a fruit. “Here, maybe you’d like some sort of flavor.”

 

“Thank you,” Targon took the glass. The bartender moved on to other – more prolific and paying – drinkers.

 

Targon sipped his glass of water and tried to shut out the noise of the cantina to gain some calm in his mind. He had many things to think about – what he would do, who he could help…above everything, though, he was asking the question of why he came here in the first place. He was on a world controlled by two unfriendly powers, both quite dangerous to Jedi.

 

But he had come here to help people…so he scanned the area, wondering if any of these folks were in a situation he could help them with.

 

 

Rick sat alone at a booth. There was an empty glass in front of him, but his attention was towards the nearest dancer. She was a human, and Rick was wondering if he might be able to ask her out.

 

Of course, he would be leaving soon, so there was no room for a significant relationship. He might get lucky though, and not with cards. She might be the type…but if he was wrong… What if she wasn’t that kind of girl? The memory of seven hard slaps on his cheek from seven furious women came to mind. He wasn’t in the mood for an eighth.

 

He was about to stand up to get another drink when a heavy hand pushed him back in the booth. Then a man sat down across the table from him. He was a Kiffar, but he wore the armor and insignia of a Mandalorian recruit. But there was another mark that differentiated him from the clans – a black handprint.

 

Rick winced. Not again…

 

“Well, Rick Orlan,” the man smiled with malice. “I hope you got our message earlier this week.”

 

“You mean the trashed apartment?” Rick nodded. “Yes, yes, very nice. I would never have figured it was you if your symbol hadn’t been painted all over the walls. Couldn’t you have stayed and chatted a while?”

 

“Let’s cut the bantha fodder,” his guest leaned forward, making sure Rick noticed the blaster he held under the table.

 

“The money, right…” Rick scratched his whiskers. “Well, you see, it’s like this…I knew from your visit to my apartment that you were in town, so I came here to win a fortune to pay Algayne by playing cards. But wouldn’t you know it, these bums I was playing with got upset because I beat them and they started calling me a cheater. Me! A cheater!”

 

The Kiffar’s face was stoic and uninterested.

 

Rick continued, “So, they started trying to pick a fight, and the security comes and punishes – who else? – Me! They take my money and I’m the one who’s out of luck. Even though I won fair and square.”

 

“Touching, really. But I don’t give a frell. Algayne doesn’t give a frell either. He wants his money – the money you borrowed for an investment that turned sour. We’ve given you plenty of time, now it’s time to pay up.”

 

“Plenty? That deal went down less than a month ago. I would have thought you’d have given me a few weeks more.”

 

“You thought wrong. Algayne can’t have has-been smuggler scum losing his money and making a fool out of him.”

 

“A fool? That’s a bit harsh. I lost money just as he did.”

 

“Only he’s the one who is sending the collector,” the Kiffar pulled the blaster up and held it to Rick’s face. “Now, how about that money?”

 

“What if I don’t have it?” Rick felt sweat start to bead on his forehead.

 

“Do I really need to answer that?”

 

“No, not really.”

 

Rick gulped. “Can I please ask for an extension? Two days, maybe? I can get the money by then, I promise.”

 

“And then lose it again, most likely. Algayne sends his regards, Rick Orlan,” he started to pull the trigger.

 

The blaster suddenly left his hand and landed on the table. Both men looked up and saw a cloaked man standing over them. He was young – barely looked out of his teens. Rick and the collector both studied him with a hint of contempt.

 

“Is there a problem here?” Targon asked.

 

“None of your concern, stranger,” the Kiffar snorted. “Mind your own business, kid.”

 

“I’m not sure about rules here,” Targon persisted. “But I don’t believe violence is welcome in this cantina.”

 

“After I fry this mudlicker, I’ll be long gone before anyone can say anything.”

 

“Well, I’m saying something right now.”

 

Rick swallowed. “Look, man, I appreciate your concern, but you should really butt out of this…”

 

“Shut up, Rick!” the Kiffar picked up the gun, still staring up at the interloper. He stood and then started looking down on the young man. “I don’t like troublemakers, and my boss doesn’t like them either. Clear out, fool, or your blood can join this scum’s on the table.”

 

“There’s no need to get hostile,” Targon held up his hands. “I’m sure we can resolve this issue without any trouble. If this is an affair of money, perhaps I can assist?”

 

“This isn’t about money,” the Mandalorian growled. “It’s about honor and image.”

 

“That’s not how it seemed to me,” Rick said. “I’d say our talk was about money.”

 

“I told you to shut up, worm!” The Kiffar turned the gun on Rick and prepared to fire.

 

Targon grabbed his arm and pulled him away, causing the shot to scorch the wall above Rick’s head. Then the young man pushed the Mandalorian backwards with his shoulder.

Recovering as he bumped into a table, the Kiffar growled. “You’ve got a death wish, kid. First you, and then the fool!”

 

Targon’s hand pulled out his lightsaber from his cloak. The green glow and the recognizable humming silenced the entire cantina. Everyone – drunk or less so, dancer or watcher – stopped and was staring at the man who revealed himself to be a Jedi.

 

The Kiffar was unimpressed. “Algayne has killed dozens of Jedi, and he teaches his men to kill them too. I’ll gain great honor by bringing him your head.” He fired his blaster four times.

 

Targon blocked each bolt, sending the last one into the shooter’s leg. The Mandalorian’s armor was punctured by the powerful gunshot, and he gripped his wound in pain. He cursed and glared at the Jedi.

 

Maintaining a defensive pose, Targon realized his expression was a little more severe than it should be. He should have been calm and clear, but the Mandalorian’s disrespect and desire to kill Jedi had evoked a sense of agitation in Targon’s mind. He tried to clear his emotions, and made a personal note to work on his attitude and expressed behavior.

 

The Mandalorian did not choose to shoot again. He started limping to the door. Once there, he turned and shouted, “This isn’t over, Jedi. For you either, Rick. Algayne will see you both dead – I assure you. But your head will be my trophy.” He pointed at Targon. Then he left.

 

Targon sighed and deactivated his lightsaber. There was a long and awkward moment of hushed silence. But soon enough, the patrons of the cantina returned to their business of drinking and the watching the dancers continue their performance.

 

With the music starting up again, Rick sat still a moment, gaping at the Jedi. His hand was still gripping hard to one of his twin blasters in the holsters at his side. The situation had been going the direction of needing his guns, but the stranger’s intervention now made them unnecessary.

 

Ideas and thoughts rushed through his head. Should he get out of there? Jedi meant trouble – they were trouble. Then again, a Jedi could be a good bodyguard to keep the thugs and creditors away. But that would mean he would have to pay him, and Rick didn’t have money on him. Wait…didn’t Jedi work for free anyway?

 

He shook his head and exited the booth. Facing the young Jedi he stuck out his hand. “I guess thanks are in order,” he smiled. “The name’s Rick Orlan.”

 

The Jedi shook his hand and replied, “I am Targon Karashi.”

 

“Well,” Rick clapped his shoulder. “Can I buy you a drink?”

 

“I’m really not much of a drinker,” Targon shook his head.

 

“Nonsense!” Rick guided him to the bar. “Barkeep, how about a round for my friend here and me? How about two?”

 

“That’s not necessary,” Targon protested.

 

“Alright then, two for me!” Rick announced. “Let’s have…um…a Corellian scotch for both of us. That shouldn’t be too distasteful should it, Targon?”

 

“No, I suppose not,” the Jedi conceded.

 

“You heard him! Corellian scotch!”

 

The bartender grumbled and poured the beverage into two glasses, which he handed to the pair.

 

Rick held up his drink. “To the wonderful timing of this fine young man. Without his arrival, the janitor would be cleaning up my mess.” He tapped his glass against Targon’s and took a swig.

 

Targon sipped his slowly; even still, he coughed several times. It was strong stuff.

 

The buyer pounded his emptied glass on the bar’s surface and sighed with satisfaction. “Let’s have that second round!” When his cup was refilled, he chugged it faster than the first and announced his satisfaction in the same manner.

 

He turned to his drinking partner. “So, Mr. Karashi, what brings you to Calpronica V? It can’t be the atmosphere or the locals. Last I checked, Jedi weren’t on good terms with the Sith or the Hutts. And, frankly, both are the bosses on this rock.”

 

“Quite true,” Targon nodded. “Maybe it was the hopes of finding a nice fellow like you, Mr. Orlan.”

 

Rick laughed. “No, that can’t be it. Nobody goes looking for Rick Orlan…unless they’re trying to get money out of him. Not even the ladies come a calling anymore.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Targon said. “I take it you weren’t always so solitary?”

 

“Are you kidding? In my smuggling days I was a top dog. The spacers couldn’t quit asking me for tips and autoprints, and the lady-folk couldn’t get enough of me.”

 

“What happened?” Targon asked. “You can’t have retired – you look only a few years older than me.”

 

Rick sighed. “Nope, not age, not boredom…I’ve decided to go straight. Become a model citizen again. No more breaking laws and getting into trouble for this man, no sir!”

 

Targon raised an eyebrow. “Is this a goal you made recently?”

 

“Um…well, no. I got out of my business two years back.”

 

“And you’re still ‘going’ straight? I didn’t realize it took that long to turn your life around.”

 

“Sometimes it takes longer,” Rick replied. “It’s not easy, I can tell you. Plenty of folks still trying to get you doing a job or fly them around. Then there are the folks who you crossed…most of those fellows keep grudges for a long time.”

 

“So I imagine,” Targon said. “Who was your pal giving you trouble?”

 

“Him? Oh, that’s one of Algayne’s boys. A nasty lot, as you no doubt noticed.”

 

“I did,” the Jedi nodded. “Who’s this Algayne?”

 

“You haven’t heard of him? Well, I guess most wouldn’t have. He’s the head of a Mandalorian splinter cell, though he’s starting to become a rising crime boss. A dangerous man he is, quite deadly.”

 

“Are all the people you associate with like him?” Targon inquired.

 

“No…not all. I mean, I’m here drinking with a Jedi. You’re not going to go and try to hit me up for credits and dump me in an alley, are you?”

 

Targon simply raised an eyebrow.

 

“Yes, I know it’s a stupid question, and a poor joke. This appears to be an off day for the most part.”

 

“The day’s not over yet,” Targon smirked.

 

Rick chuckled. “That’s true, but don’t make me regret buying you a drink…speaking of which…” He pointed to the entrance. The door opened and with the new arrivals, all music, chatter, dancing, and drinking ceased at once.

 

Half a dozen Sith soldiers marched in, headed by a lieutenant with the foulest sort of primness in his clothes and in his face – at least according to Rick.

 

Targon sighed in dismay. So much for laying low. Only one thing would bring Sith troops in here. Him.

 

The lieutenant spoke. “There is word of a Jedi in this establishment, and I want to know where he is.”

 

Through the hallway came a pair of security droids and Leedo, holding a blaster pistol. They planted themselves in the path of the soldiers.

 

“What do you think you’re doing, Sith?” Leedo sneered. “You’ve got your area of the city – and the Hutts have theirs. The contract specifically stated you stay off out turf and stick to your jurisdiction.”

 

“I am in my jurisdiction,” the lieutenant stated.

 

“What? You can’t come in here…”

 

The lieutenant pushed him aside, and the troops had their guns up and aimed at the droids. “On the contrary, alien, the contract has been changed.” He spoke loudly, addressing everyone in the lobby. “Calpronica V is now under Imperial control. Lord Orgys is now governor, and all areas of the city fall under Sith law and jurisdiction.”

 

The drunken crowd was too shocked to be outraged. There was nothing that could be done. More troops would come if they resisted – and no one was willing to lose their lives over the their rights.

 

“Now,” the lieutenant continued. “I want the Jedi. The one who hands him over will be rewarded by Lord Orgys himself.”

 

Silence.

 

But before anyone could start pointing fingers and revealing the Jedi, Rick stood up from his seat and walked over to the lieutenant. The officer regarded his simple garb and appearance with overt contempt.

 

“I suppose you know where the Jedi can be found?” he asked Rick.

 

“That could be true,” Rick nodded. “Actually, I came over here to give you some advice.”

 

“And what is that?”

 

“You didn’t bring enough men.”

 

“Enough men? You think my contingent is insufficient to handle as single Jedi?”

 

“Not even that. They’re not enough to handle me.”

 

Before anyone could react, Rick drew his twin blasters from their holsters and fired off two shots from each gun. The lieutenant and three of the men went down. The remainder started firing at their attacker.

 

Rick dove for the bar, pulling Targon along with him as the shots whizzed overhead. The bartender and a few patrons were hit.

 

“What are you doing?” Targon asked.

 

“Starting a fight and paying a debt,” Rick smiled at him. “You saved my life, now I’m saving yours. I’ve got a ship at a dock not too far away. You can come with me, and get off this world.”

 

“But I just got here…”

 

“It looks like your welcome wore out early,” Rick said as he emerged from the counter and opened fire on the remaining soldiers. With quick precision, he gunned the last of them down. The lobby had become chaotic, with people ducking for cover and starting fights with each other. He glanced down at the Jedi. “Let’s get out of here before their friends show up.”

 

“The entrance is probably covered,” Targon pointed out.

 

“Hmm, you’re probably right,” Rick holstered is pistols. “Come on, we’ll take the back door.”

 

Targon stood up and followed Rick through the halls. An alarm was ringing, and panic was starting to spread to all the other lounges and rooms. Drunkards started getting aggressive, dancers started screaming and bolting for their dressing rooms.

 

“I take it this place has a system of handling these issues?” Targon asked.

 

“Well, it used to, but it’s under new management.”

 

“That would leave things in disorder, and something like this so soon…”

 

“Exactly,” Rick said as he opened a door. It was a docking bay. “Oops,” he muttered. “Wrong door. I guess it’s been a little too long…”

 

There was a large airspeeder getting loaded up with valuables, slave girls, and important staff. Leedo was heading the operation, but he was taking orders from a massive Hutt.

“Gardogga? Getting out of here so soon?” Rick asked.

 

The Hutt turned to him. “Imperials cause problems for everyone, and I need to vacate myself before an investigation starts.” His brown eyes narrowed. “This had better not be your doing,” he rumbled.

 

Rick laughed uneasily. “Me? Of course not! Why would I get myself mixed up in this nasty business?”

 

“Who’s your friend?” Gardogga asked, pointing to Targon.

 

“My new first mate,” Rick answered.

 

“Don’t forget our agreement,” the Hutt said.

 

“Forget? Never!” Rick threw up his hands. “In fact, I’m headed to my ship right now. And I’ll get that shipment off right away.”

 

“I knew I could count on you,” Gardogga smiled. He then barked to Leedo, “Get all the trinkets and girls on! I don’t want anything of real value lost to Imperial confiscation.”

 

“Of course, sir,” the Rodian bowed. “What about the prisoner?”

 

“Yes, yes, him too. I don’t want the Empire taking my special guest away.”

 

Leedo nodded just as two of the Hutt’s men came through a door, dragging a battered man between them.

 

“Come on, Targon, let’s get going!” Rick grabbed his companion’s arm and pulled him through the door.

 

Targon resisted for a moment long enough to see the face of the beaten prisoner. His hair was gray, and he was wearing a Republic insignia. When he saw he caught the glimpse of his face, Targon’s gasped. But then he was pulled through the door and he continued to follow Rick through the halls and out the real exit.

 

They didn’t stop for a moment in the alley. Speed was important – speed to stay ahead of the Imperial response. No doubt there had been a report of weapons fire and a missing patrol.

 

Targon simply trailed in Rick’s wake, not thinking of direction for himself. His mind was focused on the man he had seen being dragged like a sack to the speeder – a prisoner of the Hutt.

 

“Marc,” he whispered softly. “You’re alive… What happened?”

 

The feeling the Force had brought him here became stronger.

 

Targon and Rick came out of the garbage-covered alleyways to the not-quite-so trashy streets. There were few people about, which Targon felt was odd as he remembered the streets earlier.

 

“What’s with the lack of folks?” Targon asked.

 

“I imagine it has to do with the Sith suddenly taking things over,” Rick replied.

 

“That is likely. But won’t being out here – alone – make us more of a target to the Sith?”

 

“You of course are assuming that they even know what we look like or who we are?” Rick glanced back at him.

 

“They could get names and descriptions from the witnesses.”

 

Rick grunted. “Good point, but we shouldn’t worry about it too much. Now…” he stopped at an intersection in the road. “Which way to the dock?”

 

“You don’t know?” Targon asked.

 

“Sure I know…I’ve just lost my direction for a moment,” Rick said.

 

A blaster shot hit the ground next to their feet. Looking up, they saw the shooter – the Kiffar that they had confronted back in the cantina.

 

Rick pulled out his pistols and fired back. The man took cover and shot several shots, forcing the pair to get protection as well.

 

“Are you really still doing this?” Rick shouted to their attacker.

 

Targon added, “Can’t we talk about this?”

 

More blaster bolts hitting the dumpster they were hiding behind and the shout “No talk!” was the reply.

 

Rick sighed. “And to think I was worried about cheating at cards not too long ago.”

 

“What’s the plan, Rick?” Targon asked. “He probably knows we’re headed for your ship and is going to try to make sure he keeps us from it.”

 

“Don’t worry, I have a plan…or rather, I’m coming up with one.”

 

“That’s encouraging,” Targon sighed.

 

“Here’s an idea,” Rick said. “Why don’t you pull out that lightsaber and cut him in half? That is what you guys do best, isn’t it?”

 

Targon raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously asking that?”

 

“If you’ve got better ideas, I’d love to hear them,” Rick replied.

 

The blaster fire had stopped suddenly. Rick and Targon risked a peak over the dumpster to check out what was going on. The Kiffar was gone.

 

Seeing no more Mandalorian, the two of them stood up and hesitantly started down a different street.

 

“We’ll take a longer route to the dock,” Rick said. “Better to get there late and without incident than with a blaster shot in the ribs.”

 

“A wise plan,” Targon answered.

 

“Whatever,” Rick shrugged.

 

They continued through the eerily empty streets. No beggars, no pedestrians, no gang members, and no Sith patrols. There were only a few speeders a long ways above them, but those didn’t count. It wasn’t that the area had been abandoned, Targon noticed, but rather it had been vacated very quickly. He could sense the presence of frightened people all around him. The citizens were probably inside the buildings, peeking out of the windows. News of the Empire’s move to take over the planet had apparently moved quickly.

 

Nearly a half hour of silence had passed as they walked. Rick was feeling uncomfortable, so he opened his mouth to start a conversation.

 

“So, Jedi, how’s your first visit to Calpronica V going?”

 

“Very funny,” Targon replied. “And I’d prefer that you used my name, instead of the general term of what I am.”

 

“Oh, right, sorry,” Rick coughed. “I guess I’m not used to being – you know – up close to one.”

 

“It’s alright,” Targon nodded. “You probably aren’t a big fan of Jedi, anyway. Not many are, apparently.”

 

“No, I like Jedi…the one I’ve met.”

 

“That one being me?”

 

Rick smiled. “Exactly. However, I am still forming my opinion, so we’ll see what I end up thinking about you. You did, after all, save my life.”

 

“We haven’t seen the last of our collector friend,” Targon sighed. “What is this money issue that he wants you dead for?”

 

“Well, I don’t know if he wants me dead, but his boss certainly does.”

 

“Algayne?”

 

“Yeah. A little while back, I got a good deal of money from him to invest in a spice running scheme. It was supposed to make us both rich, but it turned out to be a scam. The bum who took our money – Algayne’s money – is probably dead now. But the Mandalorian appears to skin me for the credits I lost.”

 

“Was this all before your plan to go straight?”

 

“Well…no. Actually it was after. I just needed to get the money to take care of things. It was honest as far as I was concerned. All I was doing was investing money.”

 

“Someone else’s money,” Targon pointed out.

 

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me. Having a blaster in my face and an angry Kiffar trying to tell me has proven it was all a bad idea. Problem was, nobody else would loan me the money.”

 

“Not even your Hutt friend?”

 

Rick shook his head. “Gardogga isn’t the kind of guy to give money – unless you’ve done a specific job for him. That entails either smuggling or bounty hunting. Neither of which I want any part of…anymore.”

 

“So what did cause you to decide to get out?” Targon inquired.

 

Rick was silent for a while. “I’d…prefer not to talk about that.” His tone had the tinge of remorse and pain.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Targon said quickly. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

 

There was silence for a moment again. Then Rick perked up, changing the subject. “Enough about me, what about you? I understand you’re a Jedi Knight…and you probably don’t have gripes or problems like me.”

 

“Not quite,” Targon assented. “I’m afraid I haven’t had my share of run-ins with criminals.”

 

“And you might hope to keep out of their business,” Rick said, and then added, “However, it could be unavoidable if you hang around me.”

 

“We’ll see,” Targon smiled.

 

“Whatever you say, I’m just issuing a friendly warning.” Rick thought a moment. “Say, you mentioned a name – Marc – I think, after you saw that man…who is he?”

 

Targon winced. “I believe that was Marc Avis, a Major in the Republic military. I met him a few weeks ago on Ord Mantell. We, uh, had a little adventure.”

 

“You believe?” Rick then shook his head. “What would an officer be doing as a prisoner of Gardogga?”

 

“I don’t know…he was a supporter of the separatist cause, and an enemy of the cartels that run the government on the planet.”

 

Rick frowned. “Then it’s pretty clear.”

 

“What is?” Targon asked.

 

“Gardogga is a guy of many interests – and connections. He’s got a slimy hand in just about everything…and from what I understand, he has family that runs things on Ord Mantell.”

 

Targon winced as though in physical pain. “I’ve got to free him! It’s my fault he’s in trouble.”

 

“Rescue him? How in space are you going to do that?”

 

“Well, where can I find Gardogga now that he’s left the cantina?”

 

“Where?” Rick was incredulous. “That slug’s got a hundred places to be! Don’t you know that Hutts are the builders of criminal empires?”

 

“It doesn’t matter, I’ve got to do it.”

 

Rick scoffed. “Well then, you go ahead.”

 

“I…” Targon realized the situation he was in. “I think we’ll need to get off this planet first.”

 

“A wise plan,” Rick smirked. “Now, we’ll just head down this street, and then down a few more…and then we’ll be at my ship and we can leave, and we can…”

 

He was interrupted by a voice from behind a helmet shouting.

 

“You there! Stop!”

 

Turning around, Targon and Rick saw a Sith patrol coming their way. There were nearly a dozen soldiers, three battle droids, and an officer.

 

“Oh snap,” Rick groaned. “Got an idea?”

 

As much as he hated it, Targon replied, “Yes, I do. Run.”

 

He activated his lightsaber and pulled down an advertisement sign to distract the troops as the two of them dashed for an alley. They got in and started climbing over the fence that blocked it off from the backyard of an apartment complex.

 

“What’s the plan now?” Rick asked.

 

“Well…” Targon thought for a second. “We take an even more indirect route to the dock – maybe up on the roofs?”

 

Rick glanced up to the tops of the buildings. They looked close enough together that he felt he could jump the distances. And he was with a Jedi, after all.

 

“That’s better than anything I’ve got,” Rick shrugged. “And I don’t have anything.”

 

“Alright then,” Targon said, heading towards the entrance to the nearest apartment building. “You point the way to the dock, and I’ll see about making sure we can get there.”

 

Rick shook his head, sighed, and joined up with Targon. Hopping from roof to roof, avoiding Sith patrols that were definitely looking for them, an angry Kiffar still hunting them…and to think that earlier today he was worried about having been caught cheating at cards.

 

For all the good, this Jedi seemed like a catalyst to a string of bad luck. Then again, maybe it was the planet, or just a bad day. Whichever it was, Rick wanted it to stop. Now.

