As it turned out, the survivors of the pirate group that had backed up the TOS ships knew little or nothing of TOS. Most didn’t even know whom they had been fighting with. All of them offered up any information they could without the use of threat. The first officer of the Slayer-class frigate was the only high-placed member of the gang to survive the battle. Under the pretense of releasing him in exchange for information, Jace had been able to persuade the first officer to reveal the name of their gang and such. Of course, there were other ways to get that information, but there was little time to waste waiting for answers from those protracted methods.

     Their name was the Shadow Phantoms. They worked in Portmoak and neighboring sectors, mostly doing routine raids on private ships. Occasionally, they took jobs from the Manliss Corporation, who paid them to eliminate rival spice distributors. The frigate XO knew only that Manliss had given their leader a call and they had been sent here to assist two ships in capturing a Strike cruiser. He knew that they were rendering aid to a group called Terrors of Space, but beyond that, he didn’t know anything about the organization. After the first officer had revealed the sparse information, Jace had kept to his word and released him…to the eternal depths of the afterlife.

     The rest of the surviving Shadow Phantoms—who had no useful information—proved more valuable than the first officer. The Reussi fleet that had approached in the aftermath of the battle had respected Jace’s request that they refrain from advancing, but later had made contact and threatened to inform both Imperial and New Republic forces if OMEGA and VosseTech didn’t leave the system immediately. Reuss was a hotly contested system between the two galactic giants and they would both be very interested in any serviceable capital ships. Ryvo told Jace that he knew from rumors and stories he had heard on previous visits that the psychotic ruler of the planet, Torel Vorne, engaged in the strange practice of collecting bodily organs. Nobody knew why or what he did with the organs, but it was said that he had acquired a great number over the years from debtors who had no money to cover their arrears. In exchange for granting free passage and forgetting about contacting the Empire and New Republic, Jace agreed to hand over half of the pirates for organ donations. The other half would be turned over when OMEGA left the system.

     As for Prestin Frosto’s payment, Jace came up with a creative way to cover it. He used Thunder’s attack on the TOS Strike cruiser as leverage in the negotiations. Jace told Frosto that when “Yeli” made the attack, she had prevented the TOS ship from destroying another gunship, or worse, the Money Shot. Ryvo had also told Jace that Frosto hated pirates and even went out hunting for them whenever time and money permitted. Jace used that tidbit to his advantage, as well. In the end, Frosto lowered the price to 150,000 credits. Jace came up with the money by selling the remains of the Poetry in Motion to a pirate named Laerron Woern, who was in the system. The assault shuttle was in poor shape, anyhow, and it was easier to sell it than to repair it. Of course, the remaining zero-g armor suits were removed before the transaction took place.

     Jen, Tyros and Ryvo had all been sent to the Twist of Fate’s sickbay for treatment. Jen and Ryvo were relatively unharmed, save for the latter’s wound sustained during the incident with Skate. But Tyros was put into a bacta tank, as the electrocution aboard the assault shuttle had messed him up pretty bad, and his subsequent foray against the enemy bulk cruiser hadn’t helped the injuries.

     All of the post-battle negotiations and interrogations had taken place in Reuss X’s orbit, not far from the gas giant itself. Jace had the Twist of Fate moved there in the aftermath of the battle, knowing it would be a safer place to operate from than Reuss VIII’s volatile vicinity. After all the deals had been made, he’d ordered the Strike cruiser to land on Reuss X’s eleventh moon, in a large fissure. There was no way to know who else TOS would hire to attack them, and the desolate Reuss Xk would make for a much easier escape if the need arose.

     From there, he had sent Star and Skate back to the SSD aboard the shuttle Whisper in the Wind. Of course, they had been accompanied by a small unit of troopers to ensure Skate’s docility. Jace had instructed Star not to interrogate Skate per se, but to put her in sickbay and do whatever neurological tests were necessary to see if there was anything wrong on that front. His order to not interrogate Skate hadn’t been out of compassion, but for his desire to be the one to perform it if it became necessary.

     Now, everyone stood in the Twist of Fate’s conference room. It wasn’t spacious or luxurious as the one on the SSD, but it was adequate.

     “This is ridiculous,” Narska said, staring at Jace. The Bothan had his arms folded.

     “Outrageous is more like it,” Ryvo said. “In the best meaning of the word.”

     “I think we’ll settle for simply ‘noticeable,’” Jace said. “Because that’s the point of it all.”

     Narska and Fox stood before the rest of the squadron wearing loose, shiny jumpsuits and masks. The jumpsuits were metallic looking with their waving dazzle. Both had a chrome base, but the shimmer in Narska’s was purple, while Fox’s was aqua. Thin, solid colored sashes that matched the shimmering colors in the suits were tied at their wastes, the ends hanging down.

     If the jumpsuits alone weren’t garish enough, then the masks could surely meet with the standards of even the galaxy’s most extreme fashion connoisseurs. They were the same colors as the suits, and covered the entire upper half of the face, rising high to points above the eyes, and a lower point above the nose, making the masks roughly look like a big “W.” The bottom halves of the masks covered the cheeks and jaws, but were open under the nose, leaving the mouth and chin visible.

     “It’s still ridiculous,” Narska said. “The Jynx Brothers? We’re not even remotely the same size!”

     “You’re the only two furred members,” Jace said, spreading his arms. “And we’ve got to keep you in disguise. Unfortunately, decoy duty falls on you.”

     “Come on,” Jen said in a conciliatory tone, “at least your suit is purple.”

     “And you’re not simply ‘The Jynx Brothers,’” Rvyo began in a dull tone. “You’re The Jynx Brothers! Deadly assassins extraordinaire!”

     Narska shook his head. “Yeah, you know how we kill people? We jump out of trees and let them look at our outfits.”

     Everyone laughed but Jace.

     “Okay, I’m glad you find these disguises and precautions funny, but they’re necessary, people.” Jace looked around. “I moved the Twist of Fate here for protection, so we too must go in with protection.”

     “Trojan Maaaaaaan!” Thunder said.

     More laughter.

     Jace buried his face in his hands. “I’ve got to get out of here before I go mad. Okay, Narska, Fox, Rick: once we land, go somewhere far from us and make yourselves conspicuous. Jen, Thunder, Ryvo: you come with me to meet with Ryvo’s contacts. We will take the Side Effect—re-christened as Just Like That—and make a short series of jumps outside the system, then come back in on the other side. That way, we will have a clean slate.”

