“You wanted to talk?” Maioni mentally noted that she used that phrase too often, and should expand her vocabulary with her squad. As she was thinking this, she realized that Elara was blushing, something which did not happen with any regularity. Even discussing the most personal things, she was uniformly matter-of-fact.

“Yes. I did, sir. I can't help but have noticed, and Yuun and I were talking, and he agrees. And it's not like I'm gossiping behind your back, really sir, it just came up somehow.” She was all but stammering, and Maioni was trying to keep up with whether she should know what her medic was even talking about.

“Stop. Take a breath. Tell me, what, exactly did you notice? Have I grown two heads, and didn't notice? Not cleaned my teeth sufficiently, and have bad breath? Not disciplined Vik sufficiently? I'm dying to know – it's clearly got you flustered, and really, I can't wait to hear what it is.”

“No, sir. Nothing like that. And please, sir. If I'm wrong, please . . . this conversation never happened. . . If I'm wrong, that is. I can't help feeling rather ashamed! But well, there it is. Without prying . . . but I am prying, and there's no getting around that, I suppose.”

“Dorne! Spit it out! This is ridiculous!” Maioni realized she'd raised her voice, but she was tired, and this conversation was clearly headed nowhere so long as she had no idea what was going on. She rubbed her eyebrows, and continued, “I'm sorry; that was uncalled for. Just tell me what you want to say, so I can get some rest before we hit Hoth. What are you talking about. Just...start from the beginning.”

“Well, sir, I'm not sure what beginning there really is. It might have been well before I even joined you. Havoc, I mean. But it is clear to me that there is something between you and Jorgan that goes beyond simply sharing a species. I certainly can't point to anything directly; you're both very discrete, if things have become . . . well, that's why I don't know, sir.”

“Let me stop you, OK, Elara. Are you concerned due to the regulations concerning that kind of involvement between fellow officers?” She didn't think Elara would resort to reporting it up the chain of command, but she also didn't know if this was the shot across the bow, warning her, either. She liked her medic, but she didn't really understand some of the ways that her Imperial upbringing affected her views and actions.

“What? No, not exactly, sir. Really. In fact, you might be surprised, but Yuun and I both agree heartily that if there is something going on between you and Lieutenant Jorgan, that you are highly complementary, and fate has dealt you a fantastic hand, as it were, to be able to serve together, and to get to know one another.”

Just then, Aric's head stretched into the open doorway. “Did I hear my name? What's up?” The rest of him followed him into to the opening.

“I'm still trying to figure it out. You're not too far behind me by not knowing anything.” Jorgan looked at Dorne, and raised his eyebrows. “What am I missing?”

If Elara's complexion was anything to go by, she'd sat under the full suns of Tattooine the entire day.

“I don't mean ANY trouble, at all, for either of you. I wish you both well. Here, sir.” She handed Maioni a datapad, two tabs visible. “It's just information you might not have known. Use it as you like. I'm too . . . well, this has been far more awkward than I had expected. Please pardon my self-consciousness. Do, please, let me know if there is any need to . . . well, never mind that. I'm sure you will.” She turned on her heel and walked briskly in the direction of the medbay. Maioni noticed that when she was nearly there, she cupped her hands to her head, shaking it slightly. With their excellent hearing, both senior officers heard her mutter, “I feel so stupid. But it was the right thing,” as she shook her head, and the door closed behind her.

Vik appeared and announced that he had finished reorganizing all of the ship's crafting materials and tools, as ordered, and asked if he could he be relieved of duty for the moment. Despite his annoying facetiousness, Jorgan sighed and agreed, provided he didn't make or accept any outside holocalls. Vik grumbled, but took himself off to the other end of the ship to do whatever it was he did when he wasn't working or attempting to create a criminal empire. As soon as this job was done, Maioni hoped to be rid of him, preferably by his choice.

“So, what's on the 'pad?” Jorgan asked.

As she began to lift the pad to look, 4X called “Captain!” and trotted into the central area of the ship, then saw her to his right. “Captain, I believe I have acquired a new idea for a personal mission for myself! I'm afraid you won't believe it –“

“Look 4X, this isn't the best time. Please, return to your station, and oh, I don't know, sit and work out Pi to the 4 millionth place or something. Just . . . I'll let you know when we need you, but for the moment, please just stay in the briefing room, and leave the biologicals alone for a while. It would be a kindness.”

“Of course, sir! I am always happy to help. Can I schedule a time to confer with you about my most recent, and if I may say so, exciting proposition, sir?”

“Um. Let's go with ten minute before we dock at the orbital station around Hoth. You can even shut down, with a timer, or do some routine maintenance to prepare for work in the cold.”

“What an excellent idea, sir! Let me retrieve the necessary equipment and go do so, at once!”

Both of the cathar watched him collect several tools, as well as some substances, and a cloth, and depart.

“This might be a little public for looking at these forms. Armory or crew cabin?” Maioni rubbed her eyebrows again, and thought, not for the first time, that it would be quite nice to just lie down and rest . . . oh, how she wanted to rest . . . next to Aric. She glanced at him, and he indicated the armory.

“Nobody ever comes into the armory unless they really need to, and we're a day or so out from anyone needing to. I hope. I've been meaning to talk with you about something myself. Do you want to look at Dorne's 'pad first? I have no idea what was going on, but she seemed . . . quite worked up about something.”

“Yes, she did. I'm pretty certain you're involved in this, too. Let's see what this is all about.” She tapped the first form, 3578-K, from a section of regulations that she knew dealt with extenuating circumstances of various types, regarding military rules and procedures. “This should be interesting.”

The form finalized the loading process. She held the 'pad so that both could read it.

___________________________________________________________________

Form 3578-K

In circumstances such that two parties of unequal, but similar rank (defined as no more than two rank levels distant) wish to pursue a personal relationship, up to and including marriage, all military and informational branches of the Republic Armed Services are allowed to request permission to do so.

This form is the first step in that process, which includes recognition by at least one superior officer of a rank at least two levels above the senior officer, or General, whichever is lower.

Both parties must agree to the following statement. Each party must also sign the second statement, as applicable. Electronic signatures apply, with appropriate security measures to ensure the correct individual is actually the signatory.

Statement 1 (Senior Officer)

I, _____________________, seek approval to enter into a personal amorous relationship with ___________________ . I acknowledge that I am not under any kind of duress in this matter, and make this request of my own will, without duress or coercion.

Statement 1 (Junior Officer)

I, _____________________, seek approval to enter into a personal amorous relationship with ___________________ . I acknowledge that I am not under any kind of duress in this matter, and make this request of my own will, without duress or coercion.

Statement 2 (Senior Officer)

I understand that I, ____________________, am expected to continue to serve to the best of my ability without regard to the second party of this request, and to make no decisions regarding _________________ which will differ in kind, manner, etc. from all other service members under my command, in a professional capacity. Command decisions must be weighed evenhandedly, with no room for accusations of partiality when granting leave requests, mission assignments, etc. I will put missions above personal emotions, and always recall that this form can be revoked if it is deemed necessary by a tribunal if such is ever deemed necessary, in addition to other disciplinary measures.

Statement 2 (Junior Officer)

I understand that I, ________________________, am expected to continue to serve to the best of my ability without regard to the first party of this request. I agree to not request special considerations due to this relationship, including promotions, leave requests, and other situations which require approval from a commanding officer. I will not attempt to influence decisions beyond those required for my position (e.g. if a senior officer seeks advice from team members, it may be given, provided the advice sought is not limited solely to the signatory [#2]).

Please note any additional circumstances or forms which are applicable to this request below.

___________________________________________________________________

Maioni lowered the 'pad with one hand, and massaged her forehead. “What a day. OK. I understand why she was embarrassed now. This is. . . interesting. We've kind of flirted, you and I, but –“

She paused, and dared to glance at her XO. What was he thinking?

“Interesting isn't the half of it. I knew she had regulations memorized, but forms, too? This isn't exactly a well known form. I wonder who it was that got this option into. . . I'm not even sure how to phrase that. What do you think? Want to keep flirting? I'm game for it if you are.” He paused,and glanced at her. “You look like you have a headache. I'd offer to get something for you, but that would mean asking Dorne, and I'm not quite ready for that, just now. How about a back-rub instead. A clothed back-rub, I'm not sure we're quite to anything more than that yet, and I certainly don't plan to be the one to push for more. You're still in charge – believe me. C'mon. Have a seat here, and we'll see if I can help.

“Back with the Deadeyes, several of us ended up learning some massage techniques, since most of us had some issues with muscle tension from holding positions for so long, and we didn't have full time medic like Dorne.”

She found herself taking a seat on a large box with a BlasTech logo. In general, while on ship, everyone except 4X opted for Class C uniforms. Comfortable enough for this process. She sighed and closed her eyes. This was nice. Except when it wasn't – well, pressure on one point hurt like blazes, but quickly, she could feel the muscle relaxing. He released the pressure, gently rubbed her neck for a moment, then reapplied even more pressure. “Good thing we haven't signed that form yet, sir. That part about not pressuring each other might get us in trouble, here.”

“You know, Jorgan, your dry humor is fun. Or –” she moved her neck back and forth a bit to see if it was really improved.

“Or what?” He had continued to work on her neck and shoulders. She could hear the smile in his voice. It was calming.

“I guess, all things considered. All things including, I'm game to sign it if you are. But all things considered, for moments like these, I figure maybe we should go with something besides last names and ranks. I know I've called you all by first name before. Well, not Vik, but he's a special case. But it's not usual – we've both been military long enough that last names are standard. It almost feels like I'm breaking the rules when I do. But – do you like Aric? I kind of lean towards Ari, myself, but...”

“Ari's fine. And I completely know what you mean, boss. Eh, that is, Maioni. Mai? And hell yes, I want to sign the form. I'd been uncomfortable with breaking with regs, but I was hitting the point of not caring about that.”

“Mai's fine. Maioni's fine. You might even qualify for what my folks used to call me, sometimes – Mione. My papa used to say, 'My own, Mione!' Not all the time, just sometimes. Ow!”

“Found the real trouble spot, did I? And keep it down; we don't need an audience worked up over how I'm hurting you. 4X is likely to come to your aid, blasters blazing.”

“True. Too true. Ooh, that's good. Right there.”