 

 

Marc was dropped on the ground quite unkindly. The brutes that carried him remained in their position, looming over him with menacing and cruel grins on their faces.

 

He looked up and saw he was kneeling before the bloated slug. His chief of security and a couple slave girls that submissively rubbed his slimy skin with oils accompanied the Hutt. It made Marc sick to look at him, and he tried to avert his eyes, however, the slug was so big he was present wherever he turned his head.

 

Gardogga chuckled. “We haven’t had the chance to get formally introduced. I know what you are – but I don’t know who.”

 

“The name is Greyhawk,” the soldier spat.

 

“And I am the great and glorious Gardogga,” the Hutt smiled. “You’ve cause quite a bit of trouble for my constituents on the planet of Ord Mantell. I find this odd, since you are an officer of the Republic and therefore an ally of the planetary government.”

 

“I don’t ally myself with criminals,” Marc said.

 

“It would appear so,” the Hutt rumbled. “Listen, Greyhawk, I’m a reasonable Hutt. I know a good time to make a deal when I see one. Your superiors are fully aware of your collaboration with separatists, and your rank and position have been thrown out. I believe the military term is court-martialed.”

 

Marc frowned, and his soul sighed in anguish. He knew that was inevitable, but the pain was nonetheless potent. If he was to be dishonorably discharged, he had hoped he would have died honorably to make up for it. Not a prisoner of a bloated worm.

 

“Your life with the military is over,” Gardogga continued. “But I recognize talent – and your escapades on Ord Mantell have drawn my attention. I could use a man like you.”

 

“I don’t work with Hutts,” Marc stated. “Especially ones that have their thugs beat the snot out of me.”

 

Gardogga laughed. “But you’re still alive, and in relatively good condition regardless. I’d say that’s a valuable person.”

 

“What sort of spice have you been chewing that makes you think I’ll work for you?” Marc asked.

 

“Great one,” the Rodian chief of security interrupted. “This is pointless. We should shoot him and dump his body back on Ord Mantell as a message to any other troublemakers.”

 

“When I want your opinion I shall ask for it,” the Hutt gurgled. “Come here, Leedo. I wish to discuss something with you.”

 

Leedo made a gesture for the guards to take Marc away, but Gardogga held up his hand.

 

“Leave him,” he ordered. “I’m not finished with him yet.”

 

“Sir?” Leedo asked. “If you wish to discuss important matters…”

 

The glaring cat’s eyes of the Hutt silenced him, and he subserviently approached his master. Gardogga beckoned for him to come closer, and still closer until he was almost touching the Hutt’s face from being so near.

 

“You failed me,” Gardogga stated. “Several times today.”

 

“What do you mean, great Gardogga?”

 

The Hutt breathed in a massive gulp of air, and exhaled a nasty wave of rancid breath.

 

“You have questioned my orders, you allowed Sith troopers to barge into my cantina, and let a shootout erupt in the lobby, and you continually contradict my wishes. I’m beginning to think it was a mistake to keep you signed on.”

 

Leedo’s insectoid face showed a wash of concern, and it intensified when a burly guard stepped forward from the rear door and loomed over him.

 

“Illustrious Gardogga, the events of today were completely unforeseen,” Leedo stuttered.

 

“True, and so was your former employer’s untimely death,” the Hutt licked his lips. "Things didn’t settle well when he went down, but I hope it will be better with you.”

 

“Sir, please…” the Rodian whimpered. “This is not necessary…”

 

“Do give Hondor my regards when you join him – whatever’s left of him, anyway,” the Hutt smiled. He then opened his massive and gaping mouth as the guard grabbed Leedo and lifted him up and put him in.

 

The Rodian’s horrified screams were muffled within the cave-like orifice. His waving legs flailed about as though trying to run through the air to escape. Slowly, Leedo descended deeper through Gardogga’s throat until there was no more sign of him.

 

Gardogga licked his lips in satisfaction and belched. Then he patted his stomach. Disgusting gurgling rumbled from his gut.

 

Marc could feel his insides churn, and he would have thrown up if there had been anything in there to expel. His mouth, dry and agape, hung down in horror at the barbaric display he had just witnessed.

 

The slave girls then resumed to rub and pamper the Hutt as he reclined. “Well, Greyhawk,” Gardogga grinned. “It would appear I have a vacancy in my business – my chief of security is…digesting. Have you reconsidered my offer of a possible job?”

 

“I ought to shove a thermal detonator down your gaping hole, you sick monster,” Marc spat. “You should just shoot me now, because I won’t have anything to do with you.”

 

“Shoot you? And get blood all over this nice upholstery?” the Hutt laughed. “No, you’ll be my guest for a while longer. There is still possibly valuable information to be gained from you – and I’ll need dinner before too long. I hear humans are especially tasty…although we’ll have to dress you up. Already I can feel Leedo’s metallic piercings and outfit disagreeing with my stomach. Take him away,” he waved to the guards.

 

He lay back and smiled as the slave girls continued their work over him. He had them dressed up in scanty outfits to be a pleasure for the eyes, and to make them easier on the stomach when the mood took him.

 

The Hutt’s thugs dragged Marc out, and the old soldier continued to feel dry heaves coming. He was going to need to get out of this. And there probably was no chance for any sort of rescue to come for him.

 

He had lost his rank and station, he was a prisoner of a ravenous crime lord…and nobody knew where he was or probably even cared. Maybe, he thought, it might have been better if Old Greyhawk had followed protocol a little more and ostracized himself from others less.

 

However, if he didn’t get out of here, he wouldn’t have long to regret his past.

Edited November 5, 2012 by TargonKarashi

 

Rick glanced down the structure he stood on. The ground was a long way down – and if he fell there wouldn’t be much of a chance of surviving. He felt his heart beating faster as he looked back up to the roof he was supposed to leap to. The distance seemed to be growing.

 

The Jedi was already on the other side. He had made the leap as though it were a simple task. But he was a Jedi and had his cheating ability.

 

“Come on, Rick,” Targon called to him. “We’ve got to keep moving.”

 

“Easy for you to say,” he called back.

 

“You handled the last three roofs without a problem,” Targon stated.

 

“This is wider,” Rick countered.

 

Targon sighed. “I can help you get across.”

 

“How?”

 

“I’ll catch you if you fall.”

 

Rick groaned. “What do you mean if? It’s a certainty that a normal person can’t make this distance.”

 

“It’s only assured if you believe it is,” Targon said. “Come on, after this it shouldn’t be much farther.”

 

Rick nodded. He was right – only a little ways more and they would see the dock. Then it was just a matter of getting to his ship and getting past all the Sith.

 

But that seemed so distant. Staring him in the face now was a chasm that mocked his fear and waited for his fall. In his mind, he could already picture his broken body on the pavement below.

 

“Rick, would you just jump?” Targon pleaded.

 

“Alright, alright…” Rick swallowed hard. He took a few steps backward, breathed deeply, and then ran towards the edge. Upon reaching the end, he threw himself forward into the air. He felt the emptiness around him, seeing the other building come closer.

 

He was falling too fast, the ledge was getting higher and he wasn’t there yet. Reaching out with his arms, he tried to get a hold of the building. But it didn’t look like he was going to make it.

 

Just before he was about to scream in panic, he felt himself stop falling. Looking down, he saw his feet dangling high above the ground – he hadn’t landed on anything. Then he looked up and saw Targon with his arms stretched out, and his face concentrated.

 

Rick breathed a huge sigh of relief as he felt himself awkwardly being pulled towards the Jedi. It looked like those stories weren’t as exaggerated as he had personally believed.

 

Targon groaned with strain as he kept his mind focused on lifting his companion. The weight and pull of gravity struggled against him, and his thoughts were hard-pressed to be constant and contained. Finally, though, he set Rick on his feet in front of him. The astounded man gripped his head and pulled his hair in shock of the experience.

 

“That was nuts!” Rick gasped. “I didn’t…I didn’t think the Jedi could…” he changed the subject. “Don’t ever make me do that again!”

 

Smiling, Targon replied, “I will, if at all possible.”

 

Rick slowly began to relax, and noticed the large complex not far off to the north. He pointed it out to Targon. “There’s the dock,” he said. “My ship’s in there, and once we’re to it, we can leave this dismal place for good.”

 

“From what I can tell,” Targon observed, “It seems to be under heavy guard. The Sith must have tightened security when they learned of a Jedi on the planet.”

 

“Hmm,” Rick noticed the Imperial shuttles flying in. “Yes, that’s a high possibility. But we can get in.”

 

“How?” Targon asked.

 

“Hold on, I’ll think of something,” Rick said. “Maybe you can think of something too, with your sense of precognition.”

 

Targon put a finger to his chin as he thought, but something tingled his senses. He looked around, and he saw a familiar object flying overhead. Grabbing Rick’s shoulder he pointed.

 

“Rick, look! Isn’t that the Hutt’s airbus?”

 

His companion looked up and saw it. “Yes,” he said slowly. “What does that matter…?”

 

“There’s our chance to rescue Marc,” Targon smiled.

 

Rick shook his head in astonishment. “What? Of all the things – what sort of odds are these?” He then caught Targon’s notion. “Wait, wait, wait… This isn’t my rescue; it’s not my job to break some stranger out of a flying transport. I have no desire to make an enemy of Gardogga?”

 

“What are you talking about? You’re helping me, aren’t you?”

 

“That has nothing to do with it,” Rick stated. “I’ve got a shipment of Gardogga’s spice on my ship – and you’re asking me to suddenly attack his vessel and steal his prisoner? Sorry, bud, you’re on your own.”

 

Targon frowned. “Come on, Rick, it’s the right thing to do.”

 

“Your misguided notions don’t concern me,” Rick said. “It definitely isn’t the smart thing to do.”

 

“Maybe it doesn’t have to become violent?” Targon suggested. “Maybe the Hutt can help us get past Imperial security and get to your ship? He wants you to make your shipment, after all.”

 

Rick thought for a second, and then groaned. “You’re probably right…and if you’re going off on this little adventure, I won’t be able to get to my ship alone.” He sighed. “Alright, let’s see about freeing your friend…”

 

No sooner had he said that, than Targon swiftly took a laundry line and launched it up at the over passing airbus. Using the Force, he made sure it was securely fastened to one of the door handles. Then he grabbed Rick and the two of them were pulled up into the air.

 

Targon started to climb upwards, and Rick grudgingly followed. It was an unpleasant experience to be flying through the air while inching up a line. They both slipped a few times, and they groaned as the friction of the cable burned against their hands.

 

Finally, they were up to the door. Targon waved his hand, and the door opened. He quickly climbed in, grabbed Rick’s arm, and pulled him up and through. Closing the door, they both sighed.

 

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Targon smiled.

 

Rick shook his head and then noticed a guard walk by the room. The thug noticed them and shouted in surprise. Instinctively, Rick pulled out his gun and shot him.

 

Targon rushed to the fallen guard and looked him over. “You killed him?” he asked in surprise. “I thought we were trying not to make an enemy of Gardogga.”

 

Putting his gun away with a look of regret, Rick answered softly, “Sorry. Old habits and reflexes.”

 

“From your days before going straight?”

 

“I’m afraid not,” Rick shook his head. “You’ve got to be quick to survive in this world.”

 

Targon nodded slowly.

 

“Let’s get going,” Rick said, taking the lead through the large transport’s hallway. They tried to keep out of sight whenever one of the Hutt’s men came by. There came a point where they heard footsteps coming towards them and there was only one door around to hide. They both tumbled in, and the sound of frightened girls greeted them.

 

Closing the door, the pair noticed the several ladies in the room. Some were on beds, others were doing their hair. They were several different races, but they all shared the look of alarm.

 

Rick coughed. “Um…hi, girls.”

 

“What is this?” Targon asked.

 

“It’s the slave quarters, what does it look like?” one of the girls said.

 

Rick recognized a bunch of them – he had seen them in Gardogga’s chamber back at the cantina. “We’re, uh, sorry to disturb you…”

 

“Give us one good reason not to call the guards!” another girl said. Her tone did not reflect the boldness of her words. They all seemed completely fearful, and Rick considered that they might not even have the strength to call for help.

 

“We just, um, took a wrong turn,” he said.

 

“Get out!” the girls shrieked.

 

“We will,” Targon assured. “But first, could any of you tell us where the prisoner is being kept?”

 

Confusion replaced fear on the girls’ faces. “Why? Who are you?”

 

Rick answered, “We’re just here to get him out, and then we’ll be on our way.”

 

“If we help you, our master will be most displeased.”

 

“Just tell us where he is,” Targon pleaded, “and we won’t let him know you had anything to do with this.”

 

“No!” a girl cried. “He’ll hurt us! He’ll hurt us!”

 

“What if we got you out of here?” Targon asked.

 

Rick gave him a little whack on the arm. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jedi. How could we possibly get them out? It’s foolish, and it’s a bad idea to get their hopes up.”

 

“It’s not about being smart, it’s about doing what’s right,” Targon countered.

 

“You’ll get us in huge trouble,” Rick scowled. “More than we already are in.”

 

Answering Targon’s question, one of the girls said, “You’re lying! You can’t protect us or free us from Gardogga!You’ll just be put with the other prisoner, and served for the Hutt’s dinner!”

 

“Served for…what?!” Targon’s mouth dropped. He turned to Rick, “What did she just say?”

 

Rick’s face was grim. “Gardogga…” he began, “…has strange…appetites.”

 

“And he’s going to eat Marc?” Targon nearly shouted. He looked to the girls. “Please, where is the prisoner? You won’t be harmed, I promise.”

 

“Lies!” the girl shrieked again.

 

“Please?” Targon begged. “He’s my friend!”

 

A small and frail girl looked up at him. “The prisoner is down the hall on the second level, the third cell on the right.”

 

“Shut up!” a larger girl slapped her.

 

“Hey!” Rick said. “Lose the violence, sister!”

 

Targon stepped forward and shook the informant’s hand. “Thank you,” he said kindly.

 

There was a pounding on the door. “What’s going on in there, girls?” the guard asked. “Who’s in there?” He pounded harder on the door.

 

“Um…nothing!” Rick called out in a terribly fake feminine voice.

 

“Who is that?” the guard demanded. “I’m coming in!”

 

The door opened and the thug started in. Before he could react, Rick’s pistols were out and he dropped him.

 

“More killing?” Targon asked.

 

“We don’t have a choice anymore, Jedi,” Rick replied. “Let’s get your friend and get out of here.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Targon said.

 

“I’ll leave the negotiations to you, then,” Rick said. “Let’s go.”

 

“What about them?” Targon asked. “We can’t just leave them.”

 

“It’s either we save your friend or end up prisoners like him. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do to get the job done. Now let’s go!”

 

Targon sadly glanced at the girl who had helped them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish there was something I could…”

 

“Get out!” the other girls were upon him and clawing at him. “Get out! Guards! Guards!”

 

Rick helped get Targon free from them. He batted the harpies away. “There’s nothing we can do for them,” he told the Jedi. “You can’t always dole out the justice. Come on, your friend is counting on you!”

 

They left the room. Once they were gone, the girls turned on the snitch, their faces angry. “You’ll get us all in trouble!” they said. “We won’t take the fall for you, Gardogga will know that you’re the one!”

 

Another guard arrived, having heard the blaster shot and the girls’ cries. He saw the dead man on the ground and demanded an explanation. The girls all pointed at the one who had helped the intruders.

 

“They wanted to know where the prisoner was,” she said weakly. “I told them.”

 

The guard stepped forward, and the other slaves backed away, leaving the frail girl alone. She kept her head down and her eyes closed. Tears trickled down her face as the guard’s hand smacked against her, sending her to the ground.

 

“Gardogga will deal with you later,” he hissed. “All of you,” he pointed to the girls, “If you ever fail to let us know about an intruder, I’ll kill you all! Slaves are replaceable, especially girls!”

 

 

Targon pounded his fist against the wall as they made their way down to the steps to the second level. His eyes were burning with hot and angry tears.

 

“We shouldn’t have left them!” he roared. “I shouldn’t have left them!”

 

“Look, Targon, there’s nothing you could do anyway,” Rick grabbed his shoulder. “You dragged me into this escapade, and by goodness, I’ll drag you out of it if I have to. There are a lot of slaves in the galaxy, and many far worse off than those girls. You can’t stop something that’s been going on for thousands of years.”

 

“I could try!” Targon said. “It’s a Jedi’s purpose to help others. They need my help!”

 

“Well, if you didn’t happen to notice, they didn’t want your help.”

 

“That’s not an excuse!”

 

“No it’s not, but it’s reality. Come on, now, before more guards show up. At least we can save your friend and get out of here. There will be time for regret later.”

 

Someone appeared at the top of the steps – the guard that had visited the slaves. “Hey!” he shouted. “You’re the blokes who contaminated the girls! I’ll see you fried for damaging the goods!”

 

Targon felt a surge of anger take him. Goods? Women weren’t property. No one was property.

 

As the guard fired his blaster at them, Targon activated his lightsaber and reflected the shot back at the shooter’s head. He suddenly became aware of what he had done. Deactivating his saber, he dropped to his knees and grabbed his hair.

 

“Okay, so you killed someone,” Rick shrugged. “I’ve killed people before too. It stinks…but we need to get going!”

 

“You don’t understand,” Targon said. “I’m a Jedi!”

 

Rick pulled him up to his feet. “Look here, Targon. People enslave each other and people kill each other. Take it from someone with a little more experience in the big world than you – nobody can be a perfect person, not even a Jedi. That’s just the fact of life. Now, you can make amends for today when we’re safe tomorrow. Right now, you’ve got a friend that’s in big trouble, and a Hutt who’s liable to kill us if we get caught. It’s time to pull yourself together and save your friend!”

 

Targon took three deep breaths, feeling his anger and remorse slowly fade. “You’re right,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”

 

“There,” Rick smiled and patted his shoulder. “You catch on quick.”

 

The young Jedi then followed Rick to the door that they were told the prisoner was in. To no surprise, the cell door was locked. Rick took a go at trying to bypass the security codes, but with no success.

 

“So much for the subtle approach,” he shrugged, stepping back and gesturing to Targon.

 

Sighing, Targon activated his saber and cut through the door. In a moment, they were through. They stepped in and saw the beaten man lying face down on the ground. There was another person lying on the ground as well – but he was a guard.

 

Coming closer, Targon knelt down to check Marc, when suddenly the old soldier turned himself over and shoved a blaster in the Jedi’s chest.

 

Marc’s eyes widened when he saw that it wasn’t another guard he was looking at. Instead, it was a person he was really not expecting to be seeing again since he last saw him back on Ord Mantell.

 

“No,” he said in disbelief. “I must be losing my mind in my age.”

 

“It’s me, Marc,” Targon smiled. “I’m here to get you out of here.”

 

“Old Greyhawk, you’re a lucky old man indeed,” Marc said to himself. “You’ve gone and made a friend of a Jedi that’s willing to come and rescue you from the hands of evil and deliver you to safety.”

 

“Um…is he alright?” Rick asked. “He seems like he’s not altogether here.”

 

“Who’s he?” Marc asked.

 

“He’s Rick Orlan,” Targon replied. “And he’s going to help us all get off this world.”

 

“Well, son,” the old soldier said to Rick. “If you’re a friend of Targon’s you’re a friend of mine.”

 

Rick nodded, then set his sights on the guard. “Is he dead?”

 

“You didn’t think I’d be sharing a room with the likes of him, did you?”

 

“No,” Rick shrugged. “I just didn’t think that…”

 

“…That an old man can still take on a simple thug?” Marc finished.

 

“Um…no, that’s not what I was thinking,” Rick frowned in embarrassment. He changed the focus. “We should get out of here now.”

 

“Can you walk?” Targon asked.

 

“I’m afraid my age and the Hutt’s hospitality has sapped my strength,” Marc sighed.

 

“That’s alright,” Targon smiled. “Rick will help you.”

 

“Me?” Rick asked. “Why not you? This is your rescue plan, anyway.”

 

“And I’m the one with the lightsaber,” Targon countered.

 

Rick sighed. “You sure know how to make a good point. Alright, Marc, let’s get you out of here.”

 

As Rick lifted him up and took him by the shoulder, Marc said, “Call me Greyhawk, son, that’s my name now.”

 

“What do you mean, major?” Targon asked.

 

“And don’t call me that, either. My rank’s been stripped, I’m out of the army now. And too many folks know and despise my name. I’ll be going by Greyhawk. It’s time I started a new life, and kept the name that suits me better.”

 

Rick sent a questioning glance at Targon, who shook his head and shrugged.

 

“All right, sir,” Targon said. “You’ll forgive us if it takes some adjusting.”

 

They left the cell, and glanced down both sides of the hall.

 

“So what now?” Rick inquired. “How did you plan on getting out of here?”

 

“Well, I don’t think we’ll be able to make any deals with Gardogga,” Targon sighed. “His guards are sure to shoot us on sight.”

 

“And I won’t let you make any deals with that monster!” Greyhawk said. “I saw him eat a person, and he was planning on doing the same to me. I’ll be a kath hound’s chew toy before I talk to that slimy beast again!”

 

“I see you know him as well, gramps,” Rick smiled. “So what is the plan, then?”

 

Targon felt an urging to find a window. Upon finding one, he took a look outside and smiled. “There’s our way out,” he said as he activated his saber and started cutting a hole around the window large enough for them to fit through.

 

The airbus was flying low, preparing to land on a docking pad outside the spaceport. Just below was a bunch of cloth roofs of a local market.

 

Rick saw the scene and guessed the Jedi’s plan. “You can’t be serious,” he said.

 

“I am, and it’s our best bet,” Targon replied, finishing his cutting. He pulled the slab of the hull inward, and set it on the ground. “Let’s go,” he said as he jumped out.

 

Rick hesitated, shaking his head.

 

“What are you waiting for, sonny?” Greyhawk asked. “An invitation?” The soldier then held tight and threw them both out together.

 

The three of them landed with a thud and a series of rolls as they bounced off the tarps and hit the ground. Though not a soft landing, it definitely wasn’t a harmful one.

 

Rick groaned. “Remind me not to leave the plans up to you if they’re all going to be as reckless as that.”

 

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” Targon asked. “I’m just taking after you, I guess.”

 

“If you think I would come up with something like that…” Rick began indignant, and then sighed, “…You’re probably right.”

 

“Is Greyhawk okay?” Targon asked.

 

They both checked him. He was wincing in pain. Seeing their concern he said simply, “I guess I was a little more battered inside than I supposed. If feels like our trip has opened up some internal damage.”

 

“Well then, we’ll get you to my ship,” Rick said. “I’ve got a bacta tank and everything you need to get back on your feet.”

 

“I’ll carry him this time,” Targon said.

 

“Thanks,” Rick smiled. “No offense, gramps, but you’re a heavy fellow.”

 

“Nah,” the old soldier chuckled. “You’re just out of shape.”

 

“Let’s go before any Imperials spot us,” Targon said, helping his companions up. Old Greyhawk wasn’t joking about being hurt. He couldn’t walk, and he continually groaned in pain. Targon prayed that they could get him to safety before the damage was irreparable.

Edited November 5, 2012 by TargonKarashi

 

A large ship, with heavy plating and armed to the teeth, landed in a docking bay. There were numerous Imperial guards patrolling each hangar in the port – inspecting every person coming in and going out. Using numbers to display power and exert a sense of intimidation over the people, ten to twelve men awaited the ramp of this ship to lower and the occupants to come out.

 

Out of the ship came six men – six large and armed Mandalorians. Their helmets concealed their faces. Their armor was green, with red paint splattered over them to represent blood. And on their chests were a uniform black handprint.