     “What about me?” Palin asked.

     Jace looked at her. “Someone has to stay behind to watch over the ship.”

     Palin frowned. “How boring.”

     “If you get really bored,” Jace said, “you can call Seven on the SSD. He’s on watch duty there and probably just as bored as you will be.”

     “I’ll find something to do.”

     “Good,” Jace said. “And if by some odd reason you decide to change your mind, don’t call Seven. Someone could trace the line and find the SSD.”

     “Oh, I’ll try to resist,” Palin said, folding her arms.

     Jace stood and put his sunglasses and cap on. “Let’s go.”

     Ryvo looked around the streets of Reuss VIII as he and his team headed for the first contact they’d be visiting. The Emperor’s death hadn’t changed anything on planets like Reuss VIII. In some cases, it had gotten worse. Children huddled in alleys and under ledges, cooking various types of food over fires burning in metal drums. They all wore breath masks; they had to, for only the strongest respiratory system could breath comfortably in Reuss VIII’s atmosphere. Even then, those strong-lunged individuals needed masks at times when random acid rain storms would hit small areas, rendering the air deadly if breathed unfiltered.

     The alleys and ledges served as more than protection from acid rain, Ryvo knew. They also served as the children’s homes. Corporate zealotry had covered Reuss VIII’s surface with factories, going so far as to destroy housing to expand the manufacturing plants. The inexorable expansion had left in its wake not only broken buildings, but a broken people, forced to work in the plants and live in the streets. While Core worlds celebrated the Imperial regime’s fall, worlds like this still suffered, and the New Republic did nothing about it.

     Ryvo adjusted his breath mask and turned down another street. Besides the children, all manner of on and off world thugs lined the streets. Fences, pushers, swoopers, robbers, pimps, hit men, and any other criminal types that could be imagined were everywhere to be seen. All of them gave OMEGA a wide berth. Either they had somehow learned that OMEGA had just kicked all kinds of ass above the planet, or they had natural respect for individuals walking down the avenue armed to the teeth. The latter reason wasn’t improbable, but the way word spread through spaceports, Ryvo didn’t doubt the former, either. Of course, there was also a third possibility. Jace, Jen or Thunder was using Force suggestion to maintain anonymity.

     “What kind of shithole planet is this?” Jen asked over the roar of a starship taking off in a nearby landing pit.

     “Is that a rhetorical question?” Ryvo said dryly. “We’re almost there.”

     He led them down another short side street and onto a bigger street, going the same direction as before. A few doors down on the left, a simply, painted sign read “Powerfully Potent Potables.” On either side of the name were pictures of a cocktail and a mug, for the illiterate.

     Thunder looked at the sign when Ryvo indicated the bar. “Your friend must be a ardent autocrat of alliteration.”

     Ryvo snorted. “Decide for yourself.”

     He opened the door and led them through. The place was quite busy, all tables and booths filled up, and only a few stools at the bar available. But as Ryvo looked around, he suddenly got a disoriented, out of place feeling, though there was a hint of nostalgia. It was like when you first walk into a high school reunion.

     “What is it?” Jace asked.

     “Prestin’s people,” Ryvo whispered back. “They don’t recognize me.”

     “What does that mean?”

     Ryvo shrugged. “I don’t know. I would have some fun with them, but I might get us burned. We better present ourselves, though, just in case anything goes wrong.”

     Ryvo led the Sith trio to the tables and booths where the VosseTech people sat. Most of them looked up as the heavily armed mercs approached.

     “Hey, it’s me,” Ryvo said, looking around the group.

     “I knew he’d come here,” a man with shoulder length hair said. “Didn’t I tell you?”

     “It wasn’t exactly hard to figure out, genius boy,” an ebony-skinned man with short hair quipped.

     “Are you going to invite us to sit down or are we going to have to invite ourselves?” Ryvo asked.

     “Go ahead.”

     Ryvo and the three Siths took seats at spaces made around the group.

     “I guess introductions are in order,” Ryvo said. He pointed in turn to Jace, Thunder and Jen. “This is Kaj Lieno, Yeli and Mela.”

     Ryvo named the people in the VT group: Lance Manof, a young man who looked like he was a few months overdue for a haircut. His first mate, Del Pelene, the black man who had spoken earlier. Lance’s girlfriend (or was it wife now?) Arsola. The “genius boy” Clemen Boshu and his first mate, Migon ne Habmugme, a Duros. Ryvo’s ex-girlfriend who had helped him and Jen get out of a fix during the battle, Roget Jiriss. Staar Telindya, a small, yet deadly looking woman.

     “So what are you guys doing here?” Ryvo asked after the introductions.

     “We wanted to have a drink with such great combatants,” Clemen said.

     “Ha!” Ryvo shook his head. “Whatever you say.”

     “What are you doing here?” Lance said, his shaggy hair in his eyes. There was no mistaking the bitterness behind his voice.

     “None of your business,” Ryvo said with a smile. “Hey, at least I’m being straightforward.”

     “What do you mean?” Clemen asked.

     “’Drink with such great combatants,’” Ryvo muttered.

     “It’s the truth,” Roget said. “But I came to see how ugly you looked in this disguise of yours. I heard it was ridiculous.”

     “Hey,” Ryvo said, pointing at her. “I wanted to change my life and do something different. OMEGA gave me that chance. My face is too well known to show, so I went with the disguise. I didn’t want to bring any unwanted attention to OMEGA. Plus, it was a natural step in changing my life. A new look for a new man.”

     The entire VT group exchanged dubious looks.

     “A new man still full of his own shit,” Roget said, smirking.

     “We’re in a bit of a hurry, so if you’ll excuse us,” Ryvo said, getting up.

     “What about that drink?” Clemen asked.

     Ryvo snagged an untouched drink in front of Clemen and drained it. Licking his lips, he looked to the ceiling in thought. “Lum.”

     Clemen frowned as Ryvo and the Siths left the table.

     “What are they doing here?” Thunder asked in a low tone.

     “Prestin sent them down, for sure,” Ryvo said, as if it were obvious. “They knew I’d come here.”

     “Do they present a threat?” Jace asked.

     “Nah, they’re just trying to get information,” Ryvo assured him. “My contact will be clandestine.”

     Jace looked back at the VT people. “I hope so, for the sake of your buddies over there. Because if I have to eliminate them, I will.”

     Ryvo didn’t respond. He just nodded uncertainly.