After several more minutes, she realized her headache was greatly diminished. “Mmmh. My head's better. So's my neck. You're a wonder-worker, Ari. How did I not know you had this skill before?”

“Need to know basis.” He gently pulled her toward him, tipped her head back slighly, and kissed her forehead. “Wasn't there some second form? I mean, I'm perfectly happy just...well, you know. But there was something else, and if we're going to sign it, I guess we should do that. Who did it say we needed approval from? Garza? That should be something.”

“I can probably get Vessen to sign it. He knows I don't always fit the military mold exactly. Huh. Interesting.”

She'd opened the second tab, marked ESSO-58.

“Let me see.” He looked over her shoulder as the display loaded. The form appeared.

___________________________________________________________________

ESSO-58

Endangered Species Special Order #58C3

Whereas there are at present different sentient species whose numbers are such that there is concern over their survival and continuation, and

Whereas numerous members of these sentient species have joined the Republic Armed Forces as part of their intent to prevent continued predation of their own and other non-human species, and

Whereas it is imperative that members of said species be encourage to procreate,

Be it resolved that:

Members of the [long list of endangered species, organized by rarity rather than alphabetically] are given preference when requesting approval for developing relationships [see form 3578-K and 3643-K] and

If pregnancy occurs during hazardous duty / wartime, efforts shall be made to protect the being bearing offspring from direct combat duty, and

In addition, under certain circumstances, the Republic Armed Forces will approve leave for one parent for the first 12 weeks post-delivery/hatching to care for offspring. Under circumstances where it is believed preferable, and is possible to preserve offspring in a state of stasis for future growth, this is approved and costs covered by the Republic under ESSO-47, with approval of at least two senators, and the Republic Armed Forces Supreme Commander or three senators, and two generals/admirals.

___________________________________________________________________

“Well, I, for one, don't plan to start in on this one today.”

“No kidding, sir. That is, Mai. But we can put the code in for preference anyhow. Can't hurt. Look, now you're relaxed a bit, how about a good hug and kiss or two, and I send you off to your cabin. You can think about me, get some sleep, and I can go think up ways to keep Vik out of trouble until we get our technical officer, and finish this mission.”

“I bet my brother Shevri was in the top ten. I'd rather have him on this, than Vik. Honestly, don't get me started, or I'll tense up again.” She stood up, and turned, looking up at him. “Yeah. Ari. It'll do. C'mere. Rather than kissing him, she rested her head on his shoulder, and relaxed into him. “Thanks. That helped a lot. This is helping, too, by the way.

“I know you're a bit on the traditional side. You know I am, too. Never talked about it, but I'm not inclined to get too terribly physical without knowing it's a permanent situation. You OK with that? I'm not asking to know if this thing we've got is permanent. Time enough for that. But just know that this isn't going to be a situation of putting that second form into service right now. Other than listing it on the first one. But this is . . . this is so, so nice.”

He hugged her tightly, and he realized, protectively. His lips rested on her hair, and without quite meaning to, he quietly said, “S'okay – Mione. I want to be sure, too.” He pulled back slightly, and as she looked up, they kissed one another.

“We should probably get back to work. Or, that is, I should probably get some rest. You have no idea how much I want to invite you to join me, but . . . let's face it, propinquity is going to be troublous if we both want to keep this on the slow side. Because honestly, right now, I don't, but I know I really do.”

“I can tell you need to rest – I almost followed that statement. And I know exactly what you mean. If I ever cross a line, go too far, pressure you for anything more than you intend – anything at all, you let me know, call me on the carpet. I know it sounds strange, but turn that around, too. I'll let you know if I'm not sure something's right. Between us, maybe we give ourselves time to be really sure. Though, I have to say, I think we owe Dorne. It's nice to have datawork that shows we're not so far out of line as I was thinking a few hours ago.”

“No kidding. I don't really want to go. Like I said, this is nice.”

“Agreed. But if you want to take a nap, you only just have time before the scheduled training session. You're the one who makes that schedule; you probably ought to keep it.” He kissed her once more, quickly, and released her. Feeling very daring, he turned her toward the door, and lightly swatted her shoulders. “Scoot. Rest. If you aren't up in time for the training, I'll handle it. I don't know the material as well as you do, but I know I know it better than Vik and Dorne. Go on.”

She walked around the large holoterminal in the middle of the command deck, and entered her cabin. Lying down was comfortable; of course, being military for so long, she could sleep on a bed of jagged rubble if she needed to, but the bed was nice, and gave her weary body just the right levels of support. She moved one of the pillows to her side, and rested her head on it. Maybe one day, it would be Jorgan – Ari – here next to her. But honestly, she was glad that day wasn't today. The prospect was lovely, though. Thinking about what had transpired vied with sleep, and the latter overtook her. Her last coherent thought was, “Is this love? Maybe. Whatever it is...”

“Multz works in the Archives – I bet he’s got a good story!” cried one youngling. The eyes of a dozen bone-tired younglings suddenly lit with glee. “Yeah, give us a good one, Multz!” Those still fiddling with tents and sleeping bags dropped what they were doing and gathered around him.

Multius stared off into space for a moment, thoughtfully rubbing what he hoped would soon be a proper Knight’s beard. He watched the trail of a descending transport in the night sky, until it disappeared behind the mountaintop to the north. “I don’t know – I see some pretty strange stuff in there, you know, in the Sealed Section,” he said with a conspiratorial wink to the Knight standing nearby, only a few years older than Multius himself.

Photin responded to his wink with a shallow grin and a sigh of forced patience. “Multz,” as he was known among the younger set on Tython, always had a story or a joke ready, and readily laughed at the most stale, silly bits of humor offered by the younglings. It endeared him to them greatly, and did much to make the lessons and disciplines of the Temple Masters easier to bear. His penchant for embellishment and invention – not always outright lying – sometimes bothered the masters, but always delighted his audience. As the younglings cheered and settled around him, Photin shook her head in resignation and positioned herself at the edge of the clearing, the better to watch for potential danger. These woods were pretty safe, so the younglings had been sent out to learn a little about how to survive in wilderness – but there was always the chance that some stray predator still lurked. She leaned back against a tree, close enough to see the younglings and to hear the story. Gazing out over the lake and into the clear night sky, she kept her senses alert to any approach.

Surrounded by younglings, Multius settled his considerable bulk upon a raised tuft of grass, fussing and posing in satire of a pompous Master, eliciting giggles. He’d never quite failed to pass tests of agility and speed, but he still carried several more pounds than one would expect of a proper Jedi. If his weight slowed him down, he made up for it with a combination of raw muscle power and an easygoing grasp of the Force. With a dramatic flourish, he pulled his hood over his face, then suddenly thrust out his hands. An expectant hush fell upon his audience. He held the silence for a long moment, glanced over the younglings and around at the woods, and leaned forward. Starting in a low voice, his audience leaned in as well, hanging on his words.

“The tale I am about to tell is true; I have read it with my own eyes, hidden away in the darkest corners of the Sealed Section of the Temple Archives, where none but the wisest masters may go.” Eyes widened at impending revelation. “This story is forbidden to younglings, even to padawans – if they knew I was telling you this, I would be sent to the Outer Rim to finish my training under the most severe Master they could find. And they will do the same to you if you tell. Do you understand?” The younglings nodded, only a few actually daring to speak as much as “yes.” “What I am about to tell you, you must not repeat – not to your teachers, not to other students, no one. Do I have your solemn word on this?” His hushed tones conveyed an air of dangerous secrecy. Multius took a deep breath, closing his eyes as if in focused preparation. With his hood pulled forward, the campfire threw deep shadow across his face, so that his voice issued forth as if from the very depths of mystery.

“A thousand years ago it was, before anyone now on the Council had even been born,” the portly padawan began in a grave tone, “a mighty Sith Lord, strong in the Dark Side and a master of vile sorcery – whose name I dare not even speak – searched for a way to defeat the Jedi, not just in one battle, not even in one war, but forever and always. Like many Sith before and after him, he took predators of all kinds, from akk dogs to rancors and twisted them with sorcery and cybernetics, transforming them into mad killers. He unleashed these creations against his foes, to rampage against troopers, Jedi, and innocent civilians alike. Each monster would kill many before they were brought down – but brought down they were. Upon world after world, he made a new horde of experimental horrors – only to disappear among the stars before the Jedi could finish off the beasts and track down their evil master. The Council hunted him for years.

“Finally, one heroic Jedi Master cornered the sorcerer: on Dagobah it was, a world covered with swamps and marsh, teeming with creatures of all kinds, ready subjects for evil experiments. The Master, his allies, and their padawans battled for days against the sorcerer’s monsters – creatures large and small, twisted by Sith magic into horrible abominations. Many Jedi died, torn to bloody pieces and devoured before the very eyes of their comrades.” A murmur ripple through the crowd, repulsed but fascinated. “But they did not retreat; the master and two padawans survived to confront the sorcerer in his very laboratory, deep in the dark jungle. Covered with scratches and bruises from the battle, they gave their foe no respite. They broke down the massive gate to his stronghold, and fought an epic battle as the swamp water flooded in.

“Even three against one, it was not an easy victory. One padawan fell to the lightning thrown by the sorcerer; then the master fell to the dastardly stroke of a scarlet lightsaber. The last Jedi, a mere padawan, stood alone against the sorcerer’s final assault. With a mighty effort, he slew the madman, but not before he suffered grievous wounds himself. He collapsed right there, unable to even drag himself away from the rapidly flooding sanctuary.

“From one of the tanks in the laboratory – shattered by some stray blow during the fight – issued a swarm of creatures, the last horror created by the dead Sith. Tiny wormlike creatures, each about the size of your finger, spilled from the broken vat into the dirty, bloody swamp water filling the room. Smelling fresh blood, they wriggled toward the bodies on the floor – and toward the exhausted padawan. So injured was he by the sorcerer’s dying blow, he could do little but watch in horror as the creatures fastened themselves on the dead and feasted on their warm blood – and then turned toward him! The ones that were not bloated on gore surrounded him and burrowed into his skin before his very eyes. His last sight was the horde of worms draining him of life with their insane hunger.”

Multz paused, allowing a shudder of revulsion to make its silent way through his audience. Photin could not help but smile at the thrilled mix of delight and horror that resonated among the younglings, even as she prepared herself for a turbulent night of nightmare-triggered awakenings. After a proper dramatic silence, Multz continued.