 

The last man emerged and moved past the others to lead them. He was larger than the rest, his armor thicker and his more bristling with weaponry. On one wrist gauntlet was a rocket launcher, on the other was a flamethrower. There was a tattered, blood red cape hanging from his back.

 

The security detail stopped them. “We’re going to need to check out your passes,” the officer said.

 

“We got clearance to land, isn’t that enough for you uniform-types?” the lead man asked.

 

“I don’t like attitude,” the officer frowned.

 

“And I don’t like primroses. Now, I’ve come a long way so I’ll be brief: which port is the ship The Lone Eagle docked?”

 

“I’m afraid we do not disclose information or services to those who refuse to cooperate. Furthermore, we have a strict policy that those who do not have official business with the owners of a docked ship are not allowed access to it unless they can prove relations or connections.”

 

The Mandalorians laughed, their leader loudest of all.

 

“Did you hear that, boys?” he asked. “This pencil-pusher thinks he can dictate whether or not I have direct business with Rick Orlan and his ship!”

 

“If you do not stop such disrespect, I will be forced to detain you,” the officer said.

 

“And if you don’t get out of my way, little man, I will be forced to kill you.”

 

“Nobody forces you to kill anyone!” one of the Mandalorians said. “Show this shrimp who he’s dealing with!”

 

“Good idea,” the leader nodded. Pulling out a heavy blaster, he shot the man in the face, and then shot his detail. With smoke rising from their corpses, the man chuckled. “That will teach you to get involved in my business,” he said.

 

“We still have to find Rick’s ship, Algayne,” one of the Mandalorians said. “And we’ll have to deal with any other security who decide to get in our way.”

 

Algayne nodded. “No problem there. You boys spoiling for a bit of killing?”

 

His crew heartily assented.

 

 

Targon and his companions waited long enough for a large party of people to come walking by the port security outside. When the crowd blocked the guards’ view, they rushed to wall and hoisted themselves up into a ventilation shaft.

 

Once in, they crawled slowly through the narrow tunnel, being careful with their wounded soldier. Greyhawk was thankfully disciplined that he did not moan or cry out because of his pain. That most certainly would have echoed through the channel and alerted any guards to their infiltration.

 

For several minutes they crawled, winding through the massive port. Silently, they passed halls that were occupied by Imperial patrols and cleaning droids.

 

They paused when they reached another access point, this one leading into a wide hall leading into a series of terminals. There were small crowds spread throughout the area – inattentive guards, janitors and port workers, and crews of vessels either having landed or were waiting for clearance to leave. There was an unsettling silence among them all.

 

“This is almost too easy,” Rick whispered.

 

When they felt sure that no guards were looking their way, they opened up the grate and slid through. Apparently, nobody else noticed them either. That was most disturbing of all. It wasn’t as though they had been very sneaky.

 

“Something feels wrong,” Targon shivered.

 

“You’re right, this is too easy,” Rick nodded. “Then again, it may just be good luck for once today.”

 

“Don’t be celebrating just yet,” Greyhawk winced. “Do you hear that?”

 

“What?” Rick asked. “I don’t hear anything.”

 

“Neither do I,” Targon said.

 

“Come on, I’m the old man and your young ears can’t hear that? Maybe it’s just because I’ve been fighting for so many years. It’s blaster fire.”

 

“What?” Rick scoffed. “If there was shooting going on, we’d know about it. There’d be alarms ringing and people screaming and guards racing…”

 

“I know shooting when I hear it,” the old soldier growled.

 

“Marc,” Targon said softly, “Rick has a point. This is a secure area and we’d know if there was a firefight.”

 

Greyhawk sighed. “I’m telling you, there’re men with guns and they’re shooting people. That way,” he pointed towards a dock.

 

“Um…that’s the way to my ship,” Rick said slowly. “Are you saying…?”

 

A blaster was shoved into his backside. “The old man is right, Rick,” the familiar voice of the Kiffar said. “I made some calls and someone came all the way out here to see you in person.”

 

Targon was about to pull out his lightsaber when he too felt a gun in his side.

 

“Don’t try anything,” an unfamiliar voice said. “We’ve made sure security is down so there’ll be no authorities interfering. But if you make a scene, people will panic, and many will probably die.”

 

Rick groaned. “Do we really have to go through this? I mean…”

 

“Enough talk, Rick,” the Kiffar said. “Algayne’s waiting, and we don’t want to try his patience, now do we?”

 

With the blasters still shoved into their sides, the three were led to Docking Bay 3B, which Rick knew to be where his ship was docked. There appeared to be no interference from any of the security as they went straight through lines and stations.

 

Targon was getting a sick feeling in his gut. What kind of person could take control of a spaceport that none of the security – Imperial security – could do anything to oppose him?

 

The doors opened, and he could suddenly see what sort of man this Algayne was.

 

Inside the dock, there were six heavily armed Mandalorians. All of them had a uniform appearance with green armor and the mark of a black hand. The head one was quite apparent, leaning against a stack of crates.

 

“Ah, there’s my pal, Rick,” Algayne stood and walked towards them. His bulk was intimidating, though it was impossible to tell if that was really him or just his suit of armor. Either way, the weapons were real and frightening enough.

 

Rick couldn’t hide his fear of the man glowering over him, but he nobly tried anyway. However, it failed rather pathetically. “Hello there, Algayne. Nice to see you were good enough to make sure nobody bothered our little…meeting.”

 

“I always prefer to conduct business in private,” the Mandalorian said. “And these Sith conscripts are so easily intimidated. I hardly had to work at all.”

 

“How many of them did you kill?” Rick asked, trying to keep the conversation casual.

 

“Twenty, but that’s not important. What is important is our little deal to settle. You haven’t forgotten the money you stole from me and lost, have you?”

 

Rick was conscious of the Kiffar that held the blaster in his kidney. “How could I possibly forget?”

 

“So where is it? And why are you causing my collectors trouble?”

 

“Trouble? Trouble? I know nothing of trouble…”

 

“You’re a funny man, Rick,” Algayne leaned in close to his face. “But I’m not. I want my money – and my honor – back restored right now.”

 

Rick’s mask of forced calmness shattered. “Look, I don’t have the money – but it’s not my fault that it was lost. We were both scammed! We both lost! I was going to pay you back, I had won the amount easily in a game of cards, but it was stolen by Gardogga and his thugs and…”

 

A huge Mandalorian fist to his face shut him up. “I don’t care about your excuses!” Algayne shouted. “I don’t care for anything about you except my money. Hand it over now, or I will kill you most dishonorably.”

 

Targon broke in, “He can’t give you what he doesn’t have!”

 

Algayne didn’t look at him. “Then I guess I just take your life, Rick, and those of your friends.”

 

Sweat was dripping down Rick’s panicking face. Suddenly, a thought came to him and he screamed, “Spice! Spice!”

 

The hangar went silent.

 

“What spice?” Algayne asked.

 

Rick’s voice was frantic. “On my ship! Spice! A load of spice I was supposed to ship for Gardogga. You can have it! They loaded it onto the ship, and it’s worth at least three times what I owe you!”

 

There was a long and tense moment of emptiness as Rick’s voice echoed off the walls.

 

Algayne holstered his gun and patted Rick on the head. “There, that wasn’t so painful, was it?” He pointed to two of his men. “Get the spice off Rick’s ship, and load it onto ours. Boys, let them go.”

 

With a huge wave of relief, Rick and Targon felt the guns remove themselves from their backs. Algayne’s set to work fulfilling his wishes.

 

“I guess we’ve taken care of our unpleasant situation,” Algayne said. “The debt of money is repaid, Rick, and you get to keep your life – today. But there’s still the debt of honor you have to deal with.”

 

“What debt?” Targon asked.

 

“It’s none of your concern, Jedi,” the Mandalorian pointed his large finger at him.

 

“It is if you’re threatening my friend,” Targon said. “You have a problem with him, then you have a problem with me.”

 

Algayne took a step back. “You’re bold, Jedi, I’ll give you that. I highly doubt your ability to offer a worthy challenge, but if you want part of Rick’s debt on your shoulders that is fine with me.” He turned to Rick, whose knees wobbled. “The spice you’ve paid me has bought you a few days of reprieve, Rick, but I will come for you, and you will fight me in a duel on a field of honor. Only to the death will my honor be repaid.”

 

“What if I don’t see you again?” Rick asked weakly.

 

“You will, Rick. I’ll hunt you down.”

 

When the spice was unloaded from Rick’s freighter, the Mandalorians left. The hangar was suddenly filled with emptiness. But the huge sigh from all three men filled the void soon enough.

 

Rick’s senses had returned to him fully. He turned to Targon, “What are you thinking? Algayne will kill you too, now.”

 

“You stuck up for me, so I’m sticking up for you,” Targon said.

 

“We already settled this debt,” Rick pointed.

 

Targon smiled. “Then I guess you owe me again.”

 

Greyhawk chuckled at the pair but suddenly winced and dropped to his knees. Rick and Targon struggled to lift him up.

 

“Quick,” Rick said. “Let’s get him on board and treated. And we can get out of here.”

 

Rick’s ship, The Lone Eagle, was a relatively nice ship – though a bit battered and in need of a new paint job – and obviously a smuggling vessel, or former smuggling vessel. It had a large cargo hold, a main hold with an old gaming table, a medical room, two bunkrooms, and a single room with a large and comfy bed. Rick pointed out to his guests that the bedroom was for the captain only.

 

Targon took care of getting Greyhawk treated and put into the bacta tank. Meanwhile, Rick went up to the cluttered cockpit full of papers and pastry wrappers. He started up the engines and smiled fondly as they purred to life.

 

“She missed me,” Rick grinned. Rubbing the dashboard he said, “I missed you too, baby.”

 

As he started taking off, Targon entered the cockpit.

 

“Well, my Jedi friend,” Rick reclined in the pilot seat. “Welcome aboard The Lone Eagle. Please take a seat,” he gestured to the co-pilot chair. “You are, after all, going to be my first mate.”

 

“First mate?” Targon raised an eyebrow.

 

“Of course. You got somewhere else to be?” Rick asked.

 

“For the moment, no,” Targon replied.

 

“Well then, take a seat.”

 

Targon sat, and was surprised how comfortable the chair was. He wasn’t expecting such luxury in a smuggler’s ship.

 

They started leaving the planet’s atmosphere. Targon took a look back to catch a brief glimpse of Calpronica before they left. He turned around earlier than he would have liked when a voice came over the speakers.

 

“Departing vessel, this is Imperial Orbital Control,” the voice said. “Transmit your departure codes now or you will be fired upon.”

 

Rick stuck out his lower lip. “Departure codes?” he muttered. “I don’t think I got any…”

 

“Well, you’d better think of something,” Targon said.

 

“Any ideas?” Rick asked.

 

“You’re the captain.”

 

Rick growled. “I can’t tell you how annoying it is when someone says that…”

 

The ship rocked as a laser blast struck the shields. “I say again,” the control voice said, “transmit your departure codes or you will be destroyed.”

 

“Not much for being decent,” Rick shrugged. “I’m probably going to regret this…” He then breathed deep and got on the intercom. “Please, please don’t shoot us!” he cried in a weak and helpless tone. “Please! Mandalorians attacked the spaceport, they were killing everybody. They…they took out the control tower and stopped anyone from sounding an alarm. We were just barely able to escape!”

 

“What was that? Please repeat,” the voice ordered.

 

“Mandalorians! They’re killing everyone down there!”

 

There was silence on the line for a long while.

 

“I don’t think they’re going to buy it,” Targon said softly.

 

“Hold on,” Rick made a motion with his hand. “These are Imperials…they’re a little slow.”

 

The voice came over the intercom again. Hold position while we ascertain the validity of your claim.”

 

Rick nodded. “See?”

 

“What are you talking about?” Targon asked. “That doesn’t mean they bought it.”

 

“No, but that’s not the point” Rick winked.

 

He pushed hard on the throttle, and the full power of the engines roared. They zoomed past the guarding ships even as their late reactionary laser fire started erupting from their cannons. Rick had a set of hyperspace coordinates already in the navicomputer and he shot them into hyperspace. Stars turned to lines and then erupted into the blue mottled swirls of faster-than-light speed.

 

“Ha-ha!” Rick laughed. “See? We’re home free now!”

 

Targon gasped. He had really done it – Rick had gotten them through the orbital security without a scratch. It was incredible, and Targon started to put away all thoughts in his mind that he had come to Calpronica V for the very reason of meeting Mr. Rick Orlan.

 

 

Algayne tapped his feet impatiently as his men were loading up the crates of spice onto their ship. It was taking a lot longer than he liked. He wanted to get off this worthless planet as soon as possible. Before the Imperials started poking around and asking questions about things that didn’t concern them.

 

Finally, the last canister was being taken up the ramp. That was when Algayne heard a great many footsteps from behind.

 

Into the hangar marched what he thought was a full battalion of Imperial troops. All of them had their rifles at the ready, pointed at the group of Mandalorians. A vicious scowl curled on his lips.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded from the officer that approached.

 

“You are under arrest, Mandalorian, for the invasion of a public spaceport and for the possession of illegal substances.” The officer had a couple guards check the canister to be sure.

 

“This is outrageous! Do you have any idea who I am?” He snarled at the scrawny man.

 

“I know that you are easily outnumbered and outmatched,” the commander said in a confident tone. “Submit quietly and you won’t have to be gunned down.”

 

Algayne removed his helmet, glared at the man straight in the eye and spat at him. “I will make you pay for this,” he growled menacingly.

 

“Arrest this man,” the officer commanded his troops. They did so, and Algayne reluctantly was forced to surrender.

 

“Rick…you son of a murglak,” he bared his teeth as the cuffs were put on his wrists. “I’ll hunt you down and gut you like an animal!”

 

The rest of his men were put in cuffs as well and carried off out of the spaceport. The troops surrounded the lot completely, both to block the witnesses from getting a clear view of the Mandalorians, and to ensure the detainees knew who was really in charge on this planet.

 

Greyhawk was resting peacefully after a long bath in the bacta tank. It was likely going to take several more dips in order to fully recover.

 

Leaving the old soldier to his rest, Targon came into the main hold of the ship where Rick was sorting through a deck of cards. He looked up when he saw the Jedi come in.

 

“Well, how’s our friend?” Rick asked.

 

“Resting,” Targon answered. “But hopefully he’ll be on the mend. I feared it might have been too late and his injuries too severe.”

 

“Nah, he looks like a fighter,” Rick said. “I doubt a little internal bleeding and bruises would keep him down for long.”

 

“You’re probably right,” Targon sat down on a chair across the playing table from Rick.

 

Rick started dealing out the cards between the two of them; only after a few seconds did he think to ask, “You play?”

 

Targon nodded, “A little. My master liked to spend a few hours of the day playing games – and he was especially good at cards.”

 

“Was?” Rick asked.

 

“He was killed only a few weeks ago,” Targon sighed.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” Targon smiled weakly. “The Council always says not to fear or grieve over those who become one with the Force. At any rate, death comes to us all, doesn’t it?”

 

“Hopefully not to me for a long, long time,” Rick finished dealing. He picked up his cards and glanced at them, betraying nothing of what he had.

 

“I won’t catch you cheating now, will I?” Targon asked.

 

Rick grinned. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I’ve gone straight.”

 

“Right,” the young Jedi laughed. He looked at his own hand and then back up to Rick. “Where are we headed, anyway?”

 

Rick drew a card. “Well, my navicomp is set for Corellia. I was going to go somewhere more friendly and comfortable after my visit to Calpronica. And after today’s events, I think you could use it just as much as I. And our friend, Greyhawk, too.”

 

“Corellia’s a nice place,” Targon nodded, drawing a card himself. “Might that be your homeworld? I hear a lot of significant people are from Corellia.”

 

“Significant? You’re calling me significant?” Rick scoffed. “No, I’m just a scoundrel who’s trying to start over in the universe.”

 

“You forget that you’re talking to a Jedi,” Targon smiled smugly. “We are very good at spotting people with a mark of destiny.”

 

“Oh, I have a knack for it too,” Rick winked. “I’ve seen a lot of folks become masters of their fate – and you are most likely one yourself – but that’s not for this chump. I’m just Rick, a man who left the criminal world. Or trying to leave, anyway.”

 

“So what will you do now?”

 

Rick flipped a few cards on the table and nodded. “I don’t know. I’ve got two angry crime lords upset with me, a soldier in my medical room, and a Jedi as my first mate…say, how long might you be sticking around? Tython is near Corellia, you going to be heading back soon?”

 

Studying the cards a moment, Targon replied, “I’m not sure. I left the Temple to start acting like a Jedi and coming to terms with my feelings. From the events on Calpronica, I believe I’ve got a lot more to do.”

 

“Well then,” Rick stuck out his hand, “I’ll shake your hand and offer you the position as first mate for as long as you like. We can probably do more good together than alone. You can help me get straight, and I can help you deal with the less-savory elements of the galaxy.”

 

Targon shook the captain’s hand. “It’s a deal.” Rick leaned back with a slight smirk on his face and Targon sighed. “You just looked at my hand!”

 

“What? Me? No, you must be mistaken,” Rick shook his head defensively.

 

Targon smiled. “It’s alright, I happened to take a peak at your cards too.”

 

The two of them laughed and showed their hands. Rick’s cards won, and he gathered the cards to reshuffle.

 

“What about the Empire?” Targon asked. “Are you worried they might be coming after us?”

 

“Pfft!” Rick scoffed as he ran his hand through his hair. “The Empire doesn’t concern me – after all, we’ve long since left their space now and entered Republic territory. Unless they’re willing to go to war over us, there’s nothing they can do. And, like I said, nobody cares about some nobody like me.”

 

“First off,” Targon said as Rick dealt. “You’re not a nobody. You’re my new friend.”

 

“Well, that makes two of us,” Rick grinned as he finished dealing and took a look at his cards.

 

Targon continued, “And secondly, what about the trouble we caused? And the fact that I am a Jedi?”

 

Rick alternated between looking at his cards and looking at the Jedi. “The Empire has to deal with hundreds of issues and planets every stinking day. What will they care that two men – a young Jedi and a former smuggler – made a ruckus of a new world they annexed? No, they won’t even bat an eyelash…except maybe to replace some incompetent officer that failed to detain a couple of fugitives.”

 

“I’m not so sure of that,” Targon said.

 

“Hey,” Rick shrugged. “If you want to fret about that, it’s okay with me. You’ll just be less focused and that makes it easier to beat you at cards.”

 

They laughed again and continued the round. Rick kept a confident smile on his face. He was sure he could win just as easily the first round and he casually showed his hand when Targon called.

 

When he saw the Jedi’s hand his eyes widened. A triple pair – How? Rick was certain he had stacked the deck perfectly this time.

 

He shook his head. The Jedi must have known and corrected the tampering with the Force. Sighing, he resolved that he was going to stop cheating at cards. Starting now.

 

The played several more rounds, and the victories were divided between the two of them fairly equally. Rick was pleased, he finally had someone who was actually good enough to play with fairly. Targon was glad simply to have someone to spend some time with.

 

 

The skies above Calpronica V were filled with dozens of Imperial ships. Not small cruisers, but massive capital ships, each coughing up swarms of fighters that roared over the city in perfect formations.

 

From the lead ship, a shuttle descended down to the Imperial command center. Waiting at the landing pad were squadrons of soldiers lined up in neat and orderly rows. The governor and his staff stood nervously, and they shook as the shuttled folded up its wings and set down on the ground.

 

A ramp extended and a contingent of twelve guards, dressed entirely in black, slowly stepped out and lined up in a path between the shuttle and the governor.

 

Then came down the awaited dignitary. He was dressed in a stark white suit, complete with the Imperial insignia and all the badges that displayed his rank as one of the highest officers in the Empire.

 

He was a Chiss, and his red eyes sparkled in contrast to his cold blue skin. The eyes stared contemptuously at the governor.

 

Bowing and stepping forward as the visitor approached, the governor greeted, “This is a great honor to be graced by your presence, Moff Taan.”

 

“Governor Orgys,” the Moff said coolly. “You may dispense with the pleasantries.”

 

“But…”

 

Taan held up a hand. “I am not here simply because I have a desire to inspect the newest addition to planets under my jurisdiction. I am here because I received some disturbing news of a Jedi causing havoc and chaos in the streets – all while you were getting comfortable in your new office.”

 

“Sir,” the governor bowed, “I had only been given the office a few days before and disorder is bound to ensue a change in the government.”

 

The Moff ignored his useless excuse. “Furthermore, I have learned that the Jedi escaped with other fugitives. Not only did you allow such a debacle, but also you did not resolve it. What good is a Sith that can’t handle the first day on the job?”

 

“I don’t think you’re being fair,” Orgys said dejectedly.

 

“Fairness is irrelevant,” Taan said sharply. “Any failure is unacceptable, and it is an abuse of the trust the Emperor has placed in you over this planet and its citizens.”

 

Orgys bowed submissively. “I understand, and I shall devote my efforts to extracting information from the men I have in custody and tracking down the fugitives.”

 

“Such measures are useless now,” Taan said. “Your rule is over this world, and the Jedi has since left – according to orbital security reports. You didn’t even get the ship’s name and registry. I am quite disappointed.”

 

The governor’s face grew into a scowl. “How dare you speak down to me? You may be a Moff, but I am Sith! I have power you could not even begin to comprehend!”

 

“Yes, and you certainly displayed your abilities today,” Taan said expressionlessly. He did not even twitch as the governor’s hand started to inch towards the lightsaber at his belt.

 

“I assure you, Moff,” Orgys said between his teeth. “I will not fail the Empire again.”

 

“No, you will not,” Taan said simply.

 

The two guards nearest to the Moff turned their guns on the governor and fired. Having kept his focus on Taan, Orgys was unable to respond fast enough before two blaster bolts struck his chest and he fell to the ground.

 

Stepping over the relieved governor, Taan pointed to the dead man’s aides. “Clean this mess up, and take me to these prisoners that are being detained.”

 

The aides obeyed, dragging Orgys’ body away. One of them bowed and led the Moff and his entourage away from the landing pad and through the compound to the holding cells.

 

Taan made no expression as he inspected the area as they walked. He was not impressed. There could at least be a few cleaning droids to make it look presentable, even if his arrival was on short notice. There was, after all, time between the ships entering orbit and his landing, so they could have at least given the appearance of working.

 

More of Orgys’ failure, apparently. He would make sure the new governor was one he picked personally, and thereby, more competent.

 

They arrived at the holding cells. Each of the prisoners – Mandalorians, no less – was held in separate cells. Taan was directed to the leader, and he bid them bring him to the interrogation – no…interview room.

 

It took several men – and several minutes – to get the Mandalorian to cooperate and sit in the chair. During that time, Taan reviewed the sketchy, and pathetic, reports of the day’s events.

 

He walked into the room and sat across the table from the detainee. His guards stood silent and alert against the walls behind them both.

 

“Hello there…” Taan glanced back at the report to see the name, “…Algayne.”

 

“You must be the Moff that I was hearing the guards whisper about,” the Mandalorian supposed. His armor, helmet, and weapons had been taken from him – but his build was still large and imposing. The scars on his face bore testament to many fierce battles he had faced.

 

“I am indeed,” Taan interlocked his fingers. “But we’re not here to talk about me, we’re here to talk about you.”

 

“Feh, I’m in a cell, but I’ll be breaking out soon. What else is there to tell?” Algayne shrugged.

 

“Perhaps I can spare you the trouble?” Taan said. “The charges against you are less than acceptable, considering that the governor who issued them has been removed and the reports are full of holes.”