     The view through the sniper scope was like looking at something as a machine. There was no remorse, no second thoughts, just a red glow and crosshairs. The crosshairs followed a group of three misfits as they walked through the streets of Reussava. Two wore stupid-looking outfits, and the third looked like a kid on the way home from school.

     The shooter had been instructed that his mission wasn’t to kill them all. His employer wanted prisoners. More than that, the sniper had been specifically instructed not to kill certain members. But there was only one in this group that was to be kept alive, and it was obvious which one it was. But that left two.

     The sniper lined up his shot right at the smaller alien’s back. Through the scope, he watched the tail sway back and forth. Right as he was ready to pull the trigger, the group entered a doorway on the street.

     The sniper cursed and leaned back. The kills would have to wait.

     Rick entered the game hall, looking around at the variety of patrons and entertainment the place offered up. This kind of place requited credits, so there were few native Reussi. Mostly offworld spacers that had the money to burn.

     Flanked by the Jynx Brothers, Rick approached the small food service window at the rear of the place. A fat, sloppy man wearing an equally sloppy shirt leaned on the counter at the bottom of the window, a ragged cigar hanging from his mouth. The man stared at the group up and down, a nasty snarl on his face.

     “What’ll it be?”

     “It’ll be you pointing us in the direction of some customers,” Rick said.

     The slob removed his long paper hat and scratched his disgusting skull. “Hey, we don’t deal in that around here. You’ll have to take’em someplace else and hawk’em.”

     Rick looked at the man, then turned to Narska and Fox. “Oh…no. You’ve got it all wrong. I’m not a pander. We’re from a mercenary unit called OMEGA. We’re looking for somebody looking for somebody like us.”

     “What are those suits? They sensor reflective or something?”

     Rick laughed. “Sir, you’ve been watching too much holovision. These are Wildo and Ingus, the Jynx Brothers. Be careful, because they can produce weapons and have them in your throat faster than it takes you to say laundry.”

     The fat man jerked his head back.

     Rick nodded. “Yeah. Dangerous guys. So you’d be smart to direct us to someone who may need our services.”

     “I dunno.” The man spread his arms. “I just cook the food.”

     “You’ve been of great help,” Rick said facetiously.

     Rick turned away from the snack bar. As they walked towards the gaming area, Narska leaned over.

     “What do you think?” the Bothan asked.

     “I think he’s a filthy pile of lard,” Rick said. “He doesn’t know anything. I mean, he’s a guy wearing a paper hat throwing eggs on a grill all day. What can you expect? We’ll just have to find our own customers.”

     “Suppose we do find customers,” Narska said. “What if they expect us to do a job in, say, two days and Jace isn’t finished here for two weeks?”

     Rick nodded confidently. “I’ve got it covered. We offer our services for an exorbitant amount of money nobody could possibly afford. Word will get out that an out of sector merc group is going around trying to make all kinds of credits, and that will upset certain groups for certain reasons. The local authorities will investigate and then we will have all eyes on us.”

     “I don’t like the sound of that,” Narska said.

     “Jace said to make ourselves conspicuous.” Rick shrugged. “This will work and won’t necessarily get us thrown in jail. What do you want to do, start a bar brawl or hold up a store? That might get us killed and will certainly get us locked up.”

     “I suppose you’re right,” Narska said uneasily.

     “I know I’m right,” Rick said. “I’m—“ He caught himself almost saying “Sith Rick.” That wouldn’t have been a good thing. “I’m…cool.”

     Narska shook his head, the mask’s peaks above the eyes slicing through the air. Rick thought about it. The masks did look like something a harlot would wear. Not that he’d ever solicited one. Of course not. Never.

     Ryvo and the others sat in the office of the owner of Powerfully Potent Potables. From a door behind the lone desk in the room, a four-armed humanoid entered. He had short brown fur, so soft and short in fact that it was more of a down than fur. The body under his fur was ripped with muscles. A perpetual frown traced lines in his face, while somber, pupilless eyes added to the effect. Standing at about Ryvo’s height—198 centimeters—he almost had to duck under the doorframe. For clothing he wore a four-armed, burgundy T-shirt (was it still called a T-shirt?) with a white tank top over it. The four sleeves were folded up, revealing bulging muscles. The alien didn’t smile, nod or in any other way acknowledge Ryvo or the Siths’ presence; he only took a seat behind the desk.

     “Ryvo,” growled the deep voice from the alien’s wide mouth, which stayed in a frown as he spoke. “You look different.”

     “Is that anything strange, really, Resik?” Ryvo asked.

     The burly alien again showed no expression. “I suppose not. How have you been?”

     “As well as I can be, until recently that is,” Ryvo said.

     “Oh?”

     Ryvo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah. My parents have been kidnapped by a pirate group known as Terrors of Space.”

     “I see,” Resik said. The ex-grappler paused meaningfully. “Are you sure they’re still alive?”

     “I have a pretty good idea,” Ryvo said. “But let me introduce you to my new friends here. Their general has been kidnapped by TOS, too. Kaj Lieno, Yeli and Mela. This is Resik.”

     Now Resik nodded, once, to nobody in particular.

     “Resik,” Ryvo began again, after the Siths returned the nod. “I know I already owe you big time, but I need your help. We have reason to believe that TOS has contacts or possibly even agents on Reuss Eight.”

     “You don’t owe me anything, for one,” Resik said. “I do what I do because the only payoff I want is knowing I am helping those in need.”

     Ryvo didn’t doubt it. Resik had risked his life countless times on several worlds by assisting Rebel agents in need by providing safehouses, arranging for transport offworld, and getting them information. He had been forced to relocate several times, and finally wound up on the quasi-anarchist Reuss VIII.

     “Secondly,” Resik continued, “my information network isn’t what is used to be. Ever since the fall of Palpatine, it’s been reduced, for whatever reasons. So I try to concentrate on obtaining information that will aid in my other, more important operations.”

     Ryvo nodded dejectedly. “But you must know someone who has at least heard something about TOS…”

     Resik grunted. “Finding a good information broker is like looking for a woman. You search for one that has specifically what you need and has it now. But what you find is invariably different than what you want.”

     “Interesting analogy,” Thunder said dryly.

     Resik spread his thick upper arms. “It works.”

     “Then how about you just give us a list of people you think might have what we need and we will go determine whether or not they do?” Jace asked.

     Resik looked at Ryvo.

     “You can trust us,” the Kiffar said. “It would mean a lot to me.”