“Oh, but the story does not end there, not at all! Those worms, those leeches, not only thrived on all that blood, they had been transformed by sorcery – and now they had fed on blood rich with midichlorians, from some of those most powerful beings in the Force. They became potent in the Force themselves, far beyond normal parasites. They bred and thrived in the fetid swamps; normal creatures were devoured easily by the swarm of Force-empowered leeches. When other ships arrived to discover what had happened to the sorcerer and the Jedi who hunted him, they did not know what they would find, did not know how dangerous the little worms were. A few of them fastened onto a young padawan as he helped investigate the flooded laboratory; he did not even know they were there until he was back aboard their cruiser, and he washed them off without a second thought. They made their way into the water system of the ship, and from there they have spread across the galaxy, ever breeding, ever seeking the blood of those strong in the Force. They lurk in quiet pools of water – ponds, puddles, even lakes,” he turned his head to gaze toward Photin, where she stood near the shore of the nearby lake, “on almost every world now, drawn to the smell of Jedi blood.” A dozen pairs of wide eyes turned toward Photin, who struggled to keep a straight face. “In fact,” Multius mused, “it was just a few years ago – before any of you got here… Photin, you remember! The sad case of Padawan Noh-Bodhi”

Photin blinked in surprise. “Noh-Bodhi?” She’d never heard the name before; then she realized: Noh-Bodhi - nobody. Cute, she thought, rolling her eyes slightly; nobody noticed that in the flickering firelight shadows. “Um. Of course – but… I forget the details…”

Multius chuckled deeply. “Oh, that’s Photin for you, always playing it straight.” He gave her a satisfied nod before the younglings turned their gaze back to him. “She knows we’re not supposed to talk about it.” He shook his head sadly. “Poor young Padawan Noh! She loved to go swimming, and was very good at it, as good as any human I’ve ever seen. That is, until the day she was found dead, floating on this very lake, just a few meters from this very spot! Her body was shriveled up, drained of every drop of blood, and her skin was covered with hundreds of small round bites, each bite about as big around as your finger.”

Gasps and moans of dismay erupted from the younglings; two of them leaped to their feet. “We ain’t sleeping here!” Others looked to Photin for confirmation, but she remained silent, a looming shadow against the stars. There were one or two who seemed convinced the whole thing was just a story, but their voices were quickly drowned out as the younglings huddled together for comfort and set about breaking camp to move farther away from the suddenly-frightening lake. Nobody noticed the delighted grin that spread across Multius’ face as he congratulated himself on another good story well told.

Lord Scourge stood massive and imposing over the malnourished woman, her green skin sunken around her eyes to the degree that it was difficult to tell where her facial markings began and ended. She looked up at the imposing Sith Lord, her eyes filled with fear, the woman hugging her knees to her chest, rocking her body to and fro on the floor in fear.

"Woman," Scourge said coldly. He looked her over appraisingly. She was half-starved, with boney protrusions at nearly ever joint. Her skin was blotched with the telltale signs of the signs of Hutta Swamp Pox; she would be dead within the week. Killing her would have been a mercy, but she still had not revealed the location of the child, and so she had done nothing to warrant mercy yet. "We have heard the whispers of your daughter, strong in the force despite her youth. I can take her to Korriban, see her trained to someday become a Lord of the Sith, to bring great honor to your family name."

"My Pansey is a goodly child," the woman said, tears streaming down her cheeks, "She is beautiful and delicate, like the flowers I named her after. I've always feared that she'd be taken away to Korriban, forced to fight or die. She's too kind of that, too nice and trusting. Please. You can't take my daughter."

Scourge's anger seethed, his nostrils flaring as he struggled to hold back the anger boiling inside of him. Dealing with these poverty stricken people was delicate; he had learned that in his role as Emporer's Wrath. Most gladly welcomes death so threats served little purpose, and in the poor health they maintained, even marginal amounts of torture often ended in premature expiration. Exacting information from these dredges of the Empire required instead a certain amount of finesse he had worked long to develop. "We must train the children to fight," he expounded to the woman, "To defend themselves, for the Jedi are coming."

The woman remained quietly apprehensive. "No one will take my daughter," she whispered.

Scourge shook his head. "The Jedi come for the children, in the dark of night," he cautioned her in ominous tones, "Plucking them from their beds as they sleep, or cutting down the mothers to steal the babes from their nursing bossom. They steal away the children, to enslave them in their Temples, forcing them into a life of subjugation under their self-proclaimed 'Masters'. They brainwash and indoctrinate the children, poisoning their minds, isolating them away from their families and friends, indoctrinating them into their cult until they believe they must avoid all whom care for them, and abandon any semblance of family or community outside the Jedi Cult."

The woman's eyes grew wider with fear. Her bottom lip trembled. Scourge smiled deviously, his lip tendrils curling backward into a malicious grin. "Worse still," he continued, weaving his ominous tale, "The children the Jedi steal spend years being brainwashed, told to have a disdain for their feelings, to never follow their hearts. They are poisoned until they feel no love or connection towards their fellow man. They are purged of any feelings of compassion or mercy, until they become the soulless killing machines of the Jedi. They are programmed to feel no fear, no regret, turned into the very monsters who had plucked them from their cribs, conscripted into the Jedi's personal army of murder and kidnapping. And they will never, ever be permitted to see their families again."

The woman wept with fear. Her precious little Pansey was the target of a murderous, brainwashing cult. And even more terrifying, she knew, if the Sith had learned of her daughter's abilities, the Jedi could not possibly be far behind. "What do I do?" she asked, trembling with fear.

"You tell me the location of the child," Scourge repeated, "You allow me to take the child off world, to Korriban where the Jedi will never dare come for her, just until she can be taught to defend herself. You give your daughter a chance. So that when those cloaked monsters come for her, she can protect herself, protect you, defend your family and fend off the monsters this galaxy has created. You can allow me to turn her into a champion of all that is right in the Galaxy. Perhaps some day, she herself will reflect the Emporer's Wrath towards these soulless savages."

Pansey's mother bowed her head meekly. "She's at Faathra's palace," the woman surrendered, "She was taken in for training, to become a cheerleader for his Huttball team."

Scourge struck the woman dead without another word. The Emporer's Wrath carved a path of destruction through the slave pits of Faathra's Palace until the Hutt surrendered the young Mirialan girl. The young Pansey was terrified of the towering Sith Lord, Scourge dragging the girl kicking and screaming to his ship. Upon their arrival on Korriban, Scourge opened the ship's gate and Pansey broke away at a sprint. Lost on a strange world, she knew only that she needed to escape this cruel man. She ran as fast as her young legs could carry her, reaching the bottom of the ship's platform before Scourge halted her cold in her run, lifting her into the air with an invisible motion of his hand. Pansey floated there, kicking and punching against the air, doing anything she could to break free from the invisible force that bound her. And then she saw him.

"Oh. You're an alien," came the distasteful worlds of a grey haired old man. Pansey threw her gaze towards the man, her eyes pleading for help while Scourge's invisible grip locked vice-like around her throat, choking back her words. The old man responded in kind. "Release the child," Overseer Tremmel barked, and Scourge dropped Pansey to the dusty spaceport floor, "That will be quite enough, Scourge."

"It is Lord Scourge," Scourge countered the insolent whelp, his position at the Sith Academy only a token compensation of his own shortcomings and failure to climb within the order. "The child-"

"The child is mine," Tremmell reminded Scourge, and the Emporer's Wrath backed away. His Emporer had been clear about retrieving this child, this one so powerful and unique in the force that the Emporer had taken note of her for his own future. Scourge's orders had been to deliver the child to Korriban for training, and Tremmel was the Academy's overseer. Begrudgingly, Scourge backed away from Pansey, turning back up the ramp of his ship. Pansey ran to the side of the old man who had saved her, hugging him around the legs.

Tremmell had a look of digust on his face as the alien child actually touched him. He had not been told the girl was of impure blood. Still, his orders had come from the Dark Counsel, and he was in no place to fail in this assignment. "Come, my child," Tremmell said invitingly, "We must prepare you to fight."

"Thank you for scaring away the bad man," Pansey sniffled.

"Yes," Tremmell grinned deviously, "That Jedi shall bother you no more. But more shall follow him. We must prepare you if we are ever to keep you safe from the Jedi Order."

<-=O=->

The young apprentice, Languss Tuno, stood over the dead Mirialan woman, her savaged body causing him to lose his appetite. Setting down his fish sandwich on the table, he shook his head in disappointment. "I should not have stopped for lunch on my way over," he reluctantly admitted, having failed his first ever task he was given by his master to perform alone, the woman dead and her child nowhere to be found, "The counsel is going to be so mad at me."

"If you were really the Voice of the Emperor," the Pink Wrath declared, lifting the steel mask from her face and allowing her blonde pigtails to spill down over the shoulders of her pink robes, "Then you would sound like the real Emperor... SILENT!"

Darth Baras looked at the Emperor's Wrath, the pink robed assassin who had derailed his meticulously plotted schemes. The one-eyed mask he wore never betrayed his emotion, and he felt power in the Force as he sense the anger and hurt raising from his former apprentice, the innocent green-skinned girl finally giving in to her darker emotions. "Ah, Apprentice," he greeted her, a condescending tone ignoring his place as a full-fledged Lord of the Sith, "I was wondering when you would show your face again."

"You thought you could kill me!" Pansey shouted, the Dark Counsel watching the two from their thrones, surrounding the room as silent spectators. "You thought you could replace the Emperor. I WANTED you to replace the Emperor.. and still you betrayed me. Why? I would have done anything to help you."

Baras laughed. "The stench of the Light hangs heavy on you," Baras proclaimed boldly, to a varied reaction amongst the Dark Counsel, "You claimed to be my faithful servant, Deceiver, but you were no more loyal to me than you are the Emperor with this foolhardy ruse, 'Wrath'."

"I AM the Emperor's Wrath," Pansey insisted, "He chose me. Chose me because of his anger with you, because you attempted to replace him."

"Think of it, child," Baras offered in a condescending tone, "Were it the Emperor who was angered with me, who believed me attempting to replace him, why would he select you, who so openly believed me to be a more worthy leader than the Emperor himself? Any offense he may have found in me was redoubled in your own deeds. Or would it not be more likely that I speak the truth, that I do speak for the Emperor, to bring change and prosperity to our Empire, and you were simply manipulated by my enemies to move against me, because you are foolish and weak."