 

“You’re willing to let me out?” Algayne asked.

 

“Of course, but first…” Taan leaned forward, “…tell me about these troublemakers – the Jedi and the smuggler.”

 

“What business are they to you? When I find them, I’m going to kill them.”

 

“I’m interested in a great deal,” Taan smiled. “We may be able to help each other in more ways than you can suppose. Let’s start with their names…”

 

 

Targon and Rick sat in their pilot chairs as they approached the gleaming planet of Corellia. Orbital stations and ships sparkled as they reflected the light of the planet’s sun.

 

They both felt a peace as they sent in their request to land on the planet. This world was not an Imperial prison – this was the heart of the Republic’s free spirit. While Coruscant and Alderaan struggled with major issues, Corellia appeared calm and prosperous. At least, that’s what it had always been before.

 

Rick smiled as they were cleared for landing – but they were going to have to wait in line for a little while. There was a larger number of ships coming in than out. That was fine to him, though.

 

“I suppose we can just listen to some tunes while we wait,” he said as he pressed a few buttons and turned a dial. Music erupted from his speakers and Rick’s head started bobbing to the beat and he started tapping his fingers on the console.

 

Targon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you have it a little loud?” he asked.

 

“What?” Rick pretended not to hear. “Are you kidding? I need to crank it up – it would be selfish not to let the other waiting ships enjoy the song while we’re all up here in orbit.”

 

Shaking his head, Targon stood. “I’m going to go check on Marc,” he shouted over the music.

 

Rick nodded. “Suit yourself. I’ll take care of things up here.”

 

Targon left and closed the door behind him. The music was dampened a little, but the beat still echoed through the walls and floor. He made his way through the ship to the medical room, where Greyhawk was sitting up – thrust awake from his rest.

 

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Is there something wrong with the hyperdrive?”

 

“No, that’s Rick’s stereo system,” Targon smiled.

 

“That bass could shake the whole ship apart,” Marc muttered.

 

“How are you feeling?” Targon asked.

 

“Well, before I was rudely awoken by this racket, I was resting well. My ribs still hurt, they could still be damaged. But I should be up and ready for the world by tomorrow.”

 

“That’s good to hear.”

 

“Where are we?”

 

“Corellia,” Targon replied.

 

Marc nodded. “Nice planet, it is. A little independent and fake, but it’s a great blend of industry and nature.”

 

“Fake?” Targon’s eyebrow rose. “What do you mean by fake?”

 

“Oh, there’s a layer of corruption right below the surface of all the niceness. It was there during my younger years, and I doubt anything has changed since.”

 

“Care to explain?”

 

“Not really – crime is rampant on just about every world. But Corellia…it’s not quite up to the standards that the Republic keeps.”

 

“I was not aware any single planet really was,” Targon said.

 

Greyhawk sighed. “You may be right about that. Still, I’d wager we’d be at least a little more comfortable here.”

 

“It’ll be better than Ord Mantell or Calpronica,” Targon nodded.

 

The old soldier’s face was solemn. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Comfortable doesn’t exactly mean enjoyable.”

 

“I hope your pessimism isn’t justified,” Targon said. “I’d rather we didn’t have another adventure like on Calpronica.”

 

“Bah,” Marc lied back. “What does Old Greyhawk care? If there’s a fight here, I’ll be ready – and if there’s a party, I’ll be ready for that too.”

 

“You don’t care however things play out?”

 

“Nope. When you get to my age, you learn to just take everything when it comes and stop worrying about whether it’s good or bad.”

 

“Well,” Targon began, “I know some Masters that are far older than you and don’t think that way.”

 

“When you get to my age, you’ll also be able to form your own opinions on the world and life in general. I’ve had my experience, so I’m entitled to my view. The Jedi Council is welcome to have their own.”

 

Targon laughed. “The Council probably won’t approve of your ideals rubbing off on me.”

 

“Hah! They might learn a thing or two,” Greyhawk yawned. “Now, when we land, I think I’ll stay here while you’re out and about. For a while, anyway.”

 

“Stay here?” Targon was surprised. “Won’t you be bored and vulnerable?”

 

“I’ll be able to catch up on my sleep and recovery,” Marc smiled as he closed his eyes. “It will actually be quiet with you two gone.”

 

Targon shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you here by yourself. While there’s still time, you should let the bacta heal you some more and then you can come with us.”

 

“Now see here,” Greyhawk opened his eyes. “I’m not in the army anymore, so I don’t take orders, and I’m more than twice your age, so don’t think to boss me around. I’m fully able to make my own decisions without the assistance of a young lad.”

 

“I’m sorry…I was only…”

 

Greyhawk laughed. “Come on, lad, I’m teasing you. Mostly. In all seriousness, though, I am entitled to my own decisions as well as my own opinions.”

 

Targon sighed. “Alright, you win.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Marc closed his eyes again. “I won’t stay here all the time. Even I’m not that boring. I’ll go out and get fresh air and some sort of diversion while you guys do…what are you going to do?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Targon shrugged. “My thought was rest up, but I might find some people to help and Rick could probably get a job.”

 

“A job of gambling?” Marc supposed. “If you’re going to help everyone who needs aid on this world – or any world – you’re going to be here a long time.”

 

“What else is a Jedi supposed to do?” Targon asked.

 

“Hmm…” Marc nodded. “That’s a good question. Okay, I guess you’re stuck doing community service.”

 

“You could help any time you wanted to,” Targon moved to the door.

 

“I could, but you’re the one who needs the work, not an old man like me.”

 

Targon smiled and left Greyhawk to his rest. He walked to the main hold and sat down. The captain’s music was still pounding through the metal of the ship, but he had gotten used to it and it wasn’t bothersome anymore.

 

The thought occurred to him – Greyhawk had a point in asking what exactly they were going to do. Helping people was a broad subject…

 

Maybe they all just needed a rest. That seemed the most plausible idea, and it was the one he would stick to. Something might come up eventually. And when it did, they would see how things would develop.

 

 

Rick was jamming to the music, pounding his fingers on the dashboard as though it was a drum, and nodding his head with intensity. He didn’t hear the beeping on the intercom. Only when he caught the flashing light signal did he realize that someone was hailing him.

 

Turning down the music, Rick clicked the mic and said, “I’m terribly sorry, I must have dozed off there for a second.”

 

“This is docking control,” the voice said. “You are cleared for landing in docking bay three, grid nine six.”

 

“Already?” Rick asked, looking out the window to see the amount of waiting ships had not lessened. “There’s still a line out here.”

 

“You were moved up the waiting list,” the voice replied. “It would appear someone is anxious to see you.”

 

“Well, isn’t that nice?” Rick smiled. “Alright, I’ll be coming in.”

 

He leaned back in the chair and put his hands behind his head. This was turning out to be a good day.

 

Turning on the ship’s internal intercom, Rick said, “Attention, Targon and Greyhawk, we will be coming in for a landing. I hope you both are ready to go, because we’ll be embarking within the hour.”

 

Targon walked into the cockpit and asked, “Eager to get everyone off the ship?”

 

“Well…” Rick turned to face him. “No, but we shouldn’t want to be cooped up in here, now should we?”

 

“Marc is going to stay and rest on the ship when we land.”

 

“What? No, I’m not leaving my ship unattended with anyone inside,” Rick shook his head emphatically.

 

“Are you afraid he’s going to steal it?” Targon asked.

 

“No…not necessarily,” Rick said. “But…”

 

“But what?”

 

“I lost my last ship because I left a man on it alone.”

 

“Oh? How?”

 

Rick sighed. “He was a man I had hired to be a crewman, and he asked to be left on my ship when we docked because he wasn’t feeling too well. Then I get back and my ship was gone – and his corpse was lying on the landing pad.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Well, I later found out that a gang of thieves – I’m not exactly sure who – knew that there was someone onboard and so they pretended to be me and the man let them in. Then they killed him and stole the ship.”

 

“That’s a little hard to believe,” Targon raised an eyebrow.

 

“There are a lot of stories in my life that you would find hard to believe,” Rick shook his head. He suddenly changed his tone and subject. “But anyways, we’re going in for a landing.”

 

“Landing? Already?” Targon was shocked.

 

“I know. I’m surprised too. But hey, that’s a stroke of good luck for us, isn’t it?”

 

Targon was unsure. “I suppose it could be…”

 

“Oh,” Rick waved his hand. “You’re just over thinking things. It’s probably a friend of mine in the government that noticed I was coming in and wanted to hurry us up.”

 

“You have friends in the government that abuse their power over the system?” Targon asked.

 

“Well…I don’t remember anyone on Corellia. Maybe things have changed…I haven’t been here in a while.”

 

“Are you not bothered at all by this?” Targon asked.

 

Rick replied, “I take an opportunity whenever I see one – and this, my friend is an opportunity. No getting old while waiting in line. Isn’t that a good thing?”

 

“It’s not exactly fair,” Targon stated.

 

“No it’s not, but neither is life. Look, Targon, I’m sure there’s a good reason for this, and we’ll find out once we’re down.”

 

“You are the captain,” Targon submitted. “What about Marc?”

 

Rick sighed. “If he wants to rest up and be a boring old coot, there’s nothing I can do or say that will change that. He can stay on the ship, but he’d better not make a mess of things. But if he stays, he has to stay for certain, and only allow me to unlock the ship. I’m not losing my baby again.”

 

“I see,” Targon nodded. “I’ll tell him he can choose to stay or go, but he has to stick with his decision no matter what. At least until we come back.”

 

“You’re a good first mate for a beginner,” Rick winked. “Well, the other captains in line might not like it, but here we go…” He turned up the music again.

 

Deaf to the shouts of annoyance and indignation of the crews of the ships still waiting in the slow line to land, The Lone Eagle made its way through the atmosphere and down to the surface of Corellia. Soon they were flying over the sparkling water, vibrant landscapes, and glistening towers of the planet – appearing a much better and more welcome sight than Calpronica V.

 

Appearances can be deceiving.

 

The Lone Eagle was comfortably docked in a hangar – and Greyhawk was lounging comfortably within.

 

Rick and Targon entered the streets of Corellia, taking in the clean air. They looked around and started pondering what to do.

 

“Well,” Targon said, “we might find a hotel or something…”

 

“A hotel?” Rick punched his arm. “We’ve got the ship. We don’t need a hotel…besides, I haven’t the money for that.”

 

Targon sighed. “So I suppose the first thing we need to do is get some money?”

 

“You would be right,” Rick nodded. “I’m sure there’s a cantina or a casino around here somewhere. Using what I do have, I’m sure I can get into a high stakes game and…”

 

“You’re going to gamble your money away?”

 

“Away? Are you kidding? I’ll make triple what I’ve got in the first few rounds and then…”

 

“And then you’ll get caught cheating and be thrown out and you’ll have lost all the money you got, and what you already had.”

 

Rick bore a hurt look on his face. “Have you so little faith in your captain?”

 

“I have only what I’ve seen to go on,” Targon said.

 

“That’s all anyone really has – and then there’s the blind faith in trust.”

 

“Should I go with you?” Targon asked. “To make sure you don’t have any trouble with Mandalorians or anyone that wants to kill you?”

 

“Nah,” Rick shook his head. “There’s nobody like that on Corellia. Nobody that’s after me, anyway.”

 

“How very reassuring…”

 

“Why don’t you go help somebody? There’s probably an old lady crossing a street or a kid who has lost his dog.”

 

“You’re a funny man, Rick,” Targon smiled.

 

“Always have been,” Rick winked.

 

The young Jedi watched his companion walk off to the south, looking like he knew exactly where he was going. Targon figured he probably didn’t, but it wouldn’t hurt to give him the benefit of the doubt.

 

Then he turned around and started scanning for anyone he might assist, or at least something to catch his interest… He stopped and realized he should use this time to meditate and focus. But on what?

 

Targon saw a park not too far away – and it looked plenty peaceful to sit and concentrate. He walked along its paths and took in the shade of the trees, the aroma of the flowers, the gurgling of the fountains, and the chatter of others in the park. It was calming, and he breathed deep and easy.

 

He knelt in an open clearing, away from the paths and therefore out of the way of people. Closing his eyes, he felt his connection to the Force strengthen as he let his mind leave the confines of his body and drift in the currents of life on the planet. He heard the voices of hundreds of people – their words were indiscernible.

 

There was something underneath the level he was on, as though he were on the surface of a pond, and this…thing…was lying on the bottom. He tried to dig down and see what this feeling was. It wasn’t difficult to reach it, and when he found it, the voices – that had been whispers – became screams and cries for help.

 

Targon winced and tried to subdue the noise, but he couldn’t. The emotions swirled around him: fear, anger, grief…and another thing that overshadowed them. Greed.

 

He tried to isolate one of the voices to find out what it was worrying about. After a long effort, he found a single voice. Its focus was on a major debt – and a fear of men coming to take away his home. That person suddenly was replaced with another. This was a woman, desperate to feed her children, wanted to break the window and steal the loaves of bread.

 

Targon heard a dozen more voices, all of them similar in their hopeless desperation. His ears pounded as they suddenly merged together as a single crying shriek of pain. Behind that was a jeering crowd.

 

Finally, he broke out of it and panted. He glanced around, and it appeared he hadn’t been meditating very long…and nobody else noticed anything. Calming himself, Targon then returned to his trance – this time focusing on other things, though he kept the thought in the back of his mind for further investigation.

 

 

Rick found that much had changed on Corellia during the years since he had last visited – and he didn’t like the changes. Especially that his favorite cantina had been torn down and replaced with a…library.

 

How dare they? That place was a quality establishment, with the best drinks and service in the Core. And there were plenty of dumb rich people that frequented the cantina and were always willing to lose credits at the card tables. How was he supposed to have a good time and make some money if there wasn’t the old Gin City?

 

He sat down on a bench and sighed. “I guess I’ll have to go find a new joint,” he muttered to himself.

 

Rick heard a noise and looked up. Some teenager was breaking into a parked speeder. The kid got in, hotwired it, and drove off to a nearby garage down the street a ways.

 

“A chop shop?” Rick was surprised. “Right here? In this part of town? There’s a library right here and a bunch of regular folks…”

 

He happened to notice a pair of police officers walking down the street. They were fully aware of what had just happened – they had even seen it. Yet, incredibly, they just kept walking and turned the corner without a word.

 

“Okay, now there’s something wrong here,” Rick frowned. “Gin City was not in a crime infested part of town. In fact…nothing around here even suggests that there should be crime. Yet…I just saw…”

 

Rick stood and walked towards the garage that the stolen speeder was taken into. Upon arriving, he glanced through one of the windows – and it was definitely an illegal operation going on in there. The stolen vehicle was already being disassembled.

 

Rick turned around and walked back, hoping he wouldn’t have been spotted by one of the workers. Looking up, he heard a man shouting and saw what appeared to be the owner of the ill-fated vehicle. The fellow was circling where his speeder had been and asking if anyone had seen anything. Nobody answered him and he could only storm off on foot.

 

Discomfort twisted inside of Rick’s gut. It looked like there was a major presence here that kept things hushed up. He didn’t like what all he was seeing, so he decided he was really going to have to find a new place to drink.

 

Not too far off, there was a brightly lit establishment. It glowed with bright, fluorescent pink lights. The sign said The Showtime Affair, and from the music and the drunks stumbling out the door, it looked like a cantina.

 

Rick smiled and nearly ran to the door. There were on bouncers and no line. He walked in and was greatly impressed.

 

Everything was bright and cheery. The colors of the furnishings were warm shades of red, blue, yellow, white, and pink. Lots of pink.

 

The tables were nicely set and prepared – almost as though it was a fine-dine restaurant. There were viewscreens on the walls, all tuned to a single station called The Firm. On it was various programs: music, races, sporting events, game shows, newscasts…and all of it provided by The Firm.

 

Rick regarded it with a bit of confusion, but he shrugged and figured that since the Republic was a capitalist society, it shouldn’t be too strange to have a company monopolizing parts of the entertainment industry.

 

He walked up to the bar, which was right next to a large stage. The curtains of this stage were drawn up, and there was a pair of musicians. Musician was not the proper classification of these men, Rick figured. They were performing some sort of babble that was supposed to be…hip-hop or rap? It sounded like the banging of pans together mixed with a burned out engine.

 

Rick sighed as he sat on a stool. “Some people start putting out trash and try to pull it off as art,” he groaned as he waved his hand to signal the bartender.

 

“It’s bad business if someone isn’t enjoying the show,” a voice said next to him.

 

Rick turned his head and spotted a face he hadn’t seen in years.

 

“No,” he rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t imagining. When he looked again, the bright pink face with the fantastic blue hair was still there. Rick was amazed. “Alen? Alen Heigren?”

 

The Zeltron grinned and laughed. “The one and only.”

 

For a moment, all Rick could do was gape. Then he gathered his senses and shook the man’s hand. Alen returned the handshake vibrantly, nearly shaking Rick off the seat.

 

“Goodness,” Rick shook his head, smiling. “It’s been – what – eight years?”

 

“Any length is too long,” Alen said.

 

“How have you been?” Rick asked. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m great,” the Zeltron replied. “I’ve been making lots of money.”

 

“Sure you have,” Rick winked. “Stealing it right out of people’s wallets, right?”

 

“No, they give it to me freely,” Alen laughed. “I ran a country club here for a few years, but things changed. Now I own this fine establishment.”

 

“You own this place?” Rick was surprised.

 

“Sure. Folks needed a place to drink after Gin City closed down three years back. I opened up this place, and we haven’t seen a dull night since day one.”

 

“What happened to Gin City anyway?”

 

“Oh, things went sour for a little while – I was caught in it too. Most of the entertainment places closed down, and the government took them over to put in public services. Like the library down the road you probably saw.”

 

“I did see,” Rick nodded. “But it looks like you’re doing well.”

 

The Zeltron nodded emphatically. “I am indeed. A new business called the Firm moved in, and they’ve been fantastic in getting everything running great. Not only my business, but just about everyone on Corellia – and much of the Core.”

 

“Really? I’ve never heard of this organization.”

 

“Well, you wouldn’t have, being in the outer regions of the galaxy for so long.”

 

Rick scoffed. “I’ve kept in touch with things…and it’s not like I was out on backwater worlds…mostly.”

 

Alen clapped him on the back. “Come on, Rick, I’m only teasing you. I see you’re still a lot of fun to josh around.”

 

“Some things never change,” Rick said.

 

Alen snapped and brought the bartender over. “Some drinks for my friend here – Scarlet Firewater.”

 

“What’s that?” Rick asked as the bartender went to fulfill the request.

 

“A specialty of mine,” Alen smiled. “You won’t find it anywhere else.”

 

“Is it something I’ll like?” Rick inquired.

 

“Have I ever given you something you didn’t completely enjoy?” Alen countered.

 

“No, I suppose not,” Rick responded.

 

The rappers on the stage had finished, and to Rick’s surprise, the patrons applauded them. When they exited, the curtains came down and the lights dimmed.

 

“Those guys might not have been to your liking,” Alen said as he slid one of the drinks to Rick. “But I think you’ll enjoy this next performance. You’ve come at a special night, you lucky scoundrel, to see Gabrielle perform.”

 

“Oh?” Rick took a sip. He took a moment to take in the taste, and then he swallowed and grinned. “Well, if it’s as good as this drink, I may have to make an investment in your little business here.”

 

The cantina went quiet, the lights went low and a spotlight shone on the curtain. Silence continued, building up a certain suspense and anticipation.

 

A smooth, blue leg emerged, followed by the rest of an incredibly attractive Twi’lek. She had leggings up to her mid thigh, laced with shimmering gold. She wore a sleek, black leather coat, with a pair of coattails that lightly flapped as she walked out onto the stage.

 

Her face was brilliant, her intense eyes pierced the dark room and into the hearts of all the customers. The pair of long, silky lekku swayed behind her, and the audience swayed with them.

 

From her lips came a golden, seductive voice. The light music that accompanied her was almost entirely ignored and unnecessary, for she held her audience’s admiration from the first sound. Rick included.

 

He gazed at her, gaped at her, and took in every gorgeous inch of her. He had seen a lot of lovely women on many occasions – and a lot of Twi’lek eye candy among them – but he hadn’t seen one quite like this. Her fantastic blue skin appeared like the sapphire glory of the ocean, and her eyes seemed just as endlessly deep.

 

The woman continued her performance, walking slowly down the stage. When she reached the end, she merely stepped over and mounted the bar counter. The gazes of the whole audience followed her.

 

To Rick’s surprise, she stopped her strut right above him and Alen. Looking up, he thought he was staring into the sky – if it had been in the shape of a beautiful woman.

 

She slowly slipped off her coat, holding it in her arms for a while. Then she let Alen take it for her, and she nodded to him. Her newly revealed outfit was pearly white and a more typical dress for a Twi’lek dancer or performer. White sometimes makes one appear unattractively bigger, but such was not the case for her. The cloth was cut professionally and perfectly.

 

Still singing, she bended her knees, and stooped down to look Rick directly in the face. She tapped his nose with her finger, and then closed his gaping mouth. The paralyzed man felt his heartbeat try to break his ribcage with her so near. Her eyes were as incredible as her breasts – which were most considerable.

 

Alen helped her step down, returned her coat, and smiled at the astonished Rick. The audience – Rick more devotedly – followed the singer as she navigated through the tables, returned to the stage, and finished her song. Then she vanished behind the curtain, and the lights rose as the music ended. The applause was thunderous and awed.

 

Rick was caught in a trance, his eyes continuing to replay the image of her. Only after a quick shaking of his shoulders by Alen did he snap out of it. He breathed hard for a while, taking a large gulp of the drink.

 

“Who was that?” he asked softly.

 

“Amazing, isn’t she?” Alen grinned. “That’s Gabrielle Vao – the hottest star that has graced my stage. I’ve got to admit that I’m jealous of you, Rick, you lucky dog. I’ve been trying to hit on her for ages. You know how I’m usually so successful with the ladies, right?”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“Well, with her, nada. Nobody sparks her interest, I swear. She seduces the entire crowd, but she doesn’t care about a single one of them. Never before have I seen her actually stoop and make physical contact with someone.”

 

“Are you saying…?” Rick stuttered.

 

“Yes, indeed,” Alen nodded. “I think you’ve got her attention.”

 

For a moment, Rick smiled. Then he shook his head and scoffed. “Nah, that can’t be true. I’ve had zero luck with the ladies for a long while now. It always ends badly. She can’t possibly be interested…”

 

“Excuse me,” an angelic voice interrupted from behind them.

 

Rick slowly turned around, his face and hands frozen in their position. She was there, standing next to them, in her outfit. Rick could feel his breath shorting out.

 

“Care to buy a girl a drink?” she asked him.

 

Alen clapped him on the shoulder hard. “Well, I think I’ll see to some of the other guests,” he said as he walked off.

 

Rick struggled for words, but he kept his trained suave he had created for women. “I...I think I’ve had a little too much to drink, ma’am. Perhaps you should avoid me before I do something stupid…or get any sort of…temptation.”

 

“That looks like your first,” she stepped closer, leaning against the bar. “I don’t think you’ve had enough.”

Edited November 6, 2012 by TargonKarashi

 

Rick took another swig of his drink. He looked at the woman, admiring what he could see as subtly as possible. Laying down a few credits, he ordered her a drink of whatever she would have. As soon as it was brought, he tapped his glass against hers and drank again.

 

“So,” he said. “I don’t know anything about you and you don’t know anything about me.”

 

“How do you know that?” the Twi’lek asked.

 

“Well, I you were someone who knew me, you’d probably be slapping my face.”