     “I’m sure I can and I’m sure it would,” Resik said. “But what if something goes awry? I don’t think I could live with that, knowing I had somehow caused the information dealers’ deaths. These pirates sound like they mean business.”

     Jace started to raise his arm, but Ryvo gently pushed it down.

     “So there’s nothing you can do for us,” Ryvo said, sighing. He buried his face in his hands. “Nothing you can do. After all OMEGA has done for the Alliance and you can’t even point us in the direction of what we need.”

     This actually made Resik’s face contort into surprise. “OMEGA? Alliance?”

     Ryvo knew he had picked up on Resik’s weak spot. “Yep. OMEGA quietly assists the Alliance—excuse me, New Republic—in clandestine military operations.”

     Resik leaned back in his chair. “So that’s why you left the Alliance.”

     “Hey, I got tired of all the formalities,” Ryvo said shrugging.

     Resik looked back up. “OMEGA, huh? What does that stand for?”

     “Ordnance Munitions Equipment Gear Arms,” Jen said. “It’s what makes up our unit.”

     “Along with Order Morality Equality Gallantry Ardor,” Thunder added.

     Resik turned to Jace.

     “Organized Military and Enforcement Group, Associated,” the Tatooinian said. “But the women’s definitions apply, too.”

     “Our leader is an Asovan, obviously,” Ryvo said.

     “I’ve never heard of it,” Resik said.

     “We operate far from here,” Ryvo said. “All the way on the other side of the Outer Rim, mostly. We work with Spec Ops, so it’s all pretty much classified.”

     Ryvo watched Resik let it all sink in. He didn’t know the Jillsarian all that well, but he hated to lie to him. Ryvo always found it enjoyable to con people of all walks of life, as a test of his abilities if nothing else. But he wasn’t very comfortable telling this harmless lie to someone who had saved his ass only a few years back. He told himself it was for a good cause, and it was harmless, after all. What did it matter if Resik now thought the Alliance had a merc group doing jobs for them?

     Resik leaned forward. “You’re helping them with this new Ssi-Ruuk threat, aren’t you?”

     Ryvo looked at Jace, then shrugged. “You got us!”

     “But it’s a secret,” Jen put in. “Classified.”

     “I completely understand,” Resik said.

     There were a few seconds of silence.

     “Well?” Jace prompted.

     “There is one man who could undoubtedly get the information you need.” Resik nodded. “Deral Reiko.”

     Ryvo nodded in return. “I have of course heard of him. Never met him.” For the Siths’ benefit, he explained. “Reussi informant that works for Torel Vorne. He also does side jobs and is known to sell his information to the highest bidder, even late bidders after agreements have been made. Real slimy son of a bitch.”

     “That’s it, then,” Jace said. “Let’s go find him.”

     “Uh, that’s the problem,” Ryvo said with disappointment. “To get the information he does, he has to travel off of Reuss Eight.”

     “But he wants to make money, right?” Thunder reasoned. “Then there has to be a way to get in touch with him.”

     “Sure there is, but it will take time.” Ryvo bit his knuckle in thought. “We could send out a message and go with the other people you give us for the time being.”

     Resik grunted. “Big list. Any way we can pare it down?”

     “I’m sure we can,” Ryvo said. “We’ll start with the top five dealers you know of. Dealers that deal in all kinds of information. Even if they don’t have what we’re looking for, they will be able to point us in the direction of someone—not necessarily information brokers—who may have what we need.”

     “Hmmm.” The Jillsarian scratched his head with his upper right arm. “Do you remember the Broken Tusk?”

     Ryvo grinned. “How could I? Is that place still up and running?”

     “Yes, but under new management.”

     “Amazing,” Ryvo said, shaking his head. “I didn’t think that shoot-fighting bit would last. But obviously I was right, if they’re under new management.”

     Resik shook his head slowly. “Other reasons. It’s still going on strong.”

     “Shoot fighting?” Jace asked. “Here?”

     “Yeah, biggest venue in this part of the galaxy,” Ryvo said.

     “Sounds like something I’d like to see,” Thunder said. “Nothing like a good duel.”

     “So anyways, what was your point, Resik?” Ryvo asked.

     “My first recommendation spends quite a lot of time there.”

     “Who is it?”

     “The Devaronian.”

     Rick leaned back, sipping on his drink. Narska and Fox sat on either side of him, drinking their own preferred beverages. They were in one of the many small conversation pits between the entrance and the main gaming area. Five table and chair sets were in each pit, with barely enough space between them to walk. But in this space, two tables had been removes to make room for a Herglic, whose species was a staple in the gambling community.

     The human female at the Herglic’s side finished consulting with the huge alien and moved back to Rick’s table. She wasn’t exactly attractive…but not ugly, either. In Rick’s observation, she had a great body with an okay face. Her face was lightly scarred, but not from lacerations or contusions…probably from acid burns from Reuss VIII’s toxic atmosphere. It was clear she had spent most of her life on the planet, as there were tan lines where a breath mask usually sat on her face. Aside from the contrast in complexion and the scars, the only other imperfection on her face was a cleft in her chin. Still, her exotic eyes and high cheekbones made up for the imperfections.

     She slid into the empty chair at the table and ran her hand back through her shoulder length dark blonde hair. “Credentials, please.”

     Rick cleared his throat dramatically. “We are OMEGA. My name is Cameron.”

     “Got that much already.”

     “We live for the one, we die for the one, but we don’t die stupidly.”

     “Okay.”

     “We do not break away from combat.”

     “Great, but what my employer wants is—“

     “We never give up! Never surrender!”

     “Shut up, would you?” the woman rasped. “Now, I need to know of any battles you’ve fought in or anyone you have worked with. Stuff like that.”

     Rick chuckled. “You may or may not have heard about the battle that just went on in this very system?”

     “That was you?”

     “You bet it was,” Rick said, nodding. “We handed their asses to them. If that isn’t testament enough of our abilities, then I suggest your big buddy over there go in search of somebody he think may be better. Wait…there isn’t any one.”

     “That good, huh?”

     “That good.”

     Rick knew he had her in his crosshairs and was almost ready to go for the kill. Soon, she would be getting to the part about how much money they wanted. That was when he would squeeze the trigger. Figuratively, of course.

     “The job is simple.” The woman looked at Narska and Fox, then back to Rick. “An enemy of my employer is sending a shipment to Andasala. Huge convoy. We want you to take it out. Decimate it.”