"I'm! Not! Weak!" Pansey's anger burst forth from her as a wave of force, and Baras had to raise his arms to block it, sliding back several feet against the unseen pressure of her darkness. "I believed in you!"

"Oh really?" Baras replied with a snide undertone to his echoey voice, "Did you believe in me when you spared the Jedi Yonlach? Or when you made the Willsaam girl's parents nobility? Perhaps when you have my bitter enemy, Noman Karr, sent to Tython for healing, you believed you were doing my will? Or were you foolish enough to think I would not sense your looming treachery."

Pansey was speechless. All her good deeds, laid bare for the Dark Counsel, while whispers fluttered amongst the spectators. "You were supposed to make things better, to put an end to all of this," Pansey cried out, gesturing towards the Counsel, "To care for the people and bring peace to the galaxy. Instead... you're just like everyone else."

"There are none others like me," Baras shouted, "I am Eternal!" Lightning crackled from the fingers of Darth Baras towards the pink-cloaked Lord. Pansey brandished her humming pink lightsaber, swooping it's shortened blade in a circle, deflecting the lightning and redirecting it back at her former Master. Baras reeled as his own power was brought to bare against him. "See! See how she defies her Emperor!" Baras declared to the Counsel, "Destroy this insolent whelp!"

"If Darth Baras truly is the Emporer's Voice, as he claims," Darth Vowrann phrased delicately, "He should have no trouble in dispatching of his mere apprentice without aid. While if Lord Pansey is the Emperor's Wrath as she has declared, then surely the Emperor will have taken measure to remove his imposter."

"None shall interfere," declared Darth Marr, "Darth Baras, Lord Pansey, let your strength prove whom among you is right."

Darth Baras fought viciously, with overwhelming strength and determination. It was the Pink Apprentice, Pansey, however, who turned aside his every blow, maneuvering with a speed and agility the rotund Darth was unprepared for. Finally smiting down Darth Baras, Pansey found her former master at her mercy. "Do with him how you will," Darth Marr passed judgement.

Pansey looked over Darth Baras appraisingly, the man seeming so much less impressive without his mask, simply a feeble, old, overweight man. "You were my friend," Pansey said sadly, "And I still believe in you. You are exiled to deep space, outside of the Empire, to see what you can build on your own. Perhaps you'll finally create something you can be pleased with."

"You can banish me. You can make me an Outlander," Baras spat viciously, "But I was never your friend. You were a tool. A pawn. Less than nothing. But now? After all this? You finally have some significance in my life. You are worthy of my notice. I should have known, after the way you conspired to spare Noman Karr and train his Padawan as your own; you stand at the head of the ranks of my enemies."

Pansey looked towards the floor, hurt by his words. "Guards," she whispered sadly, "Take Darth Baras away."

Friends to Enemies

They stared at each other, faces lit by locked lightsabers, blue and red. Even through the garish shadows cast, her eyes still stood out, the burning red-gold of one deep in the power of the Dark side of the Force. He broke away, that angry, hungry power threatened to overwhelm him. He reached into his reserves, hurling the arm of a disembebered droid at his oppenent, who batted it aside without sparing a glance. When had she gotten so strong? Lightsaber combat had never been either's forte.

He could still feel the eyes. They'd been a warm brown once, and rage marked the face rather than age. Jaesa Willsaam on Tython had been so serene, who soaked up the peace of the place, and always knew what to say to help one. He'd envied that, troubled by whispers, even on Tython. Especially when war had touched the planet, and her gift identified. The masters had helped him move past the envy.

"Tene Valkor, your death has been ordained. My master has deemed you unworthy of death at his hands," Jaesa said, "Your screams and fear will remain a tribute to the training of the Emperor's Wrath." Dark power lashed out, drawing a cry of pain from his throat. The smile was the same as the day Nomen Karr selected her.

"Jaesa, please - tell me what happened to you? You have to reach through this - remember your training!" Tene said, his balance rapidly failing him. Combat was dangerous for Jedi, in ways outsiders simply could not see. He had to keep his balance.

In a blessing from the Force, she stopped advancing, shock bringing her short.

"I hold no attachment to the lies of the Jedi, and hypocrites and cowards of ay kind," Jaesa said, "The training I have received far suprasses what I had been told were my limits. Or is this pathetic display supposed to be my equal? You were always pathetic, cowering from shadows and whispers, aping your betters." She paused, waiting, lit only by the distant sound of explosions. Tene had been granted three squadrons of troops and a dozen heavy combat droids to keep Soturi’el, commonly known as the Emperor's Wrath, occupied. They served their purpose, but time was running out.

"Jedi compassion," Jaesa sneered, "A hollow thing - their deaths entertain my master and you claim to remain in the light." Jaesa's skills remained, but her asssessment of his was incomplete.

"I do," Tene said, "And if Nomen Karr had remained on Tython, you'd see my gift for what it was." Tene opened himself - the realm of the Unifying Force had called to him, the flickers connecting life, with lingering echoes and spirits. He threw his hands forward, pure psychoknesis. "Whatever was inflicted upon you, Jaesa Willsaam, I release it from you and its bindings, and remove this dark presence, on this day of days, connect to the light."

For this, good men had died - were dying, but Jaesa's talent was unique and deemed worthy of this rescue by the Jedi's finest manipulator of spirits.

Tene smiled as Jaesa staggered, and the smile froze to a rictus and Jaesa leapt forward, spearing him in the midsection. Tene's lightsaber fell from his hand, pain overwhleming his connection to the Force.

"That hurt," she said petulantly, "And a boring pain too." The lightsaber cut off, letting Tene slump to the floor, vision reddening. "When will you Jedi learn? This is all me, all anyone is - but you'll learn, before the end." The lightsaber reignited. The end was not swift, or quiet.

Jaesa looked up at the end and smiled. Red skin set off by black armor, her Lord of the Sith and the master stood waiting. Despite his exertion, no anger rolled off him at the delay - patience was not unknown to the Emperor's Wrath, he simply preferred violence.

"How were they?" Jaesa asked.

"Even the droids seemed to know they were left to die," Soturi’el said with a shrug, "I fulfilled their wish, but such a disappointment to their programmers. Honestly, any Sith lord with a deep voice and a reasonable knowledge of where a lightsaber's activation switch in could have handled this. And him?"

"Killing Jedi is always fun, but not unique. Nose too in the air and flinging rocks, left himself open," Jaesa said, "Whatever the Servants are worried about, done now."

"They'll have a lot to answer for, I suppose, if they keep providing this quality of enemy," said Soturi’el. The two laughed briefly. "Come my dear," he offered his arm, "There's still a few Republic left, and a grateful Moff whose offensive we just saved. It's early enough in the day yet to see which has the better cooking droid and salvage your birthday."

She glanced briefly at the remains. The code, whispers, poor masters, ghosts - they never took responsibility for anything. Something broke them, or excused their weakness. Jaesa leaned into Soturi’el's arm, he smelled of blood and oil, of course. A heady combination.

She'd never miss the opportunity to take. Ever again

so sad having to do that, but well written!

Note: this takes place shortly before the events related in my post back on page 610 #6100 http://www.swtor.com/community/showthread.php?t=469174&page=610 - but read the post below first, for proper chronological order.

The dunes rolled to the horizon in every direction, shaped by the desert wind into an endless rhythm of successive waves. In the distance, barely visible through shimmering, furnace-hot air, loomed a rock wall, cliffs marching beyond sight. The only moving thing visible for kilometers was the man standing in the shade of his little lean-to, peering through macrobinoculars. That, and low clouds of dust and sand picked up by what was, for the moment, a steady but mild desert wind.

Zeran Kraktus kept up his visual sweep when a voice crackled over his communicator. “Heads-up, Colonel, got two landspeeders inbound to your location. One small personal, one GAV troop carrier. Approach vector three niner...”

The macrobinoculars swung a few degrees to the left and stopped. “Got it, Felix,” he interrupted. “Confirmed, I see one car, one truck.” He zoomed in to pick out details from the tip of the two rapidly approaching dust trails.

“Isn't he supposed to be alone, sir? I can lock on with AV missiles and take them out...”

“Negative that, repeat, do not engage! I'm supposed to come alone too, so fair's fair. Let's see what they do; there's still a couple klicks before they get here.” Zeran lowered his binocs and pulled one of the camp chairs into position before settling into it. He loved the desert, even here on Tatooine, with not one but two suns blasting away. The heat was a killer, but it could be dealt with; better than constantly shivering, or drowning in mud in some dismal swamp. At least the desert was clean, with an open sky and distant horizons. A man could feel free here.

The two speeders topped a rise, paused, then the larger one turned a sharp angle and headed away, leaving the smaller, personal vehicle to proceed alone toward Zeran. “I hate to say 'I told you so' – but I told you so,” quipped Zeran through the comlink. “Back off, and just make sure that Ground Assault Vehicle doesn't circle around.”

“Roger, Colonel,” came the reply. By the tone of his voice, Felix obviously wanted to argue, but there was no point now, that had been made clear the previous night. They'd done this before, this private meeting away from – well, away from everything, especially prying eyes and ears. But there was always a risk. Even if Zeran could trust the man he was meeting, it was always possible that some other Imperial officer would get wind of it and whip up some big ideas.

The speeder was climbing the last dune when Zeran tapped his communicator again. “Alright, activating the scrambling field. I'll call soon as we're done.” He waited for the acknowledgment, then flipped a switch on a nearby electronic device, cutting off all communication or surveillance devices. Someone could still use a Mark-One eyeball, but no way they'd be in hearing range before Zeran or his guest could spot them.

The small, battered speeder halted about twenty meters from where Zeran sat, dust billowing around it as the canopy opened and a large man climbed out. Zeran stood and waved, then bent down to pull a tall, slim bottle from a cooler beside him.

The newcomer stretched to his full height – a bit taller than Zeran, and about the same age (and with a similar deficit of hair), glanced around, and returned the wave, walking through the sand to the lean-to. “Colonel!” the man said, “such a pleasure to see you again!”

“Doctor,” replied Zeran. “I'm glad you could make it.” He gestured to the other camp chair before sitting down and passing the bottle to the newcomer. The doctor accepted the bottle, examined it briefly, and passed it back with a smile.