 

The woman laughed. “If that’s the case, then I guess I don’t know you.”

 

“Not yet, anyway,” Rick felt his confidence grow. Now that he had got her a drink and started talking, he was feeling much more comfortable. Still, the beauty of her kept him on edge.

 

“I haven’t seen you around before,” she said.

 

“That’s because I just arrived – and I haven’t been to Corellia in many years.”

 

“What brings you here, then?”

 

“Whoa,” Rick put down his glass. “First off, I think you should ask for my name before you ask for my business.”

 

“Alright then,” she sighed. “If you want to keep things traditional – I’m Gabrielle. What’s your name?”

 

“Rick Orlan, pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Likewise,” Gabrielle smirked. “And what is it that you do, Mr. Orlan?”

 

Rick took a drink. “I’m the captain of a freighter.”

 

“Would this be a smuggling vessel?” she asked.

 

“Nope – not anymore.”

 

“Oh, you’ve gotten out of the criminal world.”

 

“And I don’t plan to be going back,” Rick stated. “Hmm…speaking of my ship, I should probably head back and see to it.”

 

“Don’t you have a crew that can do that for you?” Gabrielle asked.

 

“Yes…but I don’t like to leave my lucky ship in other people’s hands. It’s just a little quirk of mine.”

 

“I’ve always liked men with quirks,” she smiled. “Why don’t you show me your ship? You might find more luck on it than usual.” Her soft hand rested on Rick’s and her eyes pierced into his.

 

Rick smiled. “I suppose I could…though it is a bit of a mess.”

 

“I don’t mind a mess – it shows a certain personality.”

 

“In that case,” Rick finished his drink, “let me escort you to my ship.”

 

With the entire cantina watching, Rick waved to Alen and led Gabrielle out of the building and walked with her down the street. It had grown dark and the streets were nearly empty. The stars and the lights of the city were a sight Rick hadn’t seen in a long time…and he had missed them.

 

He went through the usual chatter – and it seemed she was more receptive and interactive than other ladies he had talked with. Whereas he had done most of the talking in those other cases – leading to just random and foolish babble – Gabrielle responded and posed questions of her own. A decent and sustained conversation with a woman was something Rick hadn’t experienced for years. He liked it.

 

They reached the port and entered the hangar. Rick pointed to his ship proudly, speaking as though he were showing the finest ship in the galaxy.

 

“There she is, The Lone Eagle. Quite a beauty, isn’t she?”

 

Gabrielle nodded. “That’s a class I haven’t seen much. An X-5 Defiant, if I’m correct.”

 

“You sing, dance, flirt…and you know starships?”

 

“I’m into a lot of things,” Gabrielle replied.

 

Rick was impressed. “Yep, there weren’t too many of these made. Not cost effective to mass-produce, I suppose. I’ve made a great deal of modifications to her. I know she’s in need of a few repairs, but she’s plenty fast, fancy, and comfy.”

 

“We might find more comfort inside,” Gabrielle suggested.

 

Rick sighed. “Well…I’ve got a hurt man inside…not exactly private…”

 

Gabrielle moved closer to him. “I don’t mind company. We can find a room and lock the door anyway.”

 

Her warm breath was stimulating, and Rick felt his kneecaps wobble for a moment. He sighed. “Alright, let me open her up.”

 

Rick walked over and punched in his security code. The ramp lowered and he escorted his guest up.

 

Inside, things were not as he had left them. The place was a bigger mess than when he and Targon had left. Things were tossed aside carelessly, and things that weren’t even supposed to be out of place were far from where they should have been.

 

“What is this?” Rick gasped. He turned to her. “I am so sorry about this…Greyhawk! What did you do to my interior? It looks like you had a fight…”

 

There had been a fight. Across the main hold, lying next to the overturned card table was a man on the ground. Greyhawk. He was tied up, a cloth tied around his head and stuffed in his mouth, and he looked like he had suffered another beating.

 

The old soldier struggled to look up, and when he saw Rick, he gave out a muffled yell and tried to speak. However, the cloth made his noise indiscernible.

 

Two men emerged from opposite corridors. One was a Gamorrean and the other was a burly man. Both were dressed like common thugs – but it appeared they each had suffered an even greater beating. Greyhawk had given them a run for their money.

 

Rick’s hands went to his pistols. He shouted, “Gabrielle, get out!” The strangers came forward.

 

He felt a hard blow against the back of his head and everything went black. He dropped to the ground as Gabrielle stood over him.

 

 

Targon stood and looked around. It was early in the night – he had been meditating the entire day. The park was empty.

 

He felt something strange…a disturbance in the Force. It was something connected with Rick and Marc…they were in trouble. He didn’t stand around to ponder questions. Breaking straight into a run, he headed towards the docking bay. His feet glided silently across the soft grass and then onto the cool streets.

 

When he was nearing the entrance to the port, he slowed down as a group was coming out. Two large men carried a smaller man between them, his arms on their shoulders. It was dark, he couldn’t see any of their faces, and he wasn’t trying to.

 

“Excuse me,” Targon nodded, waiting for them to pass.

 

A Twi’lek in a black coat followed the men. She shook her head. “Our friend here is drunk,” she said. “We’re getting him to a hospital.”

 

Targon didn’t pay much attention. As soon as there was room enough, he squeezed through the doorway and rushed to the hangar. The ship’s ramp was lowered. Bounding in, he found the place trashed, and Greyhawk tied up and lying on the ground.

 

He hurried over to him and knelt down, lifting up his head and inspecting his injuries. Greyhawk was trying to say something.

 

Targon removed the gag and asked, “What happened? Are you hurt badly?”

 

Marc growled. “I’m fine! It’s Rick! They took him.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Those thugs, with that Twi’lek woman.”

 

Targon’s eyes widened. He had just passed them…and he hadn’t paid attention to that man they were carrying. That had surely been Rick.

 

“What happened?” Targon asked.

 

“No time!” Greyhawk barked. “They took Rick!”

 

“But you’re hurt…”

 

The old soldier shoved the young Jedi away from him. “I’ll be fine! It’s Rick who needs help. You can still catch them! Go!”

 

Nodding that he understood, Targon stood and rushed back out of the ship. He was back out on the street, and he frantically looked for any sign of them. They had gone, and there was no real way to tell which way they had gone.

 

Targon breathed deep and focused. He let the Force tell him the direction…west. He scampered off in that direction, letting the Force create a trail for him to follow. He bolted through the streets and winded through the city blocks.

 

Before too long, he found them – the two large men and the woman. They were getting into a speeder. A flop of a limp body suggested Rick had been thrown into the front passenger seat.

 

Targon shouted, “Hey! Stop!” Blaster bolts heading towards him was the immediate reply.

 

He dodged the shots by diving to the ground. Standing back up, he started running towards the speeder. The engines were firing up, and one of the men – a Gamorrean – was aiming a blaster at him. Targon had to jump back to avoid two more shots from the alien’s gun.

 

The speeder rose into the air and ascended up towards the tops of the buildings. Targon bended his knees and leaped up, calling upon the Force to assist him. He caught a hold of the side of the speeder and started to pull himself up.

 

He looked up and gasped. The Gamorrean had put aside the blaster and pulled out an axe. The pig lifted the weapon up and brought it down towards Targon’s hands.

 

Targon swung himself away, holding onto the engines of the speeder. The Gamorrean took a moment to realize where he had gone, but then started towards him.

 

He heard the woman shout, “Don’t hit the engines!”

 

The Gamorrean ignored her and swung the axe downward. Targon heaved himself up and kicked the pig back, knocking him into the second man.

 

Both men now were coming at him – the woman was piloting the vehicle. Targon dove away from the Gamorrean’s axe, but the man swatted him away. The confined space of the speeder made it difficult move around, and the three men were almost crawling over each other.

 

Suddenly, the speeder swerved hard. The driver was trying to knock them off balance. Targon smacked into the man, and the pig landed on top of him. Straining, Targon managed to push the Gamorrean off of him. The second thug shoved him off subsequently.

 

The Gamorrean grabbed Targon’s arms and held them behind his back. The Jedi struggled, but he couldn’t get himself free before the other man threw a punch to his gut. Though it definitely hurt, Targon noticed that the blow wasn’t as hard as it should have been. With only a moment, he noticed that the man had taken an earlier beating, and was showing the signs of fatigue.

 

As the man pulled his arm back to prepare a second punch, Targon swung up his legs, walked up the man’s chest, and flipped himself out of the Gamorrean’s grip.

 

He then shoved the green pig into the man, and both stumbled. They regained their balance and came at him together. Targon deflected the man’s fist with his arm and ducked as the Gamorrean’s axe swung toward him.

 

It was then that the pilot decided to pull another jerk, but this time Targon was ready for it. He dropped to the floor as the two men lost their footing. Unexpectedly, though, they ran into Targon’s body and tripped over him.

 

The Gamorrean squealed as it tumbled over the edge and down toward the street below. Grabbing the edge with one hand, the second man barely held on.

 

Targon stood and activated his lightsaber. Its bright green glow illuminated the entire vehicle. He held it up towards the pilot.

 

“Stop the vehicle,” he ordered. “Hand over my friend.”

 

He noticed that the man’s grip was weakening. Targon held out his hand and offered it to him. But instead of seizing it, the man drew a blaster with his other hand and pointed it at Targon. His eyes told the young Jedi that he wasn’t about to accept the help of the enemy. Targon could only sigh and prepare to block the shot.

 

The pilot swerved again, trying to shake the Jedi. Targon’s footing faltered, and his feet tripped over themselves. His saber cut through part of the speeder’s engine, and an alarm started ringing.

 

The jolt of the vehicle caused the man’s head to hit the side. His hand let go and he fell with a cry. His voice faded away as the vehicle kept zooming forward.

 

With smoke billowing out of the rear, the speeder descended in altitude. The driver struggled to keep control of the vehicle, but there really was no chance. Targon was about to stand up when the bottom of the speeder struck the ground and he was thrown out.

 

He slid and rolled along the street, coming to a stop about ten meters away from the vehicle. Taking a moment to wince in pain, he then attempted to stand up. His strength was sapped, so he could only get to his knees.

 

Flames covered the speeder, but the driver climbed out of the wreck – apparently fine. She dragged Rick’s unconscious body out of the vehicle.

 

Targon strained every muscle and once again tried to stand up to face his friend’s captor. However, a force came down on his shoulder and shoved him to the ground. It was a person’s hand.

 

“What are you doing here?” the Twi’lek asked.

 

Before Targon could reply, another voice answered. This was a voice completely unfamiliar – cold, harsh, and distant.

 

“I’ve been watching your little ride,” it said. “Looks like it was a good idea to keep an eye on you.”

 

Targon turned his head to see the speaker, but he couldn’t see anything. He lifted himself up to his knees again and looked around. Still, he could see no one else besides the Twi’lek and the unconscious Rick. The woman’s eyes were following someone, though, and he could hear heavy footsteps.

 

Then Rick’s body lifted into the air. His upper and lower body arched and dangled, as though he was slung over a person’s shoulder.

 

“Who else would have been able to carry him, since your muscle seems to have hit the road?” the voice asked mockingly.

 

“I could have handled him,” the woman hissed.

 

“Let’s just get going,” the voice said. Rick’s body moved through the air, rising and falling with each loud footstep. “We can debate this little change in plan when we’ve delivered the fool.”

 

The steps drew nearer to Targon. He could feel a strange presence, but his just couldn’t see anything. Just some strange movement in the air, like a faint shadow or wisp. The coldness of a dark soul was quite detectable, however, and Targon knew something was standing over him.

 

“As for you,” the voice snarled. “You should learn to stay out of affairs that don’t concern you. That way you might live to become a man.”

 

Something hard and big – that felt like a giant foot – struck Targon’s head and he fell to the ground. His sight became blurry, and he couldn’t move. He could only watch the fading shapes of the woman, Rick, and the mysterious other move off into the night.

 

Then everything went dark and he lost consciousness.

 

Rick awoke with a searing pain in the back of his head. He tried to raise his arms to check it, but he found that he was restrained.

 

He was in a dark room, fettered to a cold metal wall. The cuffs that chained him to the wall were tight and thick. They beat him easily when he tried to resist their hold. He shivered from the frigid air. It felt like he was in a meat locker.

 

A light from across the wide room revealed an opening door. A man walked in, flanked by three people. Rick couldn’t tell who they were.

 

The man looked around at the area. “This is a little dark, isn’t it?” he asked. “How about putting up some lights for our guest?”

 

A second later, bright lights flashed on, bathing the room in a blinding white. Rick’s eyes took a while to adjust, but he soon was able to tell whom his visitors were. Of the three followers, two were large musclemen, and the third was Gabrielle.

 

But it was the lead man that caught Rick’s attention. He was dressed in luxuriously expensive clothing. His suit – that could practically pass for a tuxedo – was bright red and laced with gold. The well kept, precisely parted black hair and the cruel smile were a dead giveaway of his identity.

 

Rick swallowed. “Well… Hello there, Lycos Quinn. It’s been many years.”

 

The man lifted his arms and walked towards him. “Rick, Rick…how have you been? Why haven’t you ever called?”

 

“I would have,” Rick forced a smile, “but I’ve been busy. You know, getting out of the smuggling business is a lot harder than people realize.”

 

Lycos looked him over. “I see the years haven’t been kind,” he observed.

 

“You don’t look so well yourself,” Rick countered. “I couldn’t help but notice the scar over your eye.”

 

“Yes, a little trouble here and there is expected in my line of work.”

 

“So,” Rick swallowed again. “Why the immense urge to bring me here? Unless I’m mistaken, you’re one of the few people to whom I don’t owe money.”

 

“No, you’re right,” Lycos nodded. “This isn’t about money – as far as you’re concerned.”

 

“Oh, well, if that’s the case…how about you let me go and I’ll be on my way?”

 

Lycos laughed. “I’m afraid that’s not in the cards. You’ve been away for many years, so I think we should spend some time catching up.”

 

“Good idea,” Rick fake smiled. “Why don’t you go first?”

 

“Gladly. I’ve built a new company, Rick. I think you might have heard of it.”

 

“If by company you mean criminal empire masked by a monopoly, then I assume you are the owner of the Firm?”

 

“I see you haven’t lost your astuteness, Rick. That’s something I’ve always admired about you. You probably would have even figured out that I let you skip the line, given enough time.”

 

“I’m flattered. So this Firm is – what? Exchange? Black Sun?”

 

“Certain branches of it, yes,” Lycos nodded. “I have dealings with them, and others. But I do a lot of my own work as well. Here on Corellia, and several other worlds.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Rick asked. “If I happen to escape I’ll just report you to the authorities.”

 

“I know even you aren’t that stupid,” Lycos chuckled. “First off, they wouldn’t believe you – and most of authorities are under my payroll. Second, I don’t think you’ll be leaving any time soon. But don’t worry, I’ll get you out of this miserable cell.”

 

“Oh, at least you’re a good host,” Rick muttered. “Why am I here? What do I have to do with anything of yours? Why did you send her after me?” He pointed to Gabrielle.

 

“Ah,” Lycos regarded the Twi’lek. “I am sorry about the poor treatment, Rick. But I had to send my second best bounty hunter to get someone as great as you.”

 

“Second best?” Rick asked. “She could take any man down with her looks alone. Who’s your best?”

 

“You’ll likely meet him soon enough.”

 

Rick pursued the major question, “Why?”

 

“This is nothing personal, let me assure you,” Lycos said. “This is just…”

 

“Business, I know.” Rick growled. “The first step in the art of crime is business.”

 

“Oh, you remember?”

 

“There are some things you don’t forget,” Rick sighed.

 

“Well, Rick, since we know each other so well – I figure I can give you some information. That’s a big advantage over anyone else, let me tell you. The Firm has a hand in the entertainment industry, and the highest paying form of entertainment is sporting events.”

 

“So…are you shanghaiing me into swoop racing?” Rick asked. “If you wanted me to play games you could have just asked me.”

 

“I am not in the habit of asking for things,” Lycos responded. “And I’m afraid this isn’t quite what you think. Believe me, I don’t like the idea of bringing you into this – but business is business.”

 

“Care to explain?”

 

“You’ll find out,” Lycos snapped his fingers. The big men behind him came forward and unchained Rick. They then took him by the arms and led him out of the room, followed closely by Lycos and the girl.

 

Rick tried to crane his neck back and look at them. “Does it really have to be this way, Lycos? Do we really have to make this all…?”

 

“Yes,” the man cut him off. “Yes, I’m afraid it’s necessary.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost time for your debut, Rick. I have things to attend to, but Gabrielle will fill you in on the details.”

 

Rick glanced at the Twi’lek. She was in the same outfit, but there was a distinct change – she had a pair of blasters holstered at her hips.

 

“I understand that you have other places to be,” Rick said to Lycos. “I’m sure I’ll manage with just her to keep me company.”

 

“See you on the stadium,” Lycos smiled and then walked off down a hallway.

 

Rick was led to a large equipment room. The guards let go of his arms, but kept their hands at their weapons if Rick made any moves.

 

Looking around, Rick noticed lots of odd things. There were guns, staffs, boots, gauntlets, armor padding, helmets, swoop bike parts, and other objects that he wasn’t exactly sure what they were.

 

“So…what sorts of games does Mr. Quinn want me to play?” Rick asked.

 

Gabrielle pulled off his jacket and shirt, pointing to a flight suit. “Put that on,” she ordered.

 

“A little brusque, don’t you think?” Rick asked, reacting to his missing attire. “Couldn’t we at least have a little privacy?”

 

“Put it on,” she snapped.

 

“No,” Rick folded his arms. “Nobody takes my jacket away. Nobody. You can just forget it…”

 

Gabrielle pulled out a pistol and shoved it up against his head. It was an older design, resembling a six-shooter revolver with a few significant adjustments.

 

“Umm…” Rick crossed his eyes to see the gun. “I don’t think Lycos would appreciate you shooting my brains out before he tells you to.”

 

“I could make all sorts of lies about how you tried to escape,” she countered.

 

“Sure, you could,” Rick shrugged. “But how would it look that you let a prisoner get out of control and had to kill him? I imagine Mr. Quinn and his associates would not be impressed.”

 

The bounty hunter scowled. There was a long moment, and Rick was starting to fear that she might actually pull the trigger. But then she put her gun away and handed him his clothes back.

 

“Thank you,” Rick sighed. “I could take my time with putting these back on if you want. Most folks like what they see…”

 

“Clothes. On.”

 

“Alright, alright…” Rick complied. “So what sort of thing am I going to do?”

 

Gabrielle grabbed his arm and dragged him to a door. They went down a short hall, followed by the guards. Through a door, Rick found himself in a garage. Sitting in the middle was a speeder bike. It was small, but it was modified with weapons.

 

“What’s this?” Rick asked.

 

The answer he received was Gabrielle thrusting him on and strapping him in to the bike.

 

“Now listen,” she said. “These bikes can’t climb high enough to get out of the field, and there are auto-turrets that will fry you if even try. Just drive and follow the rules.”

 

“Thanks for the tip,” Rick smiled uneasily. “But um…what are the rules? What am I supposed to do?”

 

“Last one standing wins,” Gabrielle replied and then started leaving.

 

Rick gaped. “Wait…wait! What?! Last one standing…Wait!”

 

She stopped and turned. “Drive around and kill the other riders before they kill you. It’s that simple.”

 

“And this is legal?”

 

“Of course not. What part of crime boss did you not understand about Lycos Quinn?”

 

Rick swallowed hard. “And if I win?”

 

“Then you get to live. Live long enough, and we’ll see about letting you go. You should probably start that up now.”

 

She disappeared, leaving Rick alone, strapped to an armed bike. He started up the engine, and the vehicle roared to life. There were bright red lights along the bike’s sides.

 

“Huh,” Rick nodded. “Red is my favorite color.”

 

The garage door opened. Sighing, he revved the engine and headed out. There was a bright light for the moment, and then the sound of a massive, cheering crowd filled the air.

 

Looking up, he saw that he was in a massive arena, and thousands of people were lined in seats high above him. The field was a bright grid, and there were twelve other riders already zooming around it.

 

Loud techno music blared over the crowd’s cries. Then a voice came over the speakers – Lycos’ voice.

 

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “to the sixteenth annual Gaming Tournament! We’ve got a great show for you tonight. The energy suppressor fields will drop in ten seconds – I hope your bets are down.”

 

A series of beeps signaled the timer. Rick didn’t take long to figure out what would happen when they reached the end. It would be gladiator games…on bikes.

 

He happened to look up at the VIP box, where he could make out Lycos, with a bunch of other guests. There was only one other that he could definitely identify from this distance. A large, fat slug – one he had seen many times and could never forget what he looked like.

 

Gardogga.

 

A deafening buzzer went off and it was followed by a roaring scream of excitement from the crowd. Then came the sound of blaster fire, from the other riders. Some came Rick’s way, and he did his best to avoid them. He wasn’t interested in shooting people…he’d just stay out of the way.

 

He saw some of the other riders. They weren’t hardened fighters or swoop riders. They looked like…smugglers. Yes, most of these men were fellow smugglers. One looked like a cop, and another looked like a shop owner. He could tell because he knew what people usually were by looking at them…and he glanced up at a massive roster board. It listed them by titles – apparently their occupation. His name, he assumed, was Lone Eagle. Figures…since it was his ship.

 

A rider came towards him, guns blazing. Rick gasped and veered to the left. The man followed him, his blasters trailing him.

 

“Stop it!” Rick shouted. Nobody heard him.

 

He swerved in different directions, zigzagging across the field. Another biker was coming his way, and if he kept his vector, the two of them would T-bone each other. Rick choked on the engine, causing his bike to fling into the air a bit. Just enough to clear the incomer.

 

His pursuer happened to be too close to Rick. Instead of him, the other two riders crashed. Their bikes exploded into a massive burst of flame. Apparently the bikes were made to make as big a bang as possible. For show.

 

Rick found himself trailed by two more riders. He tried to outrun them, but there was no way to lose them on a flat and empty field. Blaster bolts zipped above and on either side of him.

 

All around, the other riders were killing each other. Explosions lit up the field, and with each fatality, the crowd roared with delight.

 

He couldn’t believe the inhumanity. How could these people be so entertained by people killing each other? Sure, there were gladiator fights all over…but this seemed a little much. Maybe most of these people weren’t even from Corellia. There had after all been a larger than usual line to land…

 

There was no time for pondering. He was in an arena, with a bunch of men apparently much more eager to kill – or at least survive – than he was. There were these two men on his tail…and if he didn’t do something, then he was going to die.

 

Rick decelerated suddenly, letting the two riders pass him. Then he turned around and headed into a different direction. They shot at each other with him gone, but another man came after him.

 

Groaning, Rick tried to lose him as well. However, that wasn’t happening. He felt the rear of his bike get hit, and smoke started streaming behind him.

 

The man behind him was blinded, and when he veered off, he wasn’t able to stop before hitting the wall.

 

Seeing an injured biker, several of the others converged towards Rick. He saw them and gasped. They were coming in on all sides, and they were coming at full speed.

 

Rick spun around, creating a massive screen with his smoke. It grew and became a massive blotch on the grid. The riders couldn’t stop in time before they entered the murk.

 

Leaping with all his strength, Rick landed on the hard ground and rolled as a massive explosion erupted from the smoke. At least two of the riders had crashed, and the explosion had caught the other riders, destroying their bikes and adding to the flame.

 

The crowd’s cries filled the air. Apparently, Rick was the last one of the combatants alive. As he stood up, Lycos’ voice came over the speakers again.

 

“It looks like we have a winner!”

 

Rick shouted, “Alright, I’ve played your game. Now let me out of this madness!”