     “Huge convoy is a bit vague…”

     “At least twenty ships, most of them escort, some of them big. We can’t be sure.”

     Rick pretended to ponder it. “Too many unknowns. I’m afraid I will have to jack up the price. Your intelligence is lacking.”

     The woman’s eyes widened and her nostrils flared. “Are you calling me stupid?”

     “No, no,” Rick said, holding up his hands. “I mean your intelligence…your information on the enemy’s plans.”

     “Oh, sorry,” the woman said, a little embarrassed. “How much?”

     “We ask three million.”

     The eyes and nostrils did their widening act again. “Three million? I hope you mean decicreds!”

     “Nope,” Rick said, shaking his head. “Credits.”

     “You can forget it,” she said. “The shipment isn’t worth much more than that.”

     “But you said you wanted the convoy destroyed, not captured,” Rick countered. “So the cargo’s value isn’t of consequence.”

     “Still too much.”

     Rick grinned. “Hey, we’re the best.”

     “I will take him your price,” the woman said, getting up.

     Rick knew she was probably assuming that the three million was proposed as a bargaining strategy; that by the end of the negotiations, the price would fall to what Rick really knew he could get. She was wrong.

     The woman whispered in the Herglic’s ear for a few moments. He turned to her and put a finned hand to her head and pulled her own ear close to his mouth. She nodded and returned to Rick’s table.

     “My employer’s response was ‘eat—‘”

     A blaster bolt tore through the woman’s chest, hitting the wall behind Fox. A second shot—missing the woman this time, as she had fallen face first to the table—hit Fox in the shoulder. Rick and Narska wasted no time. They flipped the table up on its side, dumping the dead woman onto the floor. Blasters were drawn in the time it took to flip the table, and several bolts were in the Herglic’s chest and head by the time the woman hit the floor. Fox screamed, moving behind the cover of the table during the commotion.

     “No,” the hybrid said, grasping his bloody shoulder. “It wasn’t him.”

     “Too late,” Rick said. “Who then?”

     “Someone…outside.”

     A few more shots hit the table, sending shards of metal flying in the conversation pit.

     “Well, I think you’ve managed to make us look conspicuous,” Narska said.

     “Yeah, and just think…I did it without starting a bar brawl or holding up a store.”

     Narska looked at him and shook his head. “I am in charge now. Leave it to a Bothan to get us out of this mess, okay?”

     Rick grinned sheepishly, then cringed as another shot hit the table.

     Andell walked through the command center.

     It was a walk he had made countless times, but this time it was different. Different not because the lights were shining bright or because circus music was blasting or for any other aesthetic reasons. It was different because it was probably his last. Last walk through anything.

     The doors to Xanthis’ private chamber opened. This time it was lit, albeit faintly. On the opposite end of the room in the center of the circle of light, the dark lord was sitting on a throne-like chair. He was still. So still that he could have been a wax sculpture. Andell moved forward until the doors closed behind him and stood at rigid attention.

     “Come before me,” Xanthis ordered. He was so far away that Andell didn’t see his mouth move.

     Andell approached Xanthis, and after what seemed to take an eternity, he reached the base of the Sith Lord’s elevated chair.

     “What happened?” Xanthis asked in a calm tone. Far calmer than Andell would have expected.

     “My Lord, the Last Dance and Nail in the Coffin have been destroyed,” Andell said, still standing, but bowing his head. “By Sith Squadron forces.”

     “What do these forces consist of?” Still calm. It was beginning to make Andell extremely nervous. There was always a calm before a storm.

     “That is uncertain, my Lord, but we were outnumbered.”

     Xanthis didn’t respond, and when Andell looked up, the dark lord was staring meaningfully. Well, not exactly staring, as he had no eyes.

     Andell understood. “The SSD was not involved.”

     “Then who assisted Sith Squadron in the decimation of our ships?”

     “I am looking into it, Lord Xanthis,” Andell said. “But may I clarify that they didn’t exactly destroy both of our ships? The Last Dance activated self-destruct.”

     “You say they were outnumbered,” Xanthis said, ignoring Andell’s clarification.

     “Yes, Lord, our ships along with the reinforcements I sent.”

     “Friends of yours?”

     “Not exactly,” Andell said. “Just someone with whom I do business.”

     “Are they angry?”

     “I took care of it, Lord Xanthis,” Andell said. “They pose no threat to us. They fear us.”

     “As well they should,” Xanthis said. He rose from his chair and descended the two steps to the floor. “You acted well, General Kovares. Much better than your forerunner did.”

     Andell was confused. “Many thanks, my Lord.”

     “I sense surprise in you.” Xanthis walked away a few steps, then turned back to Andell. “Why?”

     “Our ships are gone. Our men and droids, as well.”

     “So they are,” Xanthis agreed. “But they are replaceable. Reno isn’t. You made good decisions by sending reinforcements and ordering our ships to destroy themselves in the event of capture. The Terror of Space is still ours. Reno is still ours. Most importantly…we know where Sith Squadron is. Don’t we?”

     “Yes, my Lord.” Andell turned to follow Xanthis with his gaze as the Sith Lord strolled into the darkness of the chambers. “I have several hunters on them as we speak.”

     “They better be good. This is not some random prey.”

     “They are,” Andell reassured, then realized the ambiguity. “Good hunters, that is.”

     “Send the most heavily-armed freighters we have at our disposal,” Xanthis ordered. “Fill them with droids. We will need to have the prisoners held under only the highest level of security. And begin searching for ships to replace those we lost.”

     “I will, my Lord.”

     “And have your contact on Reuss killed,” Xanthis added, reappearing from the darkness on the edge of the lighted circle. “They somehow have a trace on him. We can’t have Sith Squadron finding him and getting our location, can we?”

     “Agreed, Lord Xanthis, but he is a valuable contact. Do you think it’s completely necessary to—“

     “Do it!” Xanthis roared, spinning to point at Andell. It was the first time he had broken his calm demeanor in this meeting.

     “I will have it done,” Andell said.

     “Good.” Xanthis continued his stroll through the chamber. “Now, we must address another question. Has Ryvo Lorell betrayed us?”

     Andell swallowed. He had received reports from his sources on Reuss that a tall man was accompanying the group who were believed to be disguised members of Sith Squadron. Obviously Ryvo Lorell. But if Xanthis found out, Lorell’s parents were as good as dead. But Xanthis would probably sense a straight out lie. Andell had only once choice.