“Alderaanian,” the doctor said, “and a decent vintage for a change!” He winked as he settled into the chair.

Zeran rolled his eyes, opening the bottle to let the wine breathe for just a moment. “You're never going to let me forget that awful Brentaal swill, are you? It was recommended to me by a friend – whose taste I will never accept again!” He fished out two glasses from the cooler. “Besides, Eckard, you're the one who keeps bringing that Dromund Kaas cough syrup! Is there no good wine anywhere in the Empire?”

Eckard chuckled as Zeran filled the two glasses and offered them. Taking one, the doctor replied, “I'll be more careful in the future. It seems I have a taste for more robust flavor than you.” Taking a sniff and then a sip, he nodded. “I commend you, this is rather good.” The two savored the wine silently for a long moment. “I hate to be rude, but I'm afraid I don't have a lot of time. And the sandstorm is due here in less than an hour...”

Zeran sighed and nodded. “I understand. Actually, I don't have much time either. In fact, this will be our last meeting for a while.” The doctor raised his eyebrows. “Oh, it's good news, no worries there. But I wanted to let you know, in case something happens – I know how doctors are, especially the ones out here in the wilds, and doing research like you. You could take off any time.” Zeran breathed a deep sigh. “You know I appreciate your work here; your action during the sand rot breakout was amazing! And when Captain Daris' wife had those birth complications, you were right there when I called. The local doctors here are, well, let's just say this isn't exactly the medical paradise of the universe!”

The doctor chuckled warmly. “Just doing my job. I'm glad I was able to help. My research here isn't going all that well anyway. And you've more than repaid my services with your help on that dreadful Czerka incident!”

“You saved a couple of lives that day alone! Can't thank you enough for that.” Zeran raised his glass as if toasting, “to Doctor Eckard Lokin, Occasional Obstetrician!” They both laughed. “But here's the news: I'm going home! I finally got clearance for a ninety-day leave. Been a long time since I've been home...”

Lokin frowned. “home? You're from Coruscant, as I recall...”

“Yep. I ship out tomorrow. I have to say, I'll not miss Tatooine much. Beautiful desert, but ugly, ugly people!” Zeran finished his glass with a smile. “I hope we can see each other again, and maybe without a war to stop us. You'll have to meet the wife and kids!”

The doctor set his glass aside and stood. “I – it's been a pleasure, and an honor.” He looked suddenly less comfortable. “I do wish you luck, and perhaps we shall meet again, under more pleasant circumstances. He shook hands with Zeran. “But I'm afraid I have to dash, I, ah, I forgot I have something in the lab I need to attend to.” He walked up to his speeder, turned and looked somberly at his friend. “Just...be careful, my friend.” Without another word, he climbed into his speeder and took off, leaving Zeran puzzled at the sudden change in the doctor. Zeran watched the speeder disappear into the dunes, then shrugged. “Coruscant, here I come,” he said, as he packed up to go.

It wasn't as if she hadn't been trained in enough spycraft to know how to retrieve a simple package from a dead drop. Hiero had left the goods safely secured someplace and had implied everything was safe from being found, someplace Mai could pick it up without anyone connecting the two of them. Right now, that was a very bad idea. So, apparently, was actually finding the drop.

It wasn't as if Maioni didn't know how to read maps, follow coordinates, and manage terrain. But damned if she could find the location of the dead drop itself.

Jorgan signaled and she turned right, toward the area he had been observing her from. When she got close enough for him to not need to shout, he said, “Are you sure that isn't over here, and our friend just got the coordinates wrong? Her training did stop short, from what you've said. There's a mounted box behind this fence. You're the one with the details on this, so I didn't try to open it.”

“You don't want to potentially blow yourself up? I appreciate that! I'll take a look, but it's a good hundred meters from where it's supposed to be.”

Upon further inspection, there was indeed a box that looked similar to her own expectations. She tried to open it with the code, but if there was a power source for the locking mechanism, it was entirely dead. The box itself looked dead, as well, dented, dull where any paint remained, and the joints looked looser than they turned out to be, when they decided to physically pry it open. With an elemental groan, the box door finally gave up, and fell to the ground with a clatter. There was nothing inside at all. Maioni nursed her bruised hand, and scowled. “Great. Just great.” She turned without further comment and started walking back toward the coordinates she had been given.

“Remind me why we're on this particular mission again, boss. I hate this spook business. I'd rather they were just guarding the damned thing so we could take them out, and get on with it.” Maioni didn't answer.

She stood, recalling the directions she'd memorized. It was on the western, top side of a cliff face. Only there was no cliff face here. No cliffs, even. A flat meadow with a few trees, bordered by some bushes and woods over to the west, a game court of some kind over near where the misbegotten box had been, and a bridge across a road to the southeast, along with an unused animal enclosure of some kind. Nothing higher than ten meters in any direction, and certainly no cliffs.

Behind her, Jorgan gave a low whistle. “These treEEE! His words had turned into a cry, which cut off suddenly with an odd thump, like a body hitting the ground.

She turned toward where she expected to see him, just in time to see the branches of the trees to the east quivering back to motionlessness. “Jorgan?! What happened?” She ran toward the trees, with an eye to any dangers lurking from within the trees and undergrowth where he had disappeared.

“Down here,” she heard his slightly muffled voice. She parted two bushes, and looked down.

“Good reflexes! Hold on, I'll clip a rope.” She saw his hands first, one gripping a large root that emerged from the side of a rocky ledge, which his other hand was holding. She assessed the large trees quickly to their north and south, then tied off a line to the nearest sturdy one, and attached herself to the rope with a clip to her climbing gear. She'd expected cliffs above her, not beneath; she kicked herself for not fully attending to all the contour lines on the map. Damn it, one of them should have noticed that!

“Sir. Sometime soon would be good. Holding on by fingers can't be long term.”

“So shush. I'm getting to you as quick as I can. Don't wear yourself out talking.” She looped the ropes to the east side of some of the bigger bushes, and assessed how he was holding himself up, and how she could reach far enough down to attach a clip to his harness. If she were taller, it would be easier, but he had a good 25 cm. on her, at least half that above his waist, which she needed to reach. She was going to have to go down boots first, and they'd both be on the same rope. Not much choice. “I'm coming down.” A few moments later, they both heard the click of the support link, and she heard his sigh of relief, which matched her own.

“OK, Mai,” he said, “Can it take both our weights? I think I can get back up still, now that I have the rope.”

“Don't worry about that. Let me get back up and I can give you a hand. Steady yourself on the rope and get your feet braced.”

With only a few minutes of mutters and cussing, they got him back to the top, and after a break for some water and shaking off the unexpected fall, they both made an effort to look down over the side of the cliff for the dratted dead drop. “There's no way to see through all this brush. I'm going to lie down and see if I can see anything from underneath it. Keep me on the rope, Ari, just in case I start to slide.”

“Will do, sir.”

She got down on her hands and knees, and crawled under the greenery. It wasn't exactly a 'cliff face' but it wasn't exactly not a 'cliff face' either. She estimated that the grade was something like 170%, and only twenty meters down to a reasonable grade. If they approached form the north, they could get to the bottom, and maybe spot the drop. She was going to kill Hiero for setting this up. She backed herself out of the bushes.

“OK, let's see if we can make it down to the bottom of that from the north. The alternative is to rappel down from here.”

“Didn't you say it was near the top, earlier?”

“Only it's not clear exactly where, near the top. I didn't see anything. You didn't see anything, not that you were probably paying much attention while you were hanging there, and your angle wasn't the best. Anyhow, I hope we can see if if we're below it.”

“Why don't we set up the ropes, and toss them down more in the center, and then get attach and the bottom and climb to wherever it is. If we spot it, that is. Mai, was it your friend or someone she knows who left the package, because this is insane.”

“I agree. On the other hand, nobody is going to accidentally find it. From the growth patterns, it looks like it's not getting any sun at all down there, and has shrubs, trees, brambles...you name it, it's protected. I'll give it that.”

Jorgan spotted a faint trail as they walked north, and they followed it, often steeply, but not anywhere near the slope of the 'cliff.' The more he thought about it, the more incline he was to accept the wording, whether Mai thought it was a cliff or not. The trail curved away from their coordinates, but Maioni noticed the slight evidences of damage to a bush, and pushed through, trying to not replicate the damage, just in case they needed to use this drop again, down the road. Jorgan followed her.

They looked up into the greenish light that filled the inside of this place, surrounded by trees and bushes, with only faint glimmers of the sky visible now and again as breezes moved the branches far above them. They surveyed the steep elevation, now to their west. Their ropes were easy enough to get to. No boxes visible. “Damn it! Where's 'a shelter' here?” Maioni muttered.

“Do I get a bonus if I find it first?”

“Ari, I'll give you a bonus, and buy you dinner if you find it. I just don't see anything but roots, branches, and dirt.”

He pointed to a scraggly bush clinging to the side of the wall of dirt and rocks. “It looks like a nest, but I don't think it is; can't quite pinpoint why I think that, though. But it's the only thing up there that might be worth looking at.” He started over toward their ropes, scanning the looming hillside for a good route.

At that point, it was relatively easy to reach the nest, which turned out to be hiding a larger opening, inside of which was a container that she expected, which accepted the code quickly. Contained inside was a substance necessary for completing some of the explosives their demolitions specialist was making. Highly illegal for someone outside the military, and very hard to come by even for those inside. Hence needing Hiero to supply them, and her desire to not be connected. There was also a small message chip that could be read by a datapad. Jorgan took it, and snapped it into his datapad.

A modified voice said, “Don't ever say you're smoother at this than I am. You have rank. We both have skills.” There was a pause. “Gotcha! I've been watching you this whole time. Let's meet for drinks at the 'old homestead.' ”

The quiet beeping woke me from my nap. We were nearing the op site, guess it was time to go to work. Rolling to my side, I reached out and felt the empty bed. Yeah, of course he wasn’t here. He was on the rescue cruiser. Huffing a sigh, I hauled my @ss out of bed and grabbed my helmet from its recharge port. Pressing my horns against its padded grooves, I did up the straps and plugged the Optical Link Cables into my sockets. The world came back in with greys only, to simulate low light vision. Now able to see where I was going, I headed out.