 

Floor panels opened up and guards came out, their guns pointed at him. The lead one motioned for him to follow them back down. It appeared he wasn’t going to be let out.

 

Sighing with resignation and exhaustion, Rick obeyed. There wasn’t really anything he could do to resist. He wasn’t about to throw his life away because he was displeased with the situation. He would play along…until the chance to escape presented itself.

 

Rick had been in situations like this – well, not quite like this, but he knew how things worked. If he survived, he would find a way out. After all, his Jedi companion would be looking for him, wouldn’t he?

 

The dark thought came to mind. What if he couldn’t find him?

 

Then he would have to handle himself alone. And he had been alone for many years.

 

 

Lycos smiled as the guards led Rick away. So he had proved a contender as Lycos had hoped. That was good. He had used quite a few resources to bring him here and get him into these gladiator games.

 

He turned to his guests – Gardogga the Hutt, several representatives of the Exchange, Black Sun, and other cartels, and a Mandalorian leaning against the wall on the far side of the room.

 

“Well,” he clapped his hands together. “How was the first game to you?”

 

“It was rather short,” Gardogga rumbled.

 

“Yes, but entertaining,” Lycos nodded.

 

“The winner,” a man from Black Sun stated, “who is he?”

 

“A former smuggler – though there are many smugglers in these games,” Lycos answered. “His name is Rick Orlan, and he’s a special entry.”

 

“He’s the whole reason I came,” Gardogga said. “If you get him killed in these games, I’ll be sure to consider a trade agreement with the Firm.”

 

“And you can be sure I intend to see to your every desire,” Lycos said. “Only the best for future business associates.”

 

The Mandalorian scoffed and walked into the light. His green armor glinted. “So you want him dead for a load of spice,” he growled. “That’s hardly a good enough reason.”

 

“Watch your words,” the Hutt frowned. “I know full well that Rick handed the spice over to you.”

 

“You only have faulty suspicions on that note,” Algayne sneered.

 

“It’s not just the spice,” Gardogga growled. “He robbed my ship, with me on board! He broke one of my prisoners out and tampered with my slaves. Him and his new crewman.”

 

“Oh, such an offense!” Algayne mocked. “Spice and slaves…what do those compare to besmirched honor?”

 

“You and your misguided honor…” Gardogga gurgled. “Mandalorians always were rather foolish and stupid.”

 

Algayne’s hand went to his blaster. “I’d kill you right now, worm,” he said. “However, I know better than to make a scene in front of my host. You should learn some manners, even if you are a slug.”

 

“Gentlemen, please,” Lycos raised his hands. “This is about business, not grudges. If we shot everyone who ever crossed us, then the galaxy would be very lacking in businessmen. Both of you want Rick dead, and are willing to sign my contracts if he dies in my arena. I’m here to see it through…but you two need to hold up your ends of the bargain. There will be no trouble in my presence. When these games are over, you can kill each other on your own turf. But this is my estate.”

 

“You’re right,” Algayne’s hand left his pistol. “I’ll honor our deal for now. But I don’t want to hear this Hutt’s stupid rambling while I’m here.”

 

“I’m sure we can work things out civilly,” Lycos said. “Now, I’ll have my men escort you to your rooms. The next game is tomorrow. We’ll see how Rick fares.”

 

 

Targon awoke in a police station. Apparently, someone had found him lying in the streets and had alerted authorities. When he was up, an officer told him he was clear to leave if he was feeling all right. He didn’t seem to have suffered any serious injuries except an easily treated blow to the head.

 

No questions. No procedures. The lack of any sort of inconvenience was disturbing. But Targon found that nobody would even answer any of his questions. He was free to go, and it looked like they wanted him to go.

 

So he left. Finding a public map and asking a few citizens for directions, he made his way back to the hangar and to the ship. The long walk took most of the morning. When he arrived, he found Greyhawk sitting at the top of the ramp with a blaster in his hands. He sighed with relief when he saw Targon.

 

“There you are!” he exclaimed. “What happened? You look like you’ve been mugged.”

 

“I was – they took Rick.”

 

The old soldier sighed. “We need to get after him.”

 

“Do you have any idea who they were that attacked you and took him?” Targon asked.

 

“They were a crime boss’s thugs, I’m sure of that,” Greyhawk said. “Spending time around them on Ord Mantell leads to spotting them right away. Even if it’s dark and they got the drop on you.”

 

“Well, do you have any idea who their boss is?” Targon asked.

 

“No way to tell,” Greyhawk sighed. “We’re going to have to do some snooping.”

 

Targon posed his thought. “Do you have any idea where to start?”

 

“Nope,” Greyhawk stood up. “Not a clue as to where to go. But I’ve been in enough situations to know basic ideas that should help us. First off, I think we’re going to need weapons and equipment.”

 

“To that point,” Targon said, “I don’t need anything. I’m a Jedi – and we’re not on a hostile world.”

 

“That depends on your definition of hostile,” Greyhawk winked. “But I guess you do have your saber, and that will do plenty good. But I don’t have armor, and I need a better weapon than this.”

 

“Do we have any money to buy adequate equipment?” Targon asked.

 

“I don’t know. We may have to be clever.”

 

“Okay,” Targon nodded. “Then what about Rick? How do we start looking for who has him?”

 

“Cantinas,” Greyhawk said simply. “That’s where people get drunk and spill their secrets. We should be able to get some leads, and maybe an ally.”

 

“It would appear we are both out of our league in this matter,” Targon said. “Rick would be the better man. And we’re looking for him.”

 

“Well,” Greyhawk started down the ramp. “We’ll have to do without our charming captain. Come on, Targon – what can a young Jedi Knight and an old soldier not accomplish if we use our heads?”

 

Targon smiled and followed. The sooner they started looking, he figured, the sooner they might find Rick – before he was too seriously hurt.

 

They left the port and started searching for an equipment shop. There didn’t appear to be many around in this part of the city. It was nearly an hour of tired walking before they found a store.

 

Walking in, they noticed that the shop owner, as thin little man, was nervous to see customers. His stock was light, and dust had settled on most of the equipment. There were signs that there hadn’t been anyone coming in here recently.

 

That is, coming in to shop. There were pieces of glass littering the floor and plenty of shattered items. The owner himself had a broken arm.

 

“Good day to you,” Targon greeted.

 

The owner gave a hesitant nod. “I’m not going to give you anymore trouble. Take what you want…just don’t hurt me.”

 

“Hurt you?” Targon was incredulous. “Why would you think we would hurt you?”

 

Greyhawk lifted his hands in a sign of peace. “You probably think we’re hustlers or harassers. I assure you we aren’t. We are here to shop.”

 

The man didn’t seem to believe them. But he stood up straighter. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

 

“I’m looking for some body armor,” Greyhawk said. “My last suit was…lost.”

 

“What sort of man are you?” the owner asked.

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I don’t want to deal with more illegal things than I have to. Also, if you’re a mercenary, a cop, or a man on the run, you’ll be looking for different kinds of things.”

 

“I’m a soldier,” Greyhawk answered. “A soldier without an army. What do you have that can suit my needs?”

 

“How much money have you got to spend? High class mercs can afford the larger stuff – simple men who fear for protection can usually only look to the lighter suits.”

 

“I guess it depends on how willing to bargain and trade you are.”

 

“Not many customers have come in, and fewer still are willing to make bargaining deals.”

 

Greyhawk placed the blaster on the table. “How much is that worth to you?”

 

“It’s not much,” the man looked at it. “Most folks have something like this. I could give you a hundred credits for it.”

 

The old soldier searched himself to see how much he had on him. “Hmm…” he smiled. “It looks like all those thugs – last night and back on Calpronica – didn’t do a good job at taking my stuff. I’ve got about three hundred credits here.” He pulled out the money, kept in a secret pocket beneath his clothing, next to his skin.

 

“Four hundred…” the man rubbed his chin. “I have two suits left that could do you some good…” He went into the back room.

 

Targon paced around the shop, looking at the sparse items around the shop, and studying where things had been damaged before. Either this shop was robbed several times a week – or collectors came in here and just took what they wanted.

 

The owner returned with the armor. One was a brown suit, a newer brand and in fair condition. The second was a dull gray, and it was obviously used before. Greyhawk looked at them both for a moment and picked the second.

 

“This one?” the owner asked. “Sure it’s cheaper, but…”

 

“It will be fine,” Greyhawk said. “It’s been used, so I know it won’t have problems.”

 

“That doesn’t really…”

 

“Besides,” Greyhawk walked over to a shelf. “I’ll take this and this,” he pointed to a blaster and a knife. Both were used, and both were of lesser quality.

 

“Those?” the man asked.

 

“Yes,” the old soldier nodded. “I need a weapon – or two – along with the armor. These will all do nicely.”

 

“They’re rather worn,” Targon pointed out.

 

“The condition or quality of the equipment isn’t important,” Greyhawk stated. “I’ve been in my share of battles with lesser things than these. A good soldier knows how to use whatever he has.”

 

Targon nodded, understanding the soldier’s meaning.

 

“Alright then,” the owner said. “I guess we have a deal. It feels nice to have a paying customer. I’ll throw in a belt for the knife.”

 

“Thank you,” Greyhawk smiled. He left for a while to put on the armor, and he returned looking a lot like the soldier he was back on Ord Mantell. Except now he seemed far more mercenary than officer. “One more thing,” he said. “Do you know a cantina around here that would be a good place for unwinding and finding people?”

 

“The only place around here is The Showtime Affair,” the owner said, his attitude was evidently hostile towards the place.

 

“Thanks again,” Greyhawk saluted. He and Targon left the shop and headed out. They walked for another hour, searching around until they found the cantina at last. It was definitely not what one would consider “around here” as they were hoping.

 

They both looked at it with the same indescribable expression. They didn’t know what to make of the brightness of it. And once they went inside, they couldn’t believe how pink it was.

 

Taking a seat, they watched the crowds with disappointment. These were all drunks and simple civilians. None of them looked like the kind of people they would expect to have information about crime bosses. But there was something about the shows on the viewscreens. The Firm provided them all…and the current program was a gladiator fight – on swoop bikes.

 

While they were sighing and worrying that there would be nothing to be had from this joint, a cheery Zeltron sat down next to them.

 

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I naturally can tell if someone is not having a good time, and it’s a big deal to the me, the owner of this establishment. How can I be of assistance to help you both enjoy yourselves?”

 

“If you could help us find our friend,” Targon shrugged.

 

“Well, I see a lot of people. My name’s Alen Heigren, and I will help you in whatever way I can. Tell me about your friend.”

 

Greyhawk sighed. “He’s the captain of our ship. His name is Rick Orlan and he wears a red jacket.”

 

The enormous grin on Alen’s face dropped. “You’re friends of Rick?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” Targon nodded. “Have you seen him?”

 

Alen coughed and pointed to the viewscreen. “Yeah, he’s…um…there.”

 

Targon and Greyhawk followed his finger to the screen, where they saw a familiar person strapped on a bike and zipping around. Getting shot at, no less.

 

“What’s he doing there?” Targon gasped.

 

The Zeltron’s face was solemn. He pointed to a door with his head. “Follow me.”

 

They followed him through the door, down the hall, and into a room. Alen locked it behind them.

 

“I can be getting into deep trouble for telling you this,” Alen said. “But I’m an old friend of Rick’s, and I don’t want him getting hurt.”

 

“What happened?” Greyhawk asked.

 

“Rick has been taken by the Firm – a criminal enterprise that stretches across the Core Worlds. Unlike most cartels, it’s run as a company – and it’s business is everything. One of their biggest moneymakers, besides drugs and trafficking, is gladiator games. It’s a disgrace to the gambling world.”

 

“Would you cut to the chase?” Greyhawk asked impatiently.

 

“The man in charge is Lycos Quinn, someone who also knows Rick. He controls this entire sector of the city – you may have noticed the lack of law enforcement?”

 

“Yes,” Targon nodded.

 

“Rick has been taken by Lycos, just like quite a few smugglers and citizens have. They’re put in the games for popular entertainment and for Quinn’s deals with other criminals.”

 

“And the authorities do nothing?” Greyhawk asked. “This is the Core, for crying out loud. I knew crime was big here on Corellia…but this?”

 

“How can we get to him?” Targon asked Alen.

 

The Zeltron sighed. “If I tell you, I’m a dead man.”

 

“We can protect you.”

 

“No…” Alen shook his head. “I’ll take my chances on my own. Besides, if you’re going to challenge the Firm, you’re probably as good as dead yourselves. Quinn has mastered the art of crime – he knows how to make people disappear and nobody can even suspect him.”

 

“We’ll see about that,” Greyhawk growled. “Now, how do we get to Rick?”

 

“There’s a chop shop down the street,” Alen said. “In an old warehouse. The man that heads it has direct connections with Quinn’s headquarters. If you get there, you’ll find Rick. He owns a big complex – no big secret – and the authorities can’t do anything about the illegal activities he operates there. The gladiator games are held in his large arena.”

 

Greyhawk stood up and asked that the door be unlocked. When Alen complied, he stormed out, heading towards the exit of the building.

 

Targon remained behind, still a little unsure of everything he had just heard. “Are you sure you’ll be able to handle yourself?” he asked Alen.

 

“I’ve survived other situations…though they weren’t quite as big as this.”

 

“Thank you for helping us,” Targon bowed.

 

“If you free Rick,” Alen cracked a smile. “Tell him that he owes me big – if I’m still alive.”

 

He shook the Jedi’s hand as the young man left. Then he pulled out a long-range communicator. The call he was making was a great distance away indeed.

 

“Hey, it’s Alen,” he said. “I’ve just gotten into deep bantha fodder with Lycos Quinn. I getting of Corellia, but, um, I’m probably going to need some protection.”

 

He paused as he listened to the person on the other line.

 

“Go there? I don’t know, I mean… Oh, that’s a better idea. Yeah, I’ll meet you where we used to, back in the old days… You heard about Rick? Turn on a viewscreen… The Firm has put him in the games… I thought you would be interested.”

 

 

Targon hurried after Greyhawk. The old soldier had already left and broke into a run when he was outside. He found the warehouse and barged in, gun and knife in hand.

 

Stopping for a moment, Targon heard blaster fire and shouting inside, much more than he expected. He grabbed his lightsaber and charged in.

 

He found that the entire first room had been cleared. The men that guarded the place, and those that dismantled the vehicles, lay dead on the ground. In the next room, he could hear more shots and shouts.

 

Targon followed the noise, finding more people recently dispatched. He came to the next room and finally caught up with Greyhawk.

 

The old soldier was tearing the place apart. His age did not seem to slow him at all. He shot, dodged, slashed, and kicked at the men. Nobody could stand against him, and it appeared that nobody was able to hit him. That might have been caused by lack of skill or the influence of drugs. But it was, beyond a doubt, a testament of what Greyhawk was capable of.

 

Targon found himself a target by some of the thugs, who thought they might have a better chance taking out a kid than a soldier. After all, Targon wasn’t armored, and he wasn’t bearing heavy arms. How mistaken they were.

 

His lightsaber hummed as he swung it, deflecting blaster bolts and slicing through obstacles. A few of the more daring men, bearing knives, came at him. But Targon’s blade stopped them in their tracks.

 

The garage’s head, a Devaronian, was found hiding beneath his desk. Greyhawk threw it aside and pointed his blaster at his head.

 

“Please don’t kill me!” the man whimpered.

 

“Don’t kill him!” Targon urged.

 

Greyhawk sighed. “I’m not going to kill you, criminal slime. I need to find Lycos Quinn’s headquarters, and you’re going to let me know how to get to it.”

 

“You’re a fool,” the alien spat. “Quinn will have you butchered.”

 

“Listen, filth,” Greyhawk shoved the gun into the alien’s temple. “I’ve had to endure countless machinations of criminals – and I’ve borne the brunt of their attention. But you’re not going to take our friend. I’ll blow your brains out – after I’ve shot your kneecaps, your hands, and your genitals – if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

 

“Marc!” Targon exclaimed.

 

“It’s Greyhawk,” he rebuked. “I won’t let your boss hurt our friend, filth,” he growled at the man. “Now, talk!”

 

“Alright, alright!” the man cried.

 

“How do we get there?”

 

“I’ve got a speeder…it’s programmed with the destination so I don’t have to pilot it. I take it when I report my earnings and progress…”

 

“I don’t care about your business workings or your history,” Greyhawk snapped. “Do you have anything else of relevance to say?”

 

The man said no more.

 

Greyhawk smacked him on the back of the head, putting him out cold. “Come on, Targon, let’s get going.”

 

Targon’s mouth gaped. “Marc…what’s with you?”

 

“Nothing! Now let’s go!”

 

“No,” Targon said firmly. “There’s something wrong, Marc, and I want to know what.”

 

“We don’t have time.”

 

“Then you will tell me on the speeder.”

 

“Alright,” Greyhawk conceded. Together, they found the vehicle and started it up. It knew where it was supposed to be headed and took off. When they were seated, Targon faced Marc.

 

“What was that back there? Why the violence?”

 

Greyhawk sighed. The rage that was fuming from him back at the garage had dissipated. “You weren’t there.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“On Ord Mantell, after you left to give us time to escape.”

 

“I remember,” Targon nodded. “What happened?”

 

“The government sent bombers…they found the separatists and their families while they flew overhead. The crime lords knew about the raid, and they knew that they were part of it. The started…”

 

“They killed them?”

 

“All of them…Jethro and his men, women…children…”

 

“I…” Targon felt his heart sink. He remembered that night, facing the officers…and hearing the sounds of explosions in the distance. So they had attacked them after all.

 

A tear formed in Greyhawk’s eye. “I’ve seen many battles, Targon, but never have I seen such a senseless slaughter. I’ve seen the effects of a massacre…but I had never had it happen to people I had known…my friends.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Targon’s voice was weak. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop them.”

 

“No, it’s my fault, not yours,” Greyhawk said. “I couldn’t help the attack, and I lived when dozens of women and children did not. I could do nothing but watch Jethro and his people die. Killed by their own government…puppets of heartless criminals.”

 

They were both silent for a while. Targon could not find any words to say. There didn’t seem to be anything he could say.

 

Greyhawk breathed deep. “So I will not allow Rick Orlan to suffer the same fate – an expendable tool to be used for a crime lord’s greed and self-centeredness.”

 

Targon reached over and touched the soldier’s arm.

 

“We’ll free Rick,” he said softly.

 

“Or die trying?”

 

“There is no try.”

 

Rick awoke with a start. He was in new quarters – but still a cell. A nicer cell than what he was in, with a cot and a toilet, but it was still a cell.

 

Someone had entered. He looked up, and saw that it was Gabrielle. She had a container of water and a rag with her.

 

“What’s this?” he asked.

 

“I’m here to clean you up. Your little show with the bikes caused some scrapes.”

 

Rick groaned. The pain was now registering. “Why bother? I’m just going out again, aren’t I? They’re just going to keep me going until I get killed.”

 

“True,” Gabrielle nodded. “However, Lycos will likely want you looking nice for the cameras.”

 

“Oh, he’s so thoughtful.”

 

“And…” she hesitated. “I thought it might help you be a little more comfortable.”

 

Rick looked at her. “Why do you care?”

 

“Lycos may be my boss, but he doesn’t govern everything I do.”

 

“That’s not really an answer.”

 

Gabrielle soaked the rag and started dabbing Rick’s sore face. “I don’t think I’m obligated to give one.”

 

“You’re more cryptic than my Jedi friend,” Rick winced as she ran the cold, wet cloth against his injuries. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m here to treat you.”

 

“No, no,” Rick looked at her straight in the eye. “You’re here for a different reason – but I can’t figure what. You’re a bounty hunter, and your boss and his associates want me dead.”

 

“So?” Gabrielle continued her work. “I’m allowed to take my own initiative.”

 

Rick rolled his eyes. She didn’t seem to want to give any answers. And he didn’t want to make a foolish assumption. That would be a big mistake with a bounty hunter. All of a sudden, he noticed her arm. On the perfect blue skin was a scar.

 

He pointed to it. “What’s that? It’s definitely not a combat wound.”

 

“How would you know?” Gabrielle asked as she covered it up quickly.

 

“I know because I’ve seen lots of people get scars like that. You were once a slave, weren’t you?”

 

Gabrielle’s face flashed with anger, and Rick started to fear that she might shoot him. But then the anger changed to pain. She looked away.

 

“I…uh…I’m sorry,” Rick said softly. “It’s really not my business…”

 

“You’re right, it isn’t,” she responded. She dabbed him hard with the cloth and he winced again.

 

“Now, there’s no need to do that,” he groaned. “I’m sorry I brought it up… You probably don’t get treated much better by your employer, do you?”

 

“You’d better drop the subject,” she suggested.

 

“No,” he stood up. “No, I don’t think I will. Someone as lovely as you deserves to be treated with respect and dignity. Everyone deserves to be treated with respect and dignity. I’ve seen far too many beautiful women suffer at the hands of criminals.”

 

“What concern is it of yours?”

 

“I…” his face grimaced with hidden guilt. “I’ve seen it before, and I abhor it! I abhor anything and anyone that harms…”

 

“If you’re trying to say that I should be protected and cared for, don’t bother,” Gabrielle rose and stared at him. “I am perfectly capable of handling myself.”

 

Rick stared back at her. “If that were the case, you wouldn’t let crooks like Lycos Quinn and his men misuse and mistreat you.”

 

“How can you be sure I am treated poorly? You hardly even know me.”

 

“I saw that scar, and I see it in your eyes. I’ve seen it countless times…the look of pain and grief that rises from the suffering soul and pierces the heart of anyone that perceives it.”

 

Gabrielle peered at him. “You’re more than a smuggler…”

 

“Was,” he said simply. “I’ve been many things. And one thing I’ve never been nor ever will be is one that tolerates the abuse to a woman.”

 

“As if you could do anything,” she scoffed.

 

“No, I suppose I can’t do anything to help you – prisoner that I am. But you can help yourself.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You don’t have to take the treatment. You don’t have to let Quinn dominate you.”

 

She shook her head. “You don’t understand, you can’t understand.”

 

“I do,” Rick’s face was solemn. “More than you know.”

 

Gabrielle looked at him and then glanced at the door. “I have to go – before the guard gets any foolish notions. You should make yourself ready. You’ll be going out again soon.”

 

“You don’t have to let this continue,” Rick pleaded. “We can both get out of this.”

 

“There’s nothing we can do against him,” she shook her head. Then she started for the door and opened it up.

 

Looking back, she winked to him. “For what it’s worth – though you probably don’t trust a bounty hunter that captured you – it wasn’t all fake the other night. You are really rather cute.”

 

She didn’t have long to see him blush before she closed the door. The locks secured themselves again and she walked off.

 

There really wasn’t anywhere she needed to be at the moment, so she wandered around for a while. The maze of hallways – the same carpeting, lighting, and pattern of doors – had long ago become drab and dull to her.

 

She heard all too familiar voices behind a door. Most prominent of all was Lycos’. Stopping at the door, she silently listened to what her boss was talking about.

 

“Believe me, my friend,” Lycos said, “I don’t like having the slime around any more than you do. If anything, I want him dead more than you.”

 

“If that’s so, why don’t we get rid of him now and be done with it?” asked the cold voice of the one Gabrielle had long since grown to despise.

 

“Business. We need the deal made with his assets and connections, and the only way to get that is if he signs the contracts.”

 

“And he won’t sign until the smuggler dies?”

 

“Precisely,” Lycos sighed. “Once that is done, we can deal with him. The moment his signature is secure, you can carve him up into tiny pieces.”