     “A good question, my Lord,” Andell said. “But one that could be answered either way. They were clearly ready for an ambush, but that could be no more than paranoia that paid off for them. We know that the Strike cruiser they stole from us was in the system, so apparently the tracking device was on it.”

     “So their coming in force ruined our trap—a trap they only suspected—and Lorell didn’t betray us. Next scenario?”

     “Of course, it is possible that he warned them, and turned our trap for them into a trap for us.”

     “I see,” Xanthis said. “So did he betray us?”

     Andell shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so, my Lord. They had no way of knowing what would await them after feigning to take the bait. If he had warned them, they wouldn’t have risked what they had to possibly turn the tables on us.”

     “And the ships they had with them?”

     “As I mentioned before, conditioned paranoia, my Lord. Preparedness in a worst case scenario.” Andell shifted his feet. “And, also not to be forgotten, the mole would have contacted us if he had not complied.”

     “If the processing was complete enough!” Xanthis bellowed, swinging his head to Andell as he continued to walk.

     Andell looked down and nodded.

     Xanthis stopped, facing the darkness of the room. “Carry out the orders I have given you.”

     “Yes, my Lord.”

     As Andell left the room, he tried not to rejoice on the outside or inside. Xanthis had asked him if Ryvo Lorell had betrayed them. Since he had never worked willingly for TOS, he had not. Andell had not lied to Xanthis, but he surely had deceived him. Andell didn’t know anything about the Force, but he could only assume—and hope—that any deception Xanthis detected was mistaken for uncertainty and doubt concerning Lorell’s status.

     Narska tapped Rick on the shoulder. The youngster had been balled up, covering his head with his arms. The shooting had continued for a few seconds more, then stopped.

     “I think they gave up,” Narska said.

     “Or they could just be waiting for us to pop up, then take off our heads,” Rick suggested.

     A siren suddenly became audible and got louder by the second.

     “Great,” Narska said. “Police. Police on these kinds of planets do only one thing. They line up people like is and shoot them.”

     “Hey, police on these kinds of planets take bribes,” Rick countered. He indicated the other side of the table. “Even for manslaughter.”

     “Idiot,” Narska said. “The cops may be working with whoever tried to kill us. Like you said, they can be bribed.”

     “Well, let’s get the hell out of here, then,” Rick said. “Fox, can you walk?”

     The little furred alien growled. “Yeah, as long as I don’t do a handstand and walk on my arms.”

     “Smart ass,” Rick said.

     “Must be the Bothan coming out in him,” Narska said. “Here’s the plan. Any second now, those cops are going to come through that door. Rick and me will lift the table and we will run with it to the fat guy’s snack bar. Fox, you will stay with us and get the door open. When we’re almost there, we will throw the table and all three of us will push it with TK towards the cops. Got it?”

     Rick and Fox nodded.

     “Now!” Narska shouted.

     Rick grabbed his side of the metal table, which was heavier than it looked, and it looked plenty heavy. As they stepped out of the conversation pit, he saw the expired human female and her equally expired Herglic boss. Brings a whole new meaning to dead end negotiations, Rick thought. He almost put the thought to words for Narska and Fox’s benefits, but thought better of it. Now was not the time nor place for such repartee.

     They ran sideways and backwards towards the establishment’s refreshment station that they had visited earlier. They made it halfway before the main entrance to the game hall bust open. Without hesitation, Narska gave the order and Rick threw the table with all his strength. Using the Force, he pushed and guided it across the room towards the raiding police officers. With Narska and Fox’s help, it made a tremendous impact on both the cops and the situation. As Rick tore through the snack bar’s door, which Fox had no trouble at all getting open as it was a swinging door with a round window near eye level, he heard some of the cops shriek in pain.

     As the three Siths ran through the small and filthy food prep area, the overly adiposed chef looked up from a seat that defied physics by supporting him. The cigar fell from his mouth as he pointed and shouted, but Rick grabbed an overly ripe tomato and pitched it, landing it square in the man’s mouth, shutting him up and sending him flailing back into the chair.

     With Narska in the lead, they broke through the back door and emerged into an alley. Archaic waste receptacles stood outside the half dozen doors that were spread out along the walls. Narska pointed to them and Rick knew his plan. Again using telekinesis, they moved two of the dumpsters in front of the door they had just exited, one long ways against the door, the other perpendicular. If the cops somehow managed to budge the heavy trash bins, they would only be able to open the door a few centimeters. Rick and his two comrades had three more of the dumpsters zigzagged down the alley just in time to block the police van that screeched around the corner.

     Rick knew that the other end of the alley would soon show a similar picture, but with only one dumpster for protection. Even if there had been ten, they couldn’t stay in the alley forever. They had to get out of there. Not wanting to be outdone by Narska, he came up with an idea. He shouted for Narska and Rick to follow, then charged the last dumpster, which was graciously barely half full of garbage, none of it food or anything else with the potential to be slimy and rank. Removing his lightsaber from its concealment, he leapt into the air, and landed inside the bin. Jamming the flash suppressor against the metal, he ignited the blade and cut a twenty centimeter long gash in the dumpster. By then his furry companions had joined him, neither none too happy from the sound of it.

     “Great plan,” Narska said. “I am sure they will never find us in this covert little cubby hole of yours.”

     “You got it all wrong, Narska,” Rick said, with more than a hint of arrogance in his tone. “Let’s roll this sucker!”

     “Roll it?”

     “It provides the wheels, we provide the propulsion,” Rick said, looking through his makeshift peephole. “You guys push, I will steer.”

     “This is crazy,” the Bothan said.

     “Just do it!” Rick said. “And now that we have time, we’d better put our breath masks on. I’m already feeling sort of wheezy.”

     Rick strapped his breathing apparatus to his face and took another looked out of the peephole. Still nothing from the open end of the alley, but blaster shots began hitting the dumpster from the other end as the police were climbing around the makeshift barricades. Finally Narska and Fox had the dumpster moving. It tore out of the alley and onto the street, narrowly avoiding a collision with a small ground car.

     Rick used the Force to nudge the dumpster to the right, and merged with the sparse traffic. Confident that they were out of danger for the moment, he stuck his head up over the edge of the bin. Looking over at the car beside him, he found its occupants staring at him. The two human females and human male were obviously offworld spacers. The female sitting alone in back was smiling like she was in anticipation of the punch line of a joke. Rick gave her a Kool-aid smile and the thumbs up. The three people burst into laughter and Rick slumped back down into the dumpster.