Unlike my quarters, the main room was way brighter, and it took my helm a sec to readjust, switching to the blue anti-fluorescent light filter. Padding over the metal grate flooring, I made my way up the stairs and turned left, into the ‘fresher. As soon as the door sealed, I stripped out of my itchy, regulation skivvies and slapped the sonic shower’s power button. I carefully removed my helm, placing it in the sink as I always did and felt for the shower door. With what was probably way too high a step, I cleared the door lip and got in.

Unlike Dorne, who found its lowest setting too much, Yuun who needed the max to clean his exoskeleton and Jorgan who needed it at exactly 43% so his fur shone, I’m easy. The stream hit me like a truck: Yuun used it last. I did a little twirl and spread my p1ts, t1ts and cr@ck for the sound waves. Done, I got back out, redid my helmet and grabbed my skivvies. I didn’t bother to put them back on before heading to my quarters. It was only Yuun and me on the ship, and I knew he didn’t care. He was a bugman: mammal bits meant jack to him. Back in my quarters, I got ready, letting my body run on autopilot as I thought about the op.

Garza was sending us on a prison break run. Normally, I’d be all up for freeing anyone who wants to kill Imps, but I’m sure this was pretty much a publicity stunt, something to win Specforce points with the senate. Sure, we were rescuing a couple hundred POWs, but it was from a lightly defended space station. If anything, having any Specforce team do the mission would create a tactical opportunity to burn one of us, but we were Havoc, the highest profile team. Neutralising us would hurt Republic morale and I knew the Imps would trade their mothers for a shot at that. I wondered if this was exactly that, a trap, but I doubted it.

I knew Imp operating procedure, and these POWs would be the dross of the army, the ones the Imps couldn’t use in prisoner transfers or sell off to slavers. The Imps probably shoved them all together and shipped them all to this almost entirely undefended station hoping we’d come along and rescue them. Then we’d be the ones wasting credits and manpower on them. Yeah, that seems more like it, some Imp pencil pusher probably stroked himself stupid when he came up with the idea. dumb@ss hadn’t realised we’re way better supported than them, so every guy we save can shoot an Imp in the face as soon as the Docs clear ‘em.

Finishing up with the straps on my greaves, I got back up from the bed. Now, I was ready for the op, and judging from the subtle shift in gravity around me, just in time. Leaving my quarters again, I headed up to the cockpit.

Yuun was in the pilot’s seat, flying us straight at the sun. Normally, id have a problem with that, but I couldn’t see the station.

“Looks like intel screwed up. The station is on the far side of the system,” I noted with more than a little satisfaction as I leant on the back of Yuun’s chair.

“The station is where described. I chose here so the sun’s warmth will hide us until we dock,” Yuun chirped, waxing poetic as usual and losing anyone not fluent in Gand. Lucky for me, my helmet provided subtitles in real time. For the billionth time, I’m so glad Dorne ignored me and installed them. I watched as we flew towards the sun, the yellow ball getting slowly but steadily bigger. As I did, I went over my role and strategy in my head.

My job was to clear the way to command and set Yuun up. Yuun was to lock out Imp Comms and drop the hanger defences for the transport. Then we got to sit cozy in the command station while the rest of the team got the prisoners out. Forex and Coria were on Security and cell-busting Duty; Dorne was on call in case the prisoners needed medical attention, or if we found any tortures while Jorgan got the fun job co-ordinating the jailbreak and providing overwatch support if needed. Part of me still thinks I should’ve pulled rank and swapped with my Kitty Commando, so I’d be where all the fun is. Problem was then he’d need Forex to back him up, and that’d leave Coria without backup. Nah, I got to sit on my hands looking pretty for the next however long it took. Part of me hopes the Imps have a surprise waiting for me, just so I’d have something to do.

Slowly, we got close enough and flew around the sun, using it as cover from any sensor sweeps, and then we saw it. The station was a standard Imperial station, a dull grey disc with sticks poking up and down from its azimuths and centre. Bet it had standard defences too, a skeleton crew of Imp techies and prison guards, supplemented by cr@ppy old-gen mainframe-connected security droids Yuun could shut down remotely.

“I’m heading down to the cargo bay. As soon as you dock, I’ll pop the ‘lock and clear the way. Follow behind as soon as you can, got it?” Yuun nodded and I left him to it.

I headed out, down, around, down and across to the cargo bay. As usual, it was a tidy mess. All the crates were neatly stacked over in the upper right corner, with Coria’s special little foldout table and chairs on the lower level beside them. Personally, I didn’t get what the problem was, but our Demo-guy had issues with people sitting on his ordnance crates. Instead, we took meals on his little picnic table. That wasn’t what I was here for.

On the left was the lower cargo bay hatch airlock and the lockers. I headed over to mine, popping it open and skimming the loadout. I didn’t even bother looking at my plasma rifle. I wouldn’t need anything over close range and the station’s fire suppression system would hamper the incendiaries. Besides, I was probably killing droids. Droids don’t get scared by fire. Instead, I took my bowcaster and knife. Now, I just had to pick my pack.

I glanced at my space combat pack. It was specced out the same as my normal pack, but had my breath mask and air supply in it. Normally I wouldn’t bother, but this was a space mission. What’s another six kilos on top of everything, right? I grabbed it and slung it on. It’s not like I’ll need to move anywhere in a hurry on this op. This is a total blue milk run, something Garza can use to win points with Senators, so let’s go make the old hag’s day.

I grabbed my rifle, primed it and waited for the green light over the airlock door. This was gonna be a dull op.

The turbolift doors opened and I moved out, sweeping the area. Again, there was no-one in sight, not even a droid. I’d known this was gonna be a boring op, but the Imps weren’t even trying any- movement in the corner: Hostile! I darted straight at it, bowcaster lining up to blow the Imp’s bulbous fishman head out of my sight. Wait, Imps don’t hire nonhumans.

“Aah, don’t shoot, don’t shoot! I surrender!” the Mon Calamari wailed, holding his webbed fingers up, as if they could stop a quarrel, “You’re Republic, right? This is a Jailbreak? Please – I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me!” Now I wasn’t acting on twitch, I saw he wore toughened but tattered grey rags. Great, they’d left a slave in charge of this place before they bugged out. Well, one more to rescue.

“Cooperate and we’ll get you out too,” I commanded, lowering my bowcaster. With that, he visibly relaxed, almost slumping where he stood.

“Oh, thank you, thank you so much. You want me to unlock the prisoner cells? It’ll only take a minute.” The ex-slave spun and launched himself into the nearest terminal, his hands washing over the controls. You know, I’ve heard about the technological prowess of their kind, but to actually see it? I’d bet this half-starved prisoner could give Yuun a run for his money. Speaking of whom…

“Sergeant, Comm the LT and tell him to get his furry @ss here with that ship.” Yuun chirped acknowledgement and turned away, slouching as one clawed hand reaching up for hi comm. Then a hologram flickered up over the mon cala technician’s head, one of a bald human in an Imperial general’s uniform. I recognised him, from the dossier Garza sent my way. He was her Imp counterpart, General Rakton, one of those nasty fanatical types who unfortunately had a talent for strategy.

“Impressive, your time from learning about A-77 to storming its command deck was shorter than even my most aggressive estimates.” Figures, it was a trap. Well, I guess it’s interesting now. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a ship appear from hyperspace and close in to dock. That’d be Jorgan and the rest of the squad. If the technician had opened the cells, then it’d be quick enough to get them all on board and outta here. All I had to do was keep Rakton distracted until then.

“Using prisoners as bait? You’re real scum Rakton.” I mocked, focussing my gaze on his shiny bald head. One thing I’ve always prided myself on was my ability to be unilaterally annoying. It makes for a great distraction when needed.

“Morality is a matter for peacetime, it has no place in war.” He sneered, but I saw the fanatical fire shimmer in his eyes. Yeah, start monologuing about the righteousness of your cause already.

Something started beeping from the console, a sound I’d been dreading: the hyperspatial sensors alert. Through the monitors, I saw three Harrowers revert to realspace, turning to point their triangular bodies right at us.

“Imperial warships have manoeuvred themselves into position around A-77. The facility will be obliterated in a matter of minutes. Goodbye. His hologram winked out as the ships opened fire. So much for monologuing. D@mn.

“Shields are already failing, I have to reroute power!” the technician wailed, hands blurring over the buttons.

“You want to give me an update here, Major? It feels like someone’s shooting at us?” Jaxo’s voice filtered through my comm. She was on the station, having deliberately infiltrated a couple days ago to give us intel and support. If Garza had bothered to mention that, I mightn’t have mouthed off at the intel she’d given me.

“Three Imp ships are about to blow this place apart,” I relayed, maybe letting a little worry into my voice. I’d hoped for something a little more terrestrial from the Imps. I can’t shoot a star destroyer, not without a really big gun.

“They’re going to blow up their own prison? This is insane!” Jaxo helpfully commented, panic setting into her voice a little. C’mon, what’s a little impending destruction to a commando?

“Ooh, I can do it, I can do it!” the technician babbled, scurrying over to a console by the turbolift, “We can all make it out if I just vent the systems level.”

“You can’t vent the systems level – I’m on the systems level. There are droids everywhere, I’d never make it out,” she definitely panicking at this point. “Who is this moron?” I ignored her, I was already beside the Mon Calamari

“Is there any other way to get the shield up?” He turned to look up at me, an ashen remorse sinking into his features as he shook his head.

“There is no other way. Please forgive me, but we have no alternative. Without shields, we’d never get the cells open fast enough. All the prisoners would die.”

“You’ve got to get me out of this place major. I can’t die in this place, I can’t.”

Yuun said something, but I was distracted and didn’t read it in time

“Please. Get me out of here. Take me home!” Jaxo begged, naked desperation running clear through every word. Now I had a tough call to make. The mission was to save as many as possible, but Jaxo was a friend. You don’t leave friends to die, but you don’t let the Empire murder innocent POWs either. At least my team were still on the ship, they’d survive the station’s destruction. Is it wrong of me to say that thought was pleasing, that they were safe from all this? Guess this is why they pay me the big credits, or sink it into maintaining my augments.

“A total blue milk run, huh?” I huffed a breath, then made my decision.

“Jaxo, ignore the droids and make a break for the turbolift, see if you can get to my position.” She protested: I ignored her. Instead, I whirled on the technician, “How long will it take for you to get everything ready?”