 

“I want him dead for his associates,” the other snarled. “That runt of a man, Djehad, in particular. I fail to see how you could want him dead so eagerly. You’re a man of business and appearances. Your goals have never been crossed or hindered by him.”

 

“You forget that I am also a man,” Lycos replied. “And as a man, I am bound to certain desires – vengeance and justice, particularly.”

 

“Vengeance? Justice?”

 

“Yes. That same man, Djehad Nguyen, has killed countless of my business associates on the Hutt’s errand. But above all, he killed my sister as…collateral damage.”

 

“Your sister?”

 

Lycos’ voice grew cold. “Exactly. I want him dead – worse than dead. But I need his business, and we also need to make sure the slug’s family does not try to avenge his death on us. We can’t be suspected of foul play.”

 

“The worms are naturally suspicious of everything,” the bounty hunter growled. “How will you keep them off your trail?”

 

“When you kill Gardogga, make sure it looks like it was done by Gabrielle. And make sure it looks like she went rogue. That shouldn’t be too hard, given that she has been getting rather distanced of late.”

 

“You want to frame one of your employees? How are you expecting me to take this? How can I know you won’t do the same to me when my value has expired?”

 

“Because I know full well that you can kill me easily – if I were to do something like that.” He paused. “Now, the games will be starting again, and Rick’s special performance is drawing near.”

 

Gabrielle bolted away from the door, down the halls, and kept going until she was a good distance away that hopefully nobody would suppose she had been eavesdropping on Lycos.

 

When she came to a stop, she leaned against the wall and panted hard. Not from exhaustion, but from shock. She could not believe what she had heard. Her own boss was setting her up! After all the good work she had done for him for so long!

 

Fear gripped her, and then turned to barely controlled anger. But what could she do? Lycos had hundreds of men working for him…and none would be on her side. She could not hope to kill him for this – she wouldn’t stand a chance against…his favorite hunter.

 

She had become expendable to Lycos…expendable like a slave again. After a dozen masters and employers all treating her like property and a tool, now it was happening again. She had thought that Lycos would have been different. He was cruel, she knew full well – and apparently Rick had been able to see it. But he had never thought of her as expendable.

 

Gabrielle breathed deep and let the rage and shock flow out of her. She needed to get away. Now. But was she to leave Rick to his fate? Was there anything she could do even if she wanted to?

 

There were a few blaster shots down the hall. Grabbing her pistols, she tentatively made her way towards the noise. She turned the corner, her guns pointed at the people she encountered.

 

Four of Lycos’ guards lay dead, two shot and two cut down. Standing over them were two men who were the last people she would have expected to see here. And now.

 

“You!” the young Jedi held up his lightsaber. “Where’s Rick?!” he demanded.

 

His companion – the old soldier – held up his gun back at her. “Speak quickly, bounty hunter.”

 

With her guns pointed at each of them, they were caught at a standoff. Anyone could have made a move, but at least one or two would be killed in the incident. Her fingers were ready to pull the triggers, but the Jedi and the trooper were just as prepared.

 

The crazy idea sprung into her head. These men were here for Rick, and Rick had been taken because of orders given by Lycos. Lycos was these men’s enemy. She had simply been the one carrying out the command.

 

She lowered her pistols and holstered them. “I was not expecting to see either of you for a long time.”

 

“We’re not slow when our friend is concerned,” the Jedi said sternly.

 

“You’ll never be able to help him,” Gabrielle said coolly. “He’s being taken to the arena right now – and the security is tighter than a paranoid senator’s estate.”

 

“That doesn’t matter,” the old soldier responded. “We’ll fight our way through all this crime lord’s scum.”

 

“Your chances of survival and success are slim.” She paused and then winked. “But the odds might be better if you have my help. I’ve got some ideas that could level the field.”

 

The two men glanced at each other and then back at her. Their expressions showed their granted mistrust. But there was something in the look of the Jedi that might suggest he wasn’t sensing any treachery.

 

She hoped he was a man willing to follow a gut feeling.

 

 

The screams of the crowd was deafening as Rick rose through the floor on a lift. The lights were blinding, all of them pointed directly at the center of the field.

 

The arena had been altered. It wasn’t a flat grid anymore. There were areas where rubble had been left to make barriers. It appeared there had been something like a deadly landspeeder race, judging by the debris.

 

Well, thought Rick, at least he could find some cover in whatever he was doing.

 

At the very center of the arena was a red ring on the ground. The light’s focus was on this single spot. Rick noticed there was a stand with something on top and started to walk towards it. He stopped short when he heard Lycos’ voice over the speakers.

 

“It’s time for the event you’ve all been waiting for, ladies and gentlemen! I hope your bets are down because we’re ready to begin!”

 

An excited cheer came in reply.

 

Lycos continued, “Here we have a brave man – a man who has made some dangerous enemies. And it just so happens that one of these enemies is here tonight, and eager to challenge this man in the arena!”

 

“Enough with this nonsense!” Rick shouted. “Tell me what’s going on so I can get this over with.”

 

“Alright then, Mr. Orlan,” Lycos’ patronizing voice mocked. “Your job is to make it to the red ring alive.”

 

“Simple enough,” Rick sighed. “And who’s this challenger? Not Gardogga, I hope?”

 

Lycos and the audience laughed. “No, Mr. Orlan,” Lycos replied, amused. “It’s another man I believe you know quite well.”

 

The sound of a jetpack roared over the audience, and a large man landed not too far away. Rick’s blood ran cold when he saw who it was.

 

“Now we can settle our debt of honor,” Algayne’s voice bellowed. “You and me, Rick. Single combat.”

 

“Well that’s not fair,” Rick scoffed. “You’ve got – what – dozens of weapons?”

 

“Reach the red ring and obtain your pistols,” Lycos’ voice said.

 

“Oh, well,” Rick groaned. “I guess we’re really going for the dramatic.”

 

“No more words!” Algayne shouted. “Give me a worthy fight, Rick!”

 

The buzzer he recalled from the bike show rang, and with it, Rick saw a rocket zooming towards him. He ran and ducked behind a pile of rubble to avoid the explosion. Soon following the bang, he heard Algayne’s jetpack fire up and get louder.

 

Rick got to his feet and started running. Blaster bolts struck the ground, trailing after his feet. He glanced up to see the Mandalorian hovering above him. He wasn’t aiming to kill, he was toying with him.

 

Rick tripped on a piece of twisted metal, landing on his face. There was no shot to his back in this vulnerable position. That wouldn’t be sporting.

 

He got himself back up and tried to make for the ring. Nearing less than ten meters away, he felt the Mandalorian’s hard boot smash into his backside. He dropped, and the heavy boots planted with a thud a short ways off.

 

Getting back to his feet, Rick was facing Algayne directly. The Mandalorian stood directly between him and the ring. There was no going around him, there was only through him.

 

Rick charged, leading with his shoulder. He smacked into Algayne’s legs and tried to knock him down. He was not successful.

 

Algayne slammed his elbow down into Rick’s shoulder, took a step back, and planted a direct smash of his fist into Rick’s face.

 

Catching himself before he toppled over, Rick threw a punch of his own. It was blocked by Algayne’s arm, but he followed it up with a quick second one. His knuckles cracked as he struck hard armor.

 

He cried out, but attempted a kick. With any luck, his foot would be better off.

 

Algayne caught his foot with his hand and twisted. Rick screamed and fell to the ground.

 

Reaching down, Algayne picked him back up, smacked his face three times, and then sent him crashing down again with a head butt.

 

Everything was spinning. Rick tried to put a hand up to his bleeding head but missed and just rubbed his nose.

 

His whole body scrunched up when Algayne planted his foot into Rick’s gut. He writhed on the ground, moaning and struggling to breathe.

 

“Get up!” Algayne barked. “Give me at least a partial challenge!”

 

Rick rasped, “I won’t give you the satisfaction.”

 

“Then die like an animal, instead of a man.”

 

There was a strange wailing sound – the sound of a speeder’s engine – high overhead. The light was diminished as something moved in its way.

 

Something struck Algayne hard and he stumbled backwards. When he saw what it was, he roared in a fury.

 

Rick saw a cloaked person standing over him, blocking the path between Algayne and Rick. A bright green light appeared in his hand.

 

Though muffled from the ringing pain in his body, Rick could hear the familiar and blessed voice of his first mate state, “You will not touch this man again!”

 

Targon held out his blade toward the Mandalorian, his face stern. There was a moment of silence. The crowd had gone still, and Algayne hesitated to make a move.

 

Then he lifted his arm and activated his flamethrower. Targon ducked and pulled the battered Rick away from the fire. Then he leaped and kicked Algayne’s side.

 

The Mandalorian’s fall echoed on the floor, but he soon got himself up. He unsheathed a knife and slashed at Targon, but the Jedi’s reflexes were quick and he caught the blade with his saber.

 

With a flick of his wrists, Targon flung the knife out of its wielder’s hands and kicked his armored chest. He ended up just throwing himself, as the sturdy Mandalorian and his thick armor held against his foot.

 

Up above, the speeder zipped past the VIP box, where Lycos and his guests could only look with shock at the occupants. Lycos’ face scrunched into a scowl as he saw Gabrielle piloting. But it was the passenger who posed the threat.

 

Greyhawk had his blaster out and fired at will into the box, hitting the guards that surrounded the dignitaries. Most of his shots, however, simply hit the walls, spraying sparks over the occupants.

 

Then the speeder moved off, heading down towards the combatants on the arena below. As floating security droids appeared following the sound of the alarm, Greyhawk took aim and started knocking them out of the air one by one.

 

Targon stood up just in time to barely get his head out of the way as Algayne charged at him. Instead of his face, his shoulder took the hit from the Mandalorian’s large fist.

 

Dropping to the ground, Targon rolled and then got back up a short distance away from his opponent. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Rick’s blasters in the ring, and he called one of them to him.

 

Once in his hand, he fired at Algayne’s jetpack, which sparked and hissed. Expecting it to explode, Targon dove to get Rick out of the way. As he did so, he pulled the second gun to him and slipped both into Rick’s holsters.

 

The jetpack did not explode. Instead, it fired up, taking off and taking Algayne along with it. He shouted in alarm as he was rocketed across the arena. He smashed through a wall, leaving a large cloud of dust and smoke behind him.

 

Gabrielle brought the speeder down next to Targon and Rick. Targon heaved up Rick and lifted him into the vehicle. Greyhawk grabbed the injured captain and set him down before returning to fire at the approaching droids.

 

The security machines fired bright blue bolts from their guns, but they were slow to maneuver and fire. Greyhawk had no trouble taking them down.

 

“This is going a lot easier than I thought,” he smirked. “Lycos should invest in better security.”

 

Targon got himself into the speeder, and once he was seated, Gabrielle took off. The roof of the stadium had been closed, so they circled around above the crowd for a minute.

 

Greyhawk pointed to a large window. “There! We’ll get out there!”

 

“No chance,” Gabrielle shook her head. “These windows are made of transparasteel, almost as strong as starships’! We’d simply smash into it and be flattened!”

 

Targon stood up and pointed his hand towards the window. Through the Force, he felt the surface, reaching deep into the molecular level. The particles were vibrating softly, but he could feel the erratic nature of the atoms. He concentrated and broke the bonds that held many of the molecules together.

 

Opening his eyes, he nodded with satisfaction as the window shattered into pieces and they were able to fly through. But he didn’t realize how intensely he had been concentrated until a moment later. He collapsed into his seat, his strength sapped.

 

He felt a cringe of guilt that the shards of the window might have fallen upon some of the crowd and injured them.

 

Rick’s groans drew his attention, and he strained to gather the strength to look after him.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked.

 

“Considering all that I’ve been through?” Rick asked weakly. “Yeah, I guess I’m good.”

 

“Let’s get to your ship and get off planetside before Lycos can react,” Gabrielle said.

 

“What are you doing here?” Rick asked.

 

“She’s driving the getaway car,” Targon smiled. “We were able to rescue you so easily because of her.”

 

“Don’t call it easy just yet,” Greyhawk said. “We’ve got a trailer…”

 

Behind them was a speeder – one with a pair of cannons on the sides. When it was in range, it started firing.

 

Gabrielle took the vehicle left, right, left again, up, down…meandering all over the place trying to avoid the fire. Targon held tight to Rick and to the vehicle so that neither of them would slip.

 

Turning to face the pursuer, Greyhawk pointed his blaster and started returning fire. With the pilot’s “graceful” flying, he found it difficult to get even close to hitting the target. Yet the same was true for the attacker, and so her tactic was working fine in his book.

 

They were nearing the docks, but the pursuing speeder was getting closer. Greyhawk kept firing, and missing, because Gabrielle was having to level out in order for them to make a landing and get inside.

 

It was then that the welcome sound of whining sirens arrived. Two police craft came in on either side of the armed speeder and ordered it to cease firing and land immediately.

 

Without further hindrance, Gabrielle landed the ship. Carrying Rick, they rushed to The Lone Eagle and climbed aboard. It took much longer than they liked to get cleared for takeoff. Each minute they sat waiting left a moment of fear to grow. Lycos’ reach was unknown to any of them, so their minds quivered with frightening presumptions. That was the real power of Quinn’s – the simple knowledge that he could find and kill anyone he wanted. The only question was time.

 

Despite the others’ protests, Rick claimed he was well enough to pilot his own ship. He was determined to be the one that got them out of this blasted mess. After all, he was the one that got himself into it.

 

They were up and leaving orbit. Targon took a glance at the planet. A pity, he thought, that their visit to Corellia had to be so unfortunate. He had heard plenty of nice things about the planet, and he had actually been hoping for a bit of a rest.

 

But it appeared there would be none here. This time.

 

 

Lycos stood up and brushed his clothes off. There was chaos amid the crowds. Many were leaving, others were standing around and totally unsure of what was going on.

 

Ignoring the useless mob, Lycos turned around and studied what had happened to his box. Deep anger festered inside him at having had such a mockery occur in his estate, in the presence of all these other businessmen. It would be extremely bad for his reputation.

 

His guests were getting up, indignation and anger was apparent in their faces as well. Anger at being attacked and having been unprotected by their host.

 

Before any of them could start accusing him, Lycos gestured to his men. “Get them out of here. The show is over, gentlemen, and it’s time for you to go home.”

 

One voice would not be sequestered by Lycos’ dismissal.

 

“What sort of circus are you running here, Quinn?” Gardogga bellowed. “You’ve made what happened aboard my airbus on Calpronica look like a tea party!”

 

“Shut up, slime!” Lycos cast aside his calmness.

 

“And now you dare to lose your hospitality and throw insults at me? I will see you dead or bankrupt for this offense!”

 

“Wrong, Hutt,” Lycos grinned cruelly. “This event hardly sets my business back. Since I won’t be getting you to sign the deals, I’ll simply buy out your holdings.”

 

“Ho! Over my dead body!” Gardogga laughed.

 

“Yes, yours and my sister’s!” Lycos shouted. “Next time your assassins kill the family member of a fellow businessman, you’d better fire him, not reward him.”

 

“Your empty threats and personal grievances do not concern me,” Gardogga gurgled. “It is a pity about your sister, though. Had she lived I could have made a fine ransom out of her…or a fine dinner.”

 

“I’ll see you gutted and fed to a rancor!”

 

“How so? Your guards seem lost in the disorder of the breakout, and my glorious person is kept safe by my entourage.”

 

“You mean that entourage?” Lycos pointed.

 

On the ground behind the Hutt were Gardogga’s men – guards and assistants. All of them were lying dead on the ground, all of them bore deep slashes and lay in a pool of blood.

 

“What have you done?!” Gardogga bellowed.

 

“The same thing I’m going to do to you,” came the reply as a surge of electricity revealed the presence of a tall, armored man. His blades on his wrist were scarlet from the dripping blood.

 

Gardogga roared in alarm as Lycos’ man cut him open. The Hutt’s recent meal spilled out onto the floor along with the rest of the gunk. He bellowed and gurgled in his death throes, but finally went still and silent. The box was empty except for the hunter and the boss. All the others had been escorted out.

 

Lycos put his hand to his nose to block out the stench. “Good kill.”

 

“Too bad his death couldn’t have been more painful,” the Phantom snarled.

 

“It’s done now. Come, we’ve got a lot of work to do. First off, would you be kind enough to get the cleaning crews in here to deal with this…mess?”

 

“What about him?” the Phantom pointed to the man the Hutt had swallowed and now lay in the stinking juices. “He’s still alive, and he looks like a man from Black Sun.”

 

Lycos didn’t bother to look as he started walking out. “There’s no use for him, and I’ve never been a fan of that criminal gang. Put him out of his misery.”

 

 

Rick had just gotten dressed after a dip in the bacta tank to recover from Algayne’s beating. He came into the main hold, where he found Targon, Greyhawk, and Gabrielle all cleaning up the mess left from the other night.

 

“Feeling better?” Targon asked.

 

“Much, thank you.” Rick nodded. “Is the ship on auto-pilot?”

 

“Yes,” Greyhawk answered. “Despite what you might think, we do now how to fly a ship.”

 

“I know that,” Rick said. “But she’s a special ship, and I’m very careful with her.”

 

“Yes, we know,” Targon smiled.

 

Rick turned to Gabrielle. “So, what are we to do with you? I mean, you are a bounty hunter after all. One that gave me a nasty bump on the head, if I recall.”

 

“I suppose I could say I’m sorry,” Gabrielle sighed. “But that probably wouldn’t mean much.”

 

“What possessed my crew here to even work with you?” Rick asked.

 

Targon replied, “We encountered her in the hall, after having wandered around in it for quite some time and getting nowhere. With her help, we were actually able to get to you and have a way of getting you out.”

 

“I’m curious,” Rick looked back at the Twi’lek. “After our little talk got nowhere, what made you decide to actually get out of there?”

 

Gabrielle closed her eyes and stifled any outburst of emotion. “I didn’t see how bad my situation was until I heard Quinn’s plan to frame me for Gardogga’s murder. I guess…I guess that’s when I realized I was still a piece of property to him.”

 

“Criminals,” Greyhawk spat. “The galaxy would be infinitely better off without them.”

 

“But then the bounty hunters would be out of a job,” Rick smiled.

 

“What will you do now?” Targon asked.

 

Gabrielle sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t have anywhere to go…”

 

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Rick said. “You’re staying on this ship, with us.”

 

“Rick?” Targon raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re okay with that? I thought of suggesting it, but you weren’t exactly happy when I brought Marc along.”

 

“Yeah, well…” Rick grinned. “No offense, Greyhawk, but she’s a lot prettier than you.”

 

“So I’m just here for my looks?” Gabrielle asked.

 

Rick’s smile sank. “Um…no…that’s not what I…uh…”

 

Gabrielle laughed. “That’s a joke, Rick. I thought you were good at those.”

 

Everyone laughed.

 

“Well,” Rick nodded. “We’ve got a nice little crew forming here. A young Jedi Knight, a retired soldier, a sexy bounty hunter…and me, of course.”

 

“So what will we do now?” Targon asked. “Find another vacations spot? Somewhere in the Core?”

 

Rick shook his head. “Nope, I’m through with the Core Worlds for now. Besides, we’re going to need to make ourselves scarce until this whole thing with Lycos blows over. How does the Outer Rim sound?”

 

“With the luck we’ve had,” Greyhawk shook his head, “it won’t matter where we go. We’ll find some trouble, or trouble will find us.”

 

“Now, now,” Targon held up a finger. “There is no luck. The Force is guiding us.”

 

A groan came from the others. “Please don’t say things like that,” Rick said. “From what I hear, whenever a Jedi says something like that it usually means a string of problems is right on the horizon.”

 

“You’re not scared of a few problems, are you?” Gabrielle asked.

 

“No, I’m just thinking about your well-being. I told you it might have been a better idea to keep away from me before I did anything stupid.”

 

“Or get any temptations?” Gabrielle winked. “I could learn to take a few risks. I’ve got nothing to lose anymore, after all.”

 

 

Targon was walking on a path through a forest, wondering how he had gotten here. He looked up at the tall trees, connected to each other by great vines between the branches. Sunlight came down in splotches through the canopy.

 

Despite his confusion, he started feeling calm and at peace in the forest. It reminded him of his walks with Master Tieru on Tython.

 

Silent mist began to rise on the ground, but it was light and hardly noticeable. Targon paid no mind to it as he continued down the path. As he pressed on, the mist grew thicker and colder. It swirled around his legs, getting higher and higher. Still, it was only fog, and therefore shouldn’t cause any trouble.

 

Nightfall fell suddenly, and Targon found himself enclosed in gloom. He activated his lightsaber to give him some light, and noticed an eerie change in the forest. The trees were no longer fastened together with vines, but instead with black webs.

 

Targon began to walk faster, starting to run…but the mist had grown thick like mud and slowed him. Soon he could hardly make a single step. He slashed at the mist with his saber, but it made no effect.

 

Looking up, he found hundreds of people caught in the webbing in the trees. Some were struggling to get free, but instead were getting further entangled. Others were peaceful, but so still they may have been dead. The webbing started to expand and multiply, completely covering up those caught, and trapping countless more.

 

Targon’s breath became quick and weak, full of fear and confusion. He heard something not far away. Looking towards it, he saw his companions, struggling against the web as it sought to entangle them too. Targon called out to them, fighting against the fog that held him still.

 

They could not hear him, and their fight was in vain. Soon they too joined the others, trapped and helpless, hanging high in the trees.

 

As Targon kept straining to get free, he felt a dark presence approaching. Something grabbed his legs, and then his arms. He struggled to get loose, but it simply tightened its grip.

 

Whatever it was that held him in the dark, it started to spread. He could feel tendrils creeping down his arms and up his legs, and as they moved, he lost all feeling in his appendages. It continued until it consumed him entirely.

 

With a cry, Targon awoke and sat up. His eyes darted about, but he saw that he was in his bunk, on the ship. It had only been a nightmare.

 

He was drenched in sweat, and his garments and sheets clung to him. It felt too familiar to his dream, and he quickly cast them off. Standing up, he got himself dressed in his robes and went out into the hall, walking to the cockpit.

 

The rest of the group was asleep, except for Rick at the pilot’s chair. He sat with his legs resting up on the console, leaning back with his hands behind his head. The music of his stereo was playing over the speakers, though not at all blaring as usual.

 

“What’s with the tone down?” Targon inquired.

 

Rick hadn’t heard him come in and was startled. He nearly fell out of his chair. Seeing that it was only Targon, he sighed and faced him.

 

“Apparently the crew does not appreciate the volume of my music.”

 

“Oh? I thought that Marc had told you several times earlier.”

 

Rick shook his head. “Yeah, well, I figured those were the gripes of an irritable old man. I got the message when our bounty hunter friend flipped me and dug her heel into my chest.”

 

Targon raised an eyebrow. “Gabrielle?”

 

“Quite a woman, isn’t she?” Rick smirked. “Gorgeous and deadly. Quite a combination. Apparently she wasn’t too fond of the loud tunes either.”

 

Targon smiled. “Did she hurt you much?”

 

“Nah, just a big purple bruise on my chest. Nothing I can’t handle. At least she was more gentle than Algayne.”

 

“Do you think we’ll be seeing him again?” Targon asked.

 

“Probably,” Rick frowned. “I doubt he’s killed very easily. Obviously, he didn’t stay in jail very long. I had hoped that little stunt back on Calpronica would have kept him away for at least a few weeks.”

 

“What do you suppose happened?”

 

“That Mandalorian has lots of skills. He would have broken out sooner or later. But that soon…he must have had help.”

 

“The Empire?”

 

“No doubt. But I don’t think we have much to worry about with them. I mean, really, how important could a former smuggler and a single Jedi Knight that disrupted an unimportant planet be?”