     “We can’t keep this up much longer,” Narska said, his eyes shut.

     “Don’t worry, we’re about to go downhill,” Rick assured him. “That should give you a break.”

     “Downhill?” Narska and Fox both cried out.

     Rick held up a hand. “Not that steep. Relax.”

     Sirens began ringing from behind them.

     “That sound isn’t very conducive to relaxation,” Narska said.

     “Why did we get stuck with this job?” Rick asked while burying his face in is hands.

     “Because we’re the new guys,” Narska said. “We’ve got to earn our stripes, so to speak. Every fraternal organization has a system like this.”

     “I didn’t know we were a fraternal organization.”

     “We have parties with lots of liquor and loud music that end up with us all engaging in violent acts,” Narska pointed out. “Close enough.”

     “Damn it!” Rick cursed while looking through his makeshift viewport. “They’re trying to cut us off ahead. Coming down a cross street.”

     “Turn!”

     Without thinking, Rick nudged the dumpster to the right and cut down an alley, this one much wider and clearer than the one they had escaped from. A few pedestrians jumped out of the way of the runaway trash bin as it sped through. Rick oriented the dumpster to exit the alley straight down the middle so that he would have more time to make a left or right turn once he determined which was best. As the dumpster flew out of the alley, it rolled off the curb and landed on one of the forward wheels, ripping it clean off. The forward momentum was killed by the dumpster’s wheelless corner scraping against the ground. It stopped in the middle of the street, sitting there like a wild Cracian thumper that had been hit with a tranquilizer dart.

     The police vehicle that had tried to cut them off roared around the corner of the next cross street. Tires screeching, it came to a halt and four armed men debarked. They raised their blaster rifles and opened fire on the dumpster. Their shots were joined by the blaster cannon mounted on the patrol van Shot after shot hit the dumpster, shattering and melting it to slag.

     As their destination became visible as they rounded a bend in the street, Jace had a moment of déjà vu. A long ship aimed at the sky, its long shape tapering into a point at the stern, made obvious by the cluster of drive engines arrayed around the tip. It was inclined at roughly forty-five degrees, and if the bow still existed, it was hidden from view in a crushed building of some sort. There was a similar site in Mos Eisley on Jace’s homeworld of Tatooine.

     One thing set them apart, though: signs. A tall, vertical sign that almost met the height of the wrecked ship displayed the name of the place. Broken Tusk. The way the sign was designed, Jace half expected it to flash red or pink every two seconds. A horizontal sign showing the same information stretched along the entrances to the small parking garage.

     Jace’s group, who were on foot, skirted through the motley assortment of landspeeders, groundcars and hovercraft to approach the entrance. They got as far as the door when a clawed, furry hand clamped onto Jace’s shoulder. He had sensed it a half second beforehand and had raised the blaster rifle slung around his neck in anticipation of attack. He was on the receiving end of an attack, but of the aesthetic sort. A snarling, toothy, hairy visage filled his field of vision.

     “What are you doing?” the Shistavanen growled, slobber dripping from the alien’s yellow teeth.

     Jace jabbed a thumb behind him. “We’re here to see the fighting.”

     “Show isn’t until twenty-two hundred. You have to wait in line!”

     The slobber became projectile this time, and Jace was glad he was wearing his sunglasses and breath mask.

     “I hate lines,” Jen said, folding her arms over her chest and eyeing the line going around the building.

     Ryvo cleared his throat and looked at Jace and the two female Sith. “May I?”

     “You may,” Jace said, shrugging. This was as good a time as any to size up Ryvo’s ability.

     “You will grant us access and you will do it now,” Ryvo said to the Shistavanen. “Look at our clothes. We’re part of the show.”

     The Wolfman looked them up and down, then shook his head. “Of course.” The guard stepped over to a small control pad and entered a code. The durasteel doors split apart and the Siths entered, much to the chagrin of the lined up fans.

     “That never gets old,” Ryvo said once the doors closed behind them.

     A hissing sound came from the ceiling of the short, wide room, and soon after a green light came on above the next set of doors; the air was clean. They all removed their breath masks and Jace hit the switch to open the airlock doors. Passing through a high arch, they entered a large room, centered around a sunken center. Surrounding the core were long benches arranged in rough circles, gradually rising to the top, where tables of varying size and shape provided more seating. Beyond the tables, bars, booths and small electronic games of chance lined the walls. The neon lights and flashing colors of the bars and games were eye-catching, but none were as much an attention grabber as what was going on in the lower heart of the room. Past the meter high transparent barrier in front of the front row benches, an octagon-shaped ring sat in the middle of the fifteen meter clearing. Several humans and aliens were in and around the ring, fighting. Sparring was more like it, since none of them were taking damage. At least not enough to make them fall or cradle their wounds.

     Still watching the action, Jace spoke up. “So I wonder how long we will have to wait for this guy to show up, if he does.”

     “How about not at all?” Thunder said, pointing to the far left corner of the room.

     Jace moved his gaze to match the vector of Thunder’s gesture. Sitting at a lone, private table immersed in shadows, was a bright red-skinned Devaronian. Although he was barely visible, Jace couldn’t miss the toothy grin on the horned alien’s face.

     “Well, let’s go,” Jace said, starting for the Devaronian.

     “Wait,” Ryvo said. He went to the nearest bar and made a short exchange with the bartender, a near-human of a race Jace didn’t recognize.

     When Ryvo returned, he gave Jace a reassuring nod and waved back to the table of destination. As they approached, two short, stocky, furry aliens became visible on either side of the Devaronian. The fur slackened on the face, revealing that they had protruding brows ending in short horns, large nostrils and two tusks coming from their bottom row of teeth. Jace thought their appearance best resembled that of Snivvians on anabolic steroids. The two apparent bodyguards stood with their arms crossed over their chests as the Siths and Ryvo arrived at the table.

     “I like the clothing,” the Devaronian said. “But this table already taken. You can sit at next one, and we enjoy watching fights together, hah?”

     “We want to talk to you,” Jace said.

     “I hear words, but I don’t hear language I understand.”

     Jace scowled. “What?”

     “I let my assistant in charge of protocol show you,” the Devaronian said.

     One of the bodyguards reached down and grabbed a pouch at his belt, shaking it. Credits rattled inside.

     “Now that is language I understand,” the Devaronian said, smiling more widely.