“I don’t know, I’m working as fast as I can, but I’m just a janitor!”

“Yuun?”

“Thirty seconds.”

“You’ve got twenty, then blow the seals!” I ordered and took a couple steps back. The technician gawped at me, “What are you doing?”

“Putting all those Republic Tax Credits to work.” Then, I charged the elevator. It was closed. That didn’t stop me. It was reinforced durasteel: that didn’t stop me either. The elevator door cratered apart under my knee and I went through, into the shaft. I fell, two, three floors. Then I hit the far side of the shaft. Good. I kicked back, turning as I fell a few more.

Systems level was eight down, then along the hall. Fourth passed by, then fifth. I started hearing the muffled whine of blaster cannons, E-23s from the sound of it: Imperial assault droids. Six passed. From the shots, I guessed there were two, maybe three of them, all grouped up. Seven! I flicked my left arm out, felt the durasteel beam bend under my weight and crunched my legs up in a sitting pose. I swung with all the grace and delicacy of a Zabrak wrecking ball, bearing down on the elevator door. I slammed it clear off its grooves and sent it sliding along the floor, with me on top. I rode the ruined door most the way down the hall, surveying the firefight dead ahead.

Three oversized Assault droids clanked towards an intersection, spraying green shots at a half dozen dropped crates. From the looks of it, the crates were shooting back. Whoever was behind them, they’re definitely Special Forces: never shoot from the same place twice. It establishes your precise location. Shame the shots bounced off the droids’ ray shields. They’d need something heavier to breach them. That’s where I come in.

I slipped a grenade off my belt, primed it and lobbed it at the furthest droid. Great thing about ray shields, they stop all energy attacks and waves. They’re not so good at blocking physical objects. My grenade flew into and through the shield. Like I said, great thing about ray shields: they stop all energy attacks. The blastwave stressed the shield, then did what energy does: find the path of least resistance and go there. The wave rebounded back in, onto the stricken droid. It dropped, and the shield finally gave out. Then its buddies noticed me.

The doors skidded to a stop as they started turning to face me. Bounding off it, I charged them. I didn’t get my rifle out, it wouldn’t help. Instead, I closed, got between those two cannons and launched myself in an uppercut. My gauntleted fist met the droid’s arc-shaped head. One thing I never got about Imperial droid-makers: they put all that durasteel armour on the outside, but the inner superstructure is just hardened plasteel. It snapped, popping up and off as the droid spasmed and dropped around me. Grabbing the shattered top, I turned over it and hit the ground running. That last droid would have a clear shot at me from point blank range. I wasn’t going to make it easy for it.

One, two, three leaping strides got me close, dodging the first of hopefully its last shots. I was outside its right cannon. Grabbing the cannon with my left hand, I snaked my knife out of its sheath and plunged it into the droid’s verbobrain. Electricity sparked up my knife, into my hand and sank into my subdermal cortosis-graphene alloy weave armour. From there, I could feel it tingle down into my feet and out my boots.

Ripping my knife out of the dropping droid, I sheathed it and moved over to the crate barricade. She looked like hell: ratty hair, covered in dirt and I’d wager she gained a few kilos, if her cheeks were anything to go by. Still, it was great seeing her again.

“Congratulations, you’re being rescued.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, glistening in her open, expressive eyes, “thank you so much. I couldn’t die down here.” I nodded at her, then held up a hand. Pulling this off would be close, and I needed everything Yuun could give me.

“Yuun, how long we got?”

“Shields failing!” the Mon Cal wailed in the background.

“Five seconds!” he warbled back. That wasn’t enough time, not to get her out of here before the shield blew. If the shield blew, then we could kiss those three hundred POWs goodbye. Damn. All that effort and it was back to the same choice. three hundred guys and my team or Jaxo. Oh, and me. If we vented Jaxo, we’d vent me too.

“Damn. Blow the vents!” Jaxo’s eyes got even bigger.

“Sir, you’re still down there!”

“I’m aware of that, sergeant! Blow the vents, and the blast door behind us. That’s an order. Now, count us down.” I turned back to Jaxo. She stared at me, horror plain on her face.

“W-We have to get out of here!”

“Not enough time. You certified for Exo-Ops?” She just gawped at me. I’ll take that as a no. Reaching back, I snaked out my breath mask. Shoving the business end in her face, I slid the straps over her ears and tugged on the cord. Good thing she put on a few: the fat would help the seal. My mask was geared for Zabraks, not humans: we’ve got wider jaws. Her cheeks should plug the gap.

“Three”. She was sorted. My flatpack was rated for ninety minutes of compressed air, or thirty in combat. It’d be enough, for her anyway. Me, well, I just started breathing real hard and fast, taking in as much oxygen as I could get in the time. “Two”. If I remembered it right, we were on the sunny side of the station. The cruisers came in from deep space. Good, then this just might work. “One”.

The door behind her clanked open, the empty void of space yawning before us. Air howled all around, as my breath pulled itself from my lungs, leaving only a creaking pressure in its place. Jaxo screamed through the mask, and then the sound was gone. We were left with the deafening silence of vacuum. Pulling Jaxo close with one arm, I walked us over the edge, into the void.

I’ll tell you one thing: I’m not afraid of much. Legions of imperials, Slavering Sith spawn or Dark lords, it makes no difference to me. But the vast emptiness of space? Give me a Darth riding a Sith-spawned rancor before his personal legion any day. I could see nothing. I could hear nothing. I felt tiny jagged knives stab me all over. Pushing through that, I could feel Jaxo’s warmth on my side and the spit on my tongue sizzle.

I reached up, toggled my helmet sensors back to non-combat visual and almost wished I hadn’t. I saw Harrowers. Three of them, all raining fire down on the prison station. The first shots slammed into the station, burning into the asteroid core. The next exploded off the revitalised shield, as did the others. The shields held, so that was something. I just had to hope Yuun was getting on with the rescue, not hand wringing over spacing his CO.

Blackness stabbed at the edges of my vision, an ever-present reminder along with the chest pain that I needed evac, asap. I looked the station up and down, but I couldn’t see another access port. I did see my ship though. That’ll do.

I unholstered my rifle, then shook my head. Too far. I’d have to get the MGGS from my pack and opening it up would shut off Jaxo’s air. I could use the rifle-mounted grapnel to pull us in close to the station and climb to the ship. Nah, too much exertion. I’d black out halfway up. Looks like I’m recalibrating my grapnel tether then. I flipped my rifle, resting the barrel on Jaxo’s shoulder. Instinctively, her free hand snaked up and clutched the end by the underbore launcher, securing it for me.

The ship was maybe two hundred fifty metres away, but I had my doubts the cord could reach it and bring us over there. Funny thing is, the liquid cord is rated five hundred metres, but like lots of Republic standard issue, that’s a flat out lie. Oh sure, you can fire it five hundred meters, but try to haul anything with the rope and it’ll break faster than a Jawa-made hyperdrive. Real terms, it’s about thirty metres, and it can’t handle anything heavier than an assault droid. Lucky for us we weren’t as heavy as that. In space we didn’t weigh anything at all.

I slid the range toggle all the way up to three hundred metres and hoped that was enough. Turning it back the right way, I pulled Jaxo tight against me and aimed one handed. I’ll admit, I half guessed where to shoot on the ship and squeezed the trigger.

The grapnel shot out with a puff of released air, the back end leaving a glistening slime trail, like an aerodynamic Hutt. Now came the part where we hope the universe owes us a favour. In the far distance, the grapnel hit the ship and stuck. The silvery liquid cord that strengthened the filament guide glistened, but didn’t harden. What, but why? It should’ve started hardening as soon as it was exposed to the air. Oh.

The filament stopped spinning and tightened, way too quickly than was safe for it. My arms were getting stiff, fingers almost rigid, but I held on as my rifle’s winch drew us in. The motor jerked us forwards, the pain tearing through my arm making me scream into the void. Yeah, you know how grapples normally need two hands? That’s not a strength requirement, it’s so the pull doesn’t dislocate your arm. Right now, I couldn’t feel mine through the pain, but I knew it wasn’t dislocated. I’d have let go of my gun otherwise.

We hurtled towards the ship, though I couldn’t figure out why. By all rights, the load of Jaxo and me should’ve snapped the monofilament guide like a twig. Guess the universe really did owe me a favour after all. Don’t suppose I could get another, to slow us down before we hit my ship? I crunched my legs up, using the motor as a stabiliser. I’ve no idea how fast we’re going, or what’ll happen when we hit, but I can still try to absorb some of it with my legs. After all, what good is being able to leap most APCs if I can’t stick the landing? Trusting my strap, I let go of my gun and held Jaxo in both arms.

We hit my ship hard. My feet were in place, back straight and I took as much of the strain with my legs, but it still hurt like hell. Good thing we’re in space, because I’m pretty sure half the stuff I screamed would get me busted down to private. The winch tried pulling my gun, but now that my gun strap gave some resistance, the un-strengthened filament snapped. Keeping hold of Jaxo and trusting the strap, I hauled us over to the lower cargo bay hatch.

I stabbed my middle finger at the bottom numeral and dragged it straight up. I can’t see the key markers most of the time, so I never bothered to remember access codes. Instead, I got Jorgan program them all the same: bottom button, swipe up. Now we’ll find out if he actually did it, or if his tardiness is gonna cost him a fiancée.

The cargo bay airlock slid open and I shoved Jaxo in. The pain was even worse now, already pushing past my blockers and staining even more of my vision black. Slowly, stiffly, I managed to heave myself into the airlock chamber. Jaxo lurched and shouldered the door close button and I heard the mechanical hiss.

“Yuun, you still out there?” Nothing hung through the ear splittingly loud moment

“Shields are holding steady, Major.”

“Good, tell Jorgan he’s got it from here and to get his furry bu1t in gear. I’m back on the Thunderclap and I’m calling it a day. Oh, and bring the fishman when you bug out.” Yuun said something, but that’s when I felt the last of my pain blockers give. As the pain in my chest overwhelmed me and I faded into the blackness, I smiled. Mission accomplished. Now, it was all up to Jorgan to get the prisoners out of there.

I've often been frustrated by the lack of ability to save everyone.

I applaud you!