 

“I wish I could feel the same way,” Targon sighed.

 

Rick sat back down. “So, what are you doing up so late? You were first to go to bed.”

 

“Is it late? I can’t tell.”

 

“Yeah, space tends to do that.”

 

“Nightmares,” Targon shrugged. “Terrible ones.”

 

Rick smiled. “Nothing as terrible as mine, I’m sure.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“After Gabrielle’s foot in my ribcage, I’ve been dreaming of her doing all sorts of…things to me.”

 

“Painful things or otherwise?”

 

“Perhaps they aren’t the things to discuss with a Jedi,” Rick winked.

 

Targon’s eyebrow rose higher. “Does she know?”

 

“No, and she won’t know. Got it, first mate?”

 

“It’s not my place to tell people things of this nature. I am a Jedi, after all.”

 

Rick smiled. “So, you want to talk about your dreams?”

 

“I don’t think you could help,” Targon sighed. “My master could have given me guidance…”

 

“Fine, don’t lay your problems on me,” Rick raised his hands. “Fine by me.”

 

Suddenly, the ship shook hard. An alarm flashed and wailed. Rick turned to the console and Targon sat down in the co-pilot’s seat.

 

“What is it?” Targon asked.

 

Rick’s face flushed. “A Imperial warship. It pulled us out of hyperspace.”

 

“Are we in Sith space?” Targon inquired. “I thought we were going to the Outer Rim.”

 

“We are in the Outer Rim…there shouldn’t be Republic or Empire in this part of space!”

 

“Apparently not anymore,” Targon frowned. “We should try to outrun them.”

 

“Way ahead of you, my friend.”

 

The ship jerked forward and veered away from the destroyer. Cannon fire followed after them, shaking the ship as it struck the shields.

 

“What is going on?” Greyhawk asked as he walked in. “Can’t an old soldier get his sleep?”

 

“Imperials!” Rick replied. “They seem unwilling to oblige you, Greyhawk.”

 

“What are Imperials doing here?”

 

“Should we ask them?” Rick countered. “Hold on, I’m trying to get us out of range of them.”

 

There was a beeping on the console. Targon checked it.

 

“They’re hailing us,” he stated.

 

“What? They want to talk?” Rick was surprised.

 

“Probably demanding our surrender,” Greyhawk growled. “I have not interest in being in an Imperial prison.”

 

“Then sit tight,” Rick said. “I’ll get us out of here.”

 

“Should we respond?” Targon asked.

 

“We really don’t have anything to say,” Rick replied. “Besides, no need to show our faces to the faceless Empire.”

 

Over the speakers came an audio message from the pursuing warship. “Crew of The Lone Eagle, cease this pointless chase and submit to be boarded.”

 

“Pfft,” Rick scoffed. “Not a chance.”

 

The ship shook several times more as the warship’s cannons battered the shields. Gabrielle came into the cockpit.

 

“Can’t you jump to hyperspace?” she asked.

 

“If I could, then we’d be gone,” Rick answered. “We’ve got to get out of range first.”

 

Targon pointed to the scanners. “There’s an asteroid field not too far away. Perhaps we can hide out there?”

 

“And they’ll just sit there waiting for us or send fighters to find us,” Rick shook his head. “That won’t work.”

 

Looking back to the scanners, Targon saw something else. “There’s a planet…”

 

“No good either,” Rick shook his head.

 

A major tremor rumbled through the ship, and sparks flew from the conduits. Systems started failing throughout the ship.

 

“It doesn’t look like we’ve got any alternate options,” Gabrielle said. “The planet is our best bet.”

 

“Who is captain here?” Rick asked.

 

“You’ll be captain of a cell if you don’t take us in,” Greyhawk said. “At least on a planet we can hide and make repairs.”

 

Rick groaned. “Alright, three against one…let’s see if we can lose them.”

 

Their vessel headed towards the planet, trailed by the Sith warship. The nearer they came to the planet, the greater a strange feeling grew in the back of Targon’s mind.

 

Something pinged on the scanners.

 

“The Imperial ship,” Targon exclaimed. “It’s turning around and leaving!”

 

“Well,” Rick sighed. “That was fun.”

 

“We still need repairs,” Greyhawk pointed out.

 

“I know, I know,” Rick said. “You all had better strap in. My girl’s systems are all messed up. The landing is probably going to be rough.”

 

“It’s always something, isn’t it?” Greyhawk groaned.

 

“Shut up, sit down, and let me fly,” Rick snapped.

 

“You mean let you crash,” Gabrielle smirked.

 

The Lone Eagle rushed through the atmosphere and flew over a large expanse of forest. Smoke billowed behind the ship, creating a long black tail behind as it crossed the sky.

 

Coming in for a landing, the ship bounced twice on the ground and then came to a groaning stop, after sliding a short distance on the ground. The landing equipment didn’t work too well, but they had been fortunate enough to land in a large clearing, instead of smashing into a tree.

 

“Well, that was better than I thought it might be,” Rick smiled.

 

“Better?” Targon raised his eyebrow.

 

“Don’t give me that,” Rick said. “It’s not like any of you guys would have done better.”

 

“Let’s just get the ship fixed,” Gabrielle said. “You can gloat when we’re off again.”

 

“Well, that’s going to be tricky,” Rick sighed. “I’ve got to inspect the damage, but I doubt I can fix all the damage with what I have.”

 

“I saw signs of a settlement during our descent,” Targon said. “Perhaps they have what we need?”

 

“You’re assuming they’re space-flight capable?” Gabrielle noted.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Greyhawk said as he started to leave the cockpit and head towards his quarters. “Let’s just get going. There will be plenty of time for nonsense when we’ve confirmed whether or not the ship may be fixed.”

 

The ramp lowered and the crew stood still for a moment, observing their surroundings on the world they had landed on. It was a wide forest, trees spanning in every direction beyond the clearing.

 

“Well,” Rick sighed, “at least it’s a boring planet. Nothing but trees.”

 

“Very funny,” Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “Did you consider what might be wandering through the trees?”

 

“I don’t need to worry about it,” Rick shrugged. “I figure I’ll stay here and fix what I can while you guys go find the town and see if we can get any help.”

 

“Where did you get that notion?” Greyhawk asked.

 

“From the fact that I know how to repair my ship,” Rick countered.

 

“And what about parts? You’re the one that knows what you’ll need. You should be with us to get the right kind of help.”

 

Rick shook his head. “Can you all really not stand being away from me for so long?”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Gabrielle smirked. “You’re just the pilot and the captain – the one who knows his ship best.”

 

“And as the one in charge, you should follow my orders,” Rick smiled back.

 

Targon raised his hands. “How about we stop arguing and all go into town? That way we won’t have to worry about anyone getting in harm’s way while their alone – either here or there.”

 

The three others looked at him. Rick frowned. “I knew you would take their side. This is mutiny!”

 

“Oh please,” Gabrielle rolled her eyes again. “Just shut up and come on, Rick. It’s not like anyone’s going to steal your ship while we’re away. Unless it’s repaired, it won’t be going anywhere.”

 

Rick held up a finger and maintained a defiant look on his face for a moment. Then he sighed and shrugged. “Alright, alright, you mutinous crew. You win. Let’s go.”

 

The four of them headed out together. None of them said a word for a long while as they marched through the forest. The trees were immensely tall, towering over them and blocking out a great deal of the sun.

 

Two hours into their walk, the forest went completely silent – so still that even Rick noticed it and knew there to be something wrong.

 

“Do you smell that?” Greyhawk asked the others.

 

“So now you’re smelling things as well as hearing things?” Rick scowled.

 

“Quiet,” Gabrielle shushed them harshly as she drew her pistols. Her cold eyes peered deep into the woods, scanning for some unseen threat she knew was close.

 

Targon felt a shudder trickle down his backside. Something familiar echoed in his mind…something from his dream.

 

A horrid howl rang through the trees as a creature burst forth at them. When it leaped out through the bushes, Gabrielle shot at it quickly. It effortlessly leaped out of the way, onto the trunk of a tree, and leaped at them again. Landing too close to use her pistols, Gabrielle tried to step back. But the animal knocked her down and jumped on top of her.

 

It was a foul bluish color, with a tough hide covered in a bristles. It was bipedal, yet its arms were longer than its legs. Its eyes were pale and empty, like a doll’s eyes, seeming as though they were rolled up into the back of its head.

 

What worried Gabrielle the most about the ugly thing were its dripping fangs edging towards her face. Its hot, smelly breath made it hard to breathe.

 

Greyhawk’s arm reached around the creature’s neck, yanking it off of Gabrielle. As it flailed its arms to slash at him, the old soldier tightened his grip on the neck and pushed with his other hand until it fell limp with a crack of the neck.

 

Gabrielle stood up as Greyhawk dropped the dead animal. The forest had gone silent again now that it was no longer howling. Mere seconds of racket was forgotten in an instant.

 

“What is it?” Gabrielle gasped.

 

“I’ve seen a lot of creatures in my day,” Greyhawk sighed. “But I haven’t seen anything like this. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was a small gundark or something.”

 

“There are no records of this that I’ve ever heard of in the Jedi Archives,” Targon shrugged.

 

“Guys,” Rick said, “does it really matter? We need to be ready in case there’s any more of them out there.”

 

Gabrielle and Marc had their guns out and pointed towards the forest in an instant. Rick kept his hand up against one of his own pistols.

 

“How about drawing the lightsaber?” Rick asked Targon when he noticed the boy hadn’t got his weapon out.

 

Targon didn’t hear him. His mind was focused on the strange resonance he could feel pulsing through the air. Nobody else seemed to notice it, but Targon shivered with each strumming as though it were a drop of ice water down his nape.

 

Rick tapped the young Jedi’s shoulder. “Hello? Anybody home there, Jedi?”

 

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” Targon shook his head. “I sense something very wrong about this place. We should leave as soon as possible.”

 

“No argument there,” Rick nodded. “The sooner we fix my ship, the sooner we can get out of dodge.”

 

As they started to continue walking on, Targon glanced back at the strange creature, studying it for a final time. There seemed a greater concentration of the peculiar shadow about the animal – though it was fading away quickly.

 

He knelt down and touched it. It felt frighteningly cold. Not through his fingers, but through his feelings. It was as though this creature was not connected to the Force anymore. Like something had stripped it from it, or had consumed it.

 

Even more disturbing, though, was how similar this creature looked to a human.

 

 

The holographic image of Moff Taan easily displayed his displeasure as it stared coldly at Commander Hugo. The whole crew on the bridge of the Imperial warship felt uneasy with the angry silence of the Moff.

 

“You’re telling me that you gave up the pursuit?” Taan cracked an eyebrow.

 

Hugo swallowed with difficulty. “There…there were strange sensor readings on the planet that the Lone Eagle landed on. We didn’t want to follow until we were sure of what was down there.”

 

“Do you not suppose that landing on the planet would get better answers than hovering miles away in space?” Taan asked.

 

“Well…sir…”

 

“Enough of the excuses,” the Chiss shook his head. “I want that ship found, Commander, and I want it found now. There are individuals more powerful than I that have an interest in the ship and its crew.”

 

“The Dark Council?” Hugo flushed. “What interest do they have with a single smuggling vessel?”

 

“That’s none of your concern. Suffice to say, certain persons have felt tremors in the Force – and they have linked them to the Lone Eagle, among other things.”

 

“I understand sir,” Hugo bowed. “We shall find the ship before the day is through.”

 

“Good hunting, Commander.”

 

Taan’s image blinked out and Hugo let out a soft sigh of relief. So did the rest of the staff on the bridge. Even a hologram of the cold alien caused discomfort among the men of the Imperial military. More so because they knew what sort of connections he had beyond his already considerable rank.

 

Hugo stroked his moustache and removed his gray cap from his head to fan the light sweat that had accumulated on his face. Turning to the crew, he straightened and ordered, “Take us in to planetary orbit. Prepare landing parties.”

 

The crew said nothing, but simply complied in silence. They knew that Commander Hugo had shown weakness to them all, but they too had been intimidated by Moff Taan. They had no desire of incurring any more wrath from superiors.

 

Hugo shook his head. Whatever the Empire wanted this ship for, he didn’t care. But he was not going to look so pathetic again. He was going to succeed and prove he was worthy of wearing the uniform of an Imperial officer.

 

The ship approached the planet and the hangar doors opened. Landing shuttles began to disembark from the vessel, heading down towards the surface of the strange planet. Commander Hugo boarded one to lead the mission on the ground himself.

 

Targon and the rest of the group did not realize they had arrived at the settlement until they nearly tripped through the woods and entered a sudden clearing. The trees ended and houses and streets immediately began.

 

It was a small city, by the looks of it. The streets were paved with cobblestone and the structures were all built with the fineness and skill to be expected in any mining colony. There were vehicles zipping down the road and vendors selling amiable products.

 

Nothing appeared on the same technological level of a standard Republic world – but the people were by no means primitive. What was more, they were all human.

 

The citizens all around the visitors stopped suddenly and stared at the strangers. They focused their amazement on Gabrielle – but they were almost just as wondering about the strange garb of the three humans with her.

 

“Why are they all staring at me?” Gabrielle said, fidgeting uncomfortably under all the eyes upon her.

 

“They’ve probably never seen someone as hot as you before,” Rick smirked.

 

“Don’t be a sleaze,” Gabrielle growled.

 

“I’d say they’ve never seen a Twi’lek before,” Targon said. “But that’s odd – since these humans have to be colonists from the Republic.”

 

“They might’ve gotten lost a long time ago,” Greyhawk suggested. “They might not even know what the Republic is.”

 

“Well, how about introducing ourselves?” Rick said. Waving his hand, he said loudly, “Hello. We come in peace.”

 

The people stared at them silently for a long while. Rick glanced at his crew for ideas before continuing. “Um…We come from…very far away. My ship…crashed and we need to fix it. Do you know anyone who can help fix our ship?”

 

Still no answer.

 

Rick muttered, “What? Are we on the planet of the mute people?”

 

Targon stepped forward. “We are travelers from a distant land, we mean you no harm.” He placed his lightsaber on the ground and motioned for the others to put their weapons on the ground.

 

“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?” Greyhawk whispered. “We’ll be defenseless.”

 

“We need to show them that we aren’t dangerous,” Targon replied.

 

The rest of the group put their weapons on the ground as well and followed Targon’s lead. After a while, a man walked up to them. He was middle-aged and sported a head full of red hair.

 

“Who are you, strangers?” he asked. “We’ve never seen men dressed as you before. And how is it your woman has not yet succumbed to savagery?”

 

“Excuse me?” Gabrielle asked.

 

The man pointed to her. “The woman – her skin is blue and her hair is replaced by growths. Is she not afflicted with the Plague?”

 

“Plague?” Gabrielle looked offended. “Just because I don’t happen to be a human doesn’t mean I’m some sort of freak! You racist pig!”

 

Rick grabbed her shoulder and put a finger to his lips as Targon raised his hands.

 

“I think you’re mistaken,” Targon said. “She is Gabrielle Vao, and she is a Twi’lek, not a human.”

 

“Is that your word for victims of the Plague, then?” the man asked. “Twi’lek?”

 

“Gabrielle is not a victim of any plague,” Targon shook his head. “She is of the people that come from Ryloth.”

 

“I don’t understand…are you also from Ryloth?”

 

Targon sighed. “No. We are travelers – our ship crashed and we are stranded here.”

 

“Travelers from the sea?”

 

“No…” Targon was cut off suddenly by Gabrielle.

 

“Travelers from the stars, you nitwit,” she said harshly.

 

Before anyone could rebuke her for the rude outburst, the crowd of people – which had been growing substantially – stepped back and bowed their heads.

 

The inquiring man, noticing the confusion on the strangers’ faces, stepped forward again. “You come from the stars? Like the Sorceress?”

 

“Um…” Targon hesitated. “Yes…I think so. Who is the Sorceress?”

 

The man grabbed Targon’s hand. “Come, we will take you to the Sorceress!” Others stepped forward and grabbed the rest of the visitors, leading them through the streets. The crowd followed, surrounding the strangers and pelting them with questions and awe.

 

“Okay, Jedi,” Rick whispered to Targon, “what’s the deal now? Are they going to pamper us like kings or sacrifice us like swine?”

 

“I don’t know,” Targon answered. “But I don’t sense any hostility or danger…at least from the people.”

 

“Just know this, Targon,” Rick said. “If we get pampered, I’ll kiss you. But if we die, I’ll kill you.”

 

“If we die,” Targon said, “you won’t have to worry about killing me. But save the kiss for the ladies, okay?”

 

“Fair enough,” Rick shrugged.

 

They traveled through the city in a massive procession, as if it were a parade for a festival. Hundreds of people gathered around, but oddly enough, there didn’t seem as many people as there should be for a settlement of the size.

 

Targon and the others were brought to a large structure, far more beautiful and decorated than any of the others. A great stairway led up to the main doors, where statues of armored guards stood eternal watch over the center of the city. Only the party and the red headed man went up the steps. The rest of the throng stopped short before the first step, as though they dared not place a single foot upon it.

 

The closer to the door they got, the greater clouding of Targon’s senses became. There was the great wave of interest and wonder in the minds of the people behind them, but in the great building before them, there was a shroud.

 

He could feel the darkness in the back of his mind, tingling like the brushing of leaves against his skin. But he could not find the source, and all his senses grew fainter as they reached the top of the stairs and stood before the great red door.

 

The man with the red hair turned to them. “Wait here,” he said. “None may enter the temple without the Sorceress’ consent. As one of her servants, I will speak to her of your arrival.”

 

“Okay…” Rick nodded slowly, the look of confusion plastered to his face. “And we’ll just sit here on the steps and wait…while the whole city watches us like freaks.”

 

The man opened the door and disappeared into the temple. With nothing better to do, the crew of the Lone Eagle sat down on the steps and tried in vain to ignore the endless staring of the crowd below.

 

 

Over an hour passed, and the crowd had not lessened. They stood at the base of the structure, silent and eager for the return of the red headed man and the news from the Sorceress.

 

Struck with immense boredom, Rick stood up and started pacing up and down the steps. When he came closer towards the crowd, there was a slight gasp of amazement.

 

Deciding that wasn’t such a good idea, Rick headed back up the stairs toward his companions. Movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention. Someone had come out of the crowd and was coming up the steps.

 

The others noticed the odd event as well and stood up. The man approaching them was thin and far younger than the red headed man. He was dressed in a simple tan outfit. His hair was light brown, and he had a subtle bit of hair towards the back of his head that was slightly longer than the rest of his hair.

 

“Um…” Rick shook his head with his continued confusion. “Hello?”

 

“Greetings,” the man nodded. “I know it seems strange to approach you now at such an odd time, but I needed the time to figure out who you were.”

 

“By staring at us?”

 

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I know who you really are…and I know where you come from. It’s been a very long time since someone from the Republic has shown up.”

 

“Who are you?” Greyhawk asked. “If you citizens know the Republic, why are you so confused at…”

 

“The citizens do not know of the Republic,” the man cut him off. “I don’t have time to explain, but I must inform you that you are in danger and you need to come with me.”

 

“In danger? Care to elaborate?” Gabrielle asked.

 

“Just who are you?” Targon asked. “What do you know about us?”

 

“There’s no time…”

 

The door opened behind them and the red haired man emerged. He looked surprised at the young man standing on the steps.

 

“Covus? What are you doing here?”

 

The young man smiled and bowed to the older man. “I was simply greeting our visitors and warning them of the dangers of the forest.”

 

“Yes, the Plague and the Man-Tiger. Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be out hunting the beasts and making sure they don’t encroach on the city’s boundaries?”

 

“I’m going right now,” the man named Covus bowed again and descended the steps, disappearing into the crowd.

 

“Honored visitors,” the red headed man said to the group. “The Sorceress wishes to meet you. You are most blessed to be granted audience with her. Come, this way!”

 

He waved his hands to usher them in. Hesitantly, Targon and the group conceded to enter through the doorway.

 

“Anybody else as utterly confused and lost as I am?” Rick asked. No one said anything, which was more than answer enough.

 

When the doors closed behind them, they were lost in darkness for a short moment until strange lights on the wall illuminated the hallway for them to walk down. Following their red headed guide, they kept quiet until the questions in their mind could not be contained.

 

“So…who was that man?” Rick asked.

 

“That was Covus. He is the beast-tracker. He keeps the creatures of the woods away from our city.”

 

“I gathered as much. And…who are you?”

 

The red headed man replied, “I am Kwi, servant to the Sorceress.”

 

“Yes, we gathered that as well,” Gabrielle muttered. “Care to explain what’s going on? What is this Plague? What is the ‘Man-Tiger’? What…?”

 

She was cut off. “The Sorceress will make everything clear to you,” Kwi said simply.

 

“Of course,” Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

 

Targon patted her shoulder to assure her that everything would be fine, but she shrugged him off, still offended at being so gaped at.

 

Noticing the many doors and halls branching off from the corridor they were walking down, Targon felt a great unease as he discovered he could not sense what lay beyond these alternate routes, nor could he sense what lay before them as they walked on. He felt as though he was walking blindly in a fog.

 

Finally, they entered a greatly lit room. It was a large circular chamber, with a banquet table in the center. Upon the table was a vast assortment of food and decoration. Sitting on the far side of the table was a woman.

 

She was extremely fair, with long locks of luscious golden hair and soft skin clad in thin, translucent cloth. In every aspect, she was mesmerizing – and powerful. She radiated an aura that was detectable to everyone, but most strongly to Targon. In the endless fog surrounding the area, she was the only source of light and clarity.

 

She stood to greet them. “Welcome, strangers, to my temple. Please….” She gestured to the table. “Sit and be comfortable. Join me for dinner.”

 

With no excuse to be made and with stomachs growling, the group sat down and began to eat. The Sorceress watched each of them with great interest.

 

Targon finally looked her in the eye. “Thank you for this fine food, madam. Now before we become further confused, could you please explain what’s going on?”

 

“How about introductions first?” she asked. Her voice was sweet and soft, friendly and peaceful.

 

Nodding, Targon answered, “I am Targon Karashi, Jedi Knight. This is Rick Orlan, our captain; this is Marc Avis, and this is Gabrielle Vao.”

 

The Sorceress nodded. “My servant tells me you come from the stars, as I do. You are travelers?”

 

“Yes,” Rick replied with his mouth full. “Our ship crashed and we are stuck on this world until we can fix it.”

 

“Then you are welcome to stay as long as you like,” their hostess smiled.

 

“Do you have a name?” Greyhawk asked.

 

“Yes, I am Selendis.”

 

“A beautiful name,” Rick grinned.

 

“Could you please explain why everyone seems to think I have some sort of plague?” Gabrielle asked.

 

Ignoring her abruptness, Selendis nodded. “The Plague is a terrible affliction that grips this world. The wildlife and even the settlement are slowly being consumed by it. My powers to protect this people has stemmed it somewhat, but the machinations of the Man-Tiger are foiling many of my efforts.”

 

“And what is the Man-Tiger?” Greyhawk asked.

 

“A wicked creature that has spawned the Plague to destroy this peaceful world and people. Had I not found them, these people would have been consumed many years ago.”

 

“So that man, Covus, hunts this beast?” Rick asked.

 

“Yes, and he is a brave man for doing so. But put your minds at ease and do not be troubled by the monsters tonight. You are safe here, and tonight you shall be my guests. Tomorrow we will see about fixing your ship.”

 

“We are very grateful to you,” Targon said. “Hopefully we will be able to repay your hospitality.”

 

“I’m sure you will,” the Sorceress nodded.