Corso appeared in the doorway, turned, and slipped past Risha. “That door stays open on its own.You don't have to hold it. Even if it closes, it can open up again.” He looked at Hie. “Hey! What's wrong? You still down about going to that prison planet?”

Hiero sighed again.

“OK, spill. Apparently, we need to know something our senator friend neglected to tell us.”

Another sigh.

“Oh, she doesn't have anything to do with it. I mean, she's as much a snake as Pollaran, don't get me wrong – we all know that. But that's just something we have to deal with normally.”

As she breathed in, Risha held up a hand, warningly, and shook her head. “Do not sigh. Just tell us.”

“It has nothing to do with what we're supposed to do. I'll go, and we'll do what we're supposed to do, to keep them in the dark until we can pull the trigger. So to speak. But my family always said we'd never go back there. From the day we left when I was five, we all said, 'Never again.'”

Corso and Rishs simultaneously burst out, “Your family was in prison?!”

“What? No. Of course not. My parents worked there. Dad worked in facilities maintenance and Mom worked in communications. I've always been hazy on the circumstances of their leaving, but my big brother seems to think it was related to when they disappeared a few years ago, somehow. I think maybe he thinks someone got out and came after them or something. I don't know what to think about that, which you both know already. Anyhow, yeah. I was born there, actually. We always stayed in the staff section, right outside the Minimum Security area of the prison, and we got to play around and whatnot, but it was always pretty tight security for even us kids. As soon as we broke orbit, I remember my mother saying, 'Never again. None of us is ever coming back to this pockmark on the galaxy. Never.' Dad just nodded, and said, 'Nope. Never.'

“I feel kind of disloyal for going. I mean, I know they'd understand, and it's just that none of us were happy there. I had a thousand times more freedom on our first ship than I had on the planet. And really, it's an awful place. No prison is any fun, but there’s just something about it that kind of makes you feel – not like you can't breathe, but almost like you don't want to be bothered to breathe. I hate to say you'll see, but you'll see.”

Risha, who had gotten herself a small bowl of nuts and a slice of cheese, sat down and turned herself toward Hiero. “You're saying you remember that feeling from before you could even read?”

“Of course not. I started reading when I was three or so. Before I learned to shoot, though. Weapon policies were strict. Once we left, Tri learned to shoot, and because he was Tri, I had to learn, too – my parents didn't realize he was making me practice with him as much as he did. We were both good at it, and it's really about the only thing we ever liked to do together.” She paused, looking slightly perplexed. “How did I start talking about Tri?”

“Just don't sigh again, and I'll remind you where we're going.”

“Oh. That. You'll see. We have to do it, but I want you all to remember I will be hating every moment we're there. And I will sigh, Risha, when and for as long as I feel the need. If I have to cope, so do you. We all clear?”

Ciner reread the document word for word. Content it was ironclad she signed it. “You earned it!” she stated as she handed it across the desk. Thorns’ hand shook despite his best efforts. She could feel the slight tremble through the flimsiplast. “Copies will be sent to the authorities immediately. You are a free man.”

He cleared his throat and then only nodded, apparently not trusting his voice. He skimmed the document before he let it vanish in his coat pocket. He headed out of the room without a glance back.

The door slid into place with a soft thud, closing a chapter in her life as much as his. She sat and listened as he packed his few belongings and left. She had not asked him to stay. Even though she did not like it, she understood he needed to go. His presence in the Force was replaced by a dull ache. It took days to regain familiarity with the ship during which she woke at night to the absence of his heartbeat.

She met him again three months later on Taris of all places. 91 days, 17 hours, 13 minutes. The implants were so much a part of her, she accessed them without conscious thought. His heartbeat hadn’t changed, neither had his circumstances.

He looked up when she entered the cellblock. Chuckling he shook his head.

“I would have told you to stay out of trouble if I thought it would do any good.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? Trouble is my middle name.”

“How many people did you kill this time?”

“None?” He shrugged again. “I was wise enough to surrender. Wouldn’t have many problems to overwhelm the patrol. Still, I didn’t feel like attracting the attention of several dozen raks.”

“Why are you here then?”

“If it’s not the pleasure of my company, it has to be the answer to that question.” He grinned as far as the bruises allowed it.

“What happened to your face?” From the way he slouched Ciner could tell he was in pain from more than a swollen lip and a black eye.

“One of your friends,” he spat into the corner of his cell, “seems to feel intimidated by my exuberant charm.”

Three guesses and the first two did not count. “Thana?”

“Incoming!” the loudspeaker blared. Photin joined the rest of the staff in a collective sigh. “Repeat, incoming, ten casualties.” For hours – Photin dared not look at the chrono yet again – a steady stream of casualties had been flowing from the combat zone. The Imperials were pushing hard on the Balmorran Arms Factory; locals and Republic troops were pushing back. As in every clash of durasteel and blasters, it was flesh and blood that paid the price.

“I'm sorry we can't save those two fingers,” she remarked to the soldier as she finished wrapping the wound, “but with treatment, the rest of the hand and arm should heal up okay. You'll be out on the next transport.” She nodded at the aide beside her, leaving him to help the wounded soldier to the evacuation field.

Stretcher teams, medics, and med-droids clustered around the landing field as the medevac boat descended, cargo door already gaping open. Before it touched ground, Photin leaped aboard, scanning the new batch of casualties. Each had an electronic tag with basic information, but mostly she relied on medical training and Jedi senses to estimate the severity of each injury. She pointed to one soldier, blood dripping off a body splint, and called to the stretcher crew outside, “this one! Get some plasma into her, and into surgery!” The ones that could walk were shuffled out by the aides; the others were carefully carried away according to the treatment priority Photin assigned.

The boat was not cleared before the loudspeaker rang out again. “Incoming! Repeat, incoming, eight casualties!.” Sure enough, when Photin poked her head out, another evac boat was descending toward the field, additional staff hurrying toward it. She jumped down, heading there in a brisk walk. Before she got halfway to the new boat, another announcement: “Multiple transports inbound! Evac Depot 23 is under Imperial fire, evacuating all patients and staff to our location.” A wave of murmurs broke out among soldiers and medical staff. Depot 23 was only a few klicks away. A glance back at the main compound confirmed that Command was already responding to the new burden; tents and extra cots were being broken out and set up wherever there was space. Two boats could already be seen headed over from Depot 23; and another just coming in sight from the front line.

Photin stepped onto the latest arrival. As she had seen too many times today, one of the soldiers on this boat was on the verge of death, his spirit strong but fading. She went to him first; there was little question which was in the worst crisis, even to the untrained eye. His legs were hanging by scraps of flesh, one arm was simply gone. A few quick words sorted the rest, but none of them were as critical for the moment. “I'll have to stay with this one,” she remarked to the staff, “carry him to any surgical table, seconds count!” She reached out to him with the Force, adding her strength to his, to stave off death. She settled into as much of a healing trance as she could in the circumstances, barely feeling the staff jostle around her as they moved him to a stretcher.

There was a strange familiarity about the man, but she couldn't let herself be distracted. She walked beside the stretcher as they moved from the transport toward the surgical hut. Propped up by her Force-powered healing, he was stable for the moment, but- “Sellie?” the soldier spoke, in a voice that in its weakness still conveyed an echo of energy and strength. “Sell...is that...?” She felt a surge of recognition and even joy from the semi-conscious soldier, but the use of her birth name nearly startled her out of her half-trance. She opened her eyes to see a smile on the bruised and bloody face. Now that she looked at them again, the eyes seemed familiar, but couldn't place them. Then the aide's voice cut through, talking to the surgical setup team: “...repeat, trooper's name is Corporal Dzok D'Arc, eye dee number four one niner...”

Photin broke stride for a second, and had to take an quick extra step to keep up. “Dzok!?” Hearing the name of her little brother, it snapped into place. It was him, older of course – it had been ten years since that day she was sent off to the Jedi Order- but she could now see the face of the boy she'd grown up with. “Dzok!” She said with earnest. “You'll be...”

He interrupted, “I know, I'll be fine. S'prise, my Jedi sister's here.” He took a shaky breath. “Lightsaber 'n' all...” His eyes glanced at the weapon on her hip. “C'n I touch it?”

Her reply died on her lips as alarms overwhelmed all other sound. Blaster fire screamed all around; she whirled, to see a squad of Imperial jetpack troopers descending, strafing the landing field, gunning down medics, droids, and the wounded with horrid abandon. In the midst of the black-armored intruders, a figure in red brandished a fiery lightsaber. Scarlet arcs flowed one into the next as the Sith deflected the few blaster bolts the camp guards sent his way.

There were no other Jedi on hand, and the guards would quickly be overwhelmed by this attack. It took a moment to squelch the surge of fear that hit her; she knew she was no master of the blade – but there were no other Jedi nearby. Photin's lightsaber flew from her belt into her hand and ignited. “I'm sorry, I have to go,” she said as she ran out of the transport and into the firing zone. She barely caught her brother's reply, “may the force be...” before his voice faded under the clamor of battle.

The fight was short and sharp. Photin's green blade met the intruder's red; the camp guards kept fighting, and spare weapons were passed out to the walking wounded. Numbers and raw courage won in the end; the jetpack troopers fell one after another, killing more than twice their number before the end. The Sith, looking impressive enough in his spiked armor and fueled by rage, did not last long. Photin was no master of the blade, but her knowledge of the Force was superior, and knowing that she stood between this enemy and the mass murder of the defenseless troopers all around her spurred her on. He exhausted himself with a rushed attack, leaving himself open to her calculated counterstroke. Clutching the stump of his sword arm, he collapsed with a swift kick.

Photin's sense of triumph faded quickly into horror as she surveyed the field, littered with the dead. The boats from Depot 23 were coming in. There was going to be no respite, no time for a victory cheer. The loudspeaker cut through the noise once again, “Prepare to abandon camp! Repeat, prepare to abandon camp! The enemy is moving on our location!” The loudspeaker kept on, shouting more orders, the sequence of evacuation, and more – but Photin's attention turned back to where she left her brother. She dashed over to his side.

He was smiling, though agony showed in the lines of his too-pale face. “My Jedi sister saves the day,” he whispered. His hand twitched. Photin gently set her lightsaber, still warm from the fight, into his hand. His fingers closed around it and the smile widened. “My Jedi sister,” were his last words as she felt his spirit drift away into death.