     “Well,” Jace said. “I don’t speak it, at least not yet. I guess I will have to go find someone who can teach me.”

     The Tatooine native turned to leave, prompting the Devaronian to stand, too.

     “Wait, I teach, I teach.” When Jace stopped, the crimson-pigmented alien sat back down, albeit under strain. “Sit sit.”

     Jace, Thunder and Jen took the remaining four seats at the table. Ryvo stood, folding his arms like the Devaronian’s bodyguards. Jace hoped Ryvo’s height—that of a few centimeters short of two meters—was as intimidating as the Devaronian’s guard’s beastliness.

     Jace was about to go into the first step of his plan when a Jastaal waitress fluttered up with a tray. She sat four drinks on the table and Ryvo took the last one from the tray. He flipped a credit onto the tray and the Jastaal flew off.

     The Devaronian looked down at his proffered drink. “Ah, local ale. So you are assassins.”

     “It’s that bad?” Thunder asked, smelling her drink.

     “First rule of space travel: don’t buy local ale on planet you have to wear breathing mask.”

     “That’s good advice,” Jen said, frowning at her own drink. “What’s the second rule?”

     The Devaronian grinned. “Don’t pass up free drink from stranger.” He downed his ale. “Now what you want from me? Fights start quick quick!”

     “Let my assistant in charge of data extraction tell you,” Jace said mockingly.

     “Tell us where we can find anyone that have ties to the Terrors of Space,” Jen said. “Tell us their names, their associates’ names and their ships’ names.”

     The Devaronian looked at Jen, unsmiling, then roared in laughter. “You think I’m stupid because I live on stinky world! You think I’m drunk guy who will tell you what you want to know!”

     Jen gave Jace a sidelong glance; step two. “Hey, we didn’t say we weren’t going to compensate you.”

     “You make good point,” the Devaronian said. “But not that simple. I am old. Very old. I am so old my wanderlust died long time ago.” The Devaronian gave Jen and Thunder lascivious looks. “But not regular lust.”

     Jen and Thunder shot back wicked glares. The Devaronian’s face contorted into sheepishness.

     “Point is I am old. Made much money. Saw many things. I am bored now. I come here to have fun. Down there is where fun is, you bet.”

     Jace looked down at the ring area. “You gamble on the fights.”

     “Good thinking. I bet you graduate from University of Sanbra.”

     “So you want to gamble with us for the information we want?” Jace asked, ignoring the sarcasm.

     “Ha!” The Devaronian croaked. “Not quite, but you are close. You probably graduate from community college.”

     Thunder moved in her seat. “If you don’t want to teach us this ‘language’ of yours, we will teach you ours! It’s called Blasterese!”

     The two bodyguards dropped their hands to their blasters, but the Devaronian held up his hands.

     “Be calm,” he said. “Everyone friends here. I explain now, hokay? You want information I can get—and I can—you have to be in fights. More people you beat, more things I tell you about what you want to know.”

     Jace thought about it. He had no doubt he could beat whoever was thrown at him, but this was a waste of time. They needed to get the information and get the hell out of there. He decided to try a more direct approach.

     “What if I kill you?” Jace asked, leaning forward.

     The Devaronian flashed a humorless smile and shrugged. “Doofy and Stretch here might have little problem with that.”

     “I can take them,” Jace said confidently as the guards dropped their hands to their holsters again.

     The Devaronian put his hands over his guard’s arms. “Maybe you can, but not matter to me. Like I say, I saw many things. I live exciting life! You kill me, you don’t hurt me and you don’t get information.”

     Jace cursed inwardly at the Devaronian’s stubbornness. Jace was about to move to step four, which involved a not-so-subtle kidnapping and torture, but the way this Devaronian was displaying his obstinacy, Jace didn’t have faith that torture or even a mind probe would work. And he realized the Devaronian was right. If Jace killed him, he would get no information and they would be back to square one. They were still waiting on a call from Deral Reiko, who only possibly had the information they needed. This Devaronian seemed like he did have what they needed.

     “I’ll fight,” Jace said. “I suppose it’s pointless in asking for the information up front.”

     “Consider information not even being in here,” the Devaronian said, knocking on his horned skull, “until you win tournament.”

     “Tournament?” Jace asked. “What are you talking about?”

     “Annual regional championship tomorrow,” the Devaronian said. “You start in qualifying round today. But funny you should ask, however. I demand one thousand credits up front. Processing fee.”

     “Wait a minute,” Ryvo said. “If you’re demanding a fee, then so do we. We will give you your five hundred credits—“

     “One thousand.”

     “—if you tell us of any Nalroni who might be in competition with the person or persons we’re looking for.”

     “Ha! This highly irregular.”

     Ryvo nodded. “Yes. It is.”

     Jace smirked inwardly. Ryvo had the old devil there. Forcing someone to gamble on himself in a shoot-fighting competition? Not only was that the product of an irregular mind, it was the product of a demented one.

     The Devaronian sighed. “Things I do to alleviate boredom. I hear from other spectator who hear from doorman that certain Nalroni going through rough times. He resort to hauling slaves. He rarely come to this sector or this part of galaxy, even. Mostly Quence sector when he does.”

     “He, he, he,” Jace said.

     “What you find so funny, hah?”

     “I think he means the pronoun,” Jen said. “What is the Nalroni’s name?”

     The Devaronian bumped himself in the head. “Sometimes I wake up with horns on crooked. His name is Drolen Antig.”

     “Bastard,” Ryvo said.

     “You know him,” Jace said.

     “Everyone from Celanon City knows him,” Ryvo said. “Well, anyone worth their weight in nerf crap does. Here go your six hundred credits.”

     The Devaronian scooped up the money and waved his other hand. “My eight hundred?”

     Ryvo tossed down a few more coins. “Six fifty and don’t forget the drink I bought you.”

     “It settled, then,” the Devaronian said. He looked to Jace. “If you are one to fight, you better sign in quick quick. First qualifying match start in one hour! Go there to booth next to bar on far side. Tell them I sent you.”

     “And your name is…”

     The toothy smile flashed again. “They simply call me Devaronian.”

     The dumpster was nothing more than a cooling piece of twisted metal and plastic by the time the police moved in on it, their weapons raised, as if by some miracle something would come out alive and ready to fight. If anything was alive in there, then it was comparable to being in an absentminded Corellian grandmother’s oven; a ryshecate burned and way past edibility.

     Luckily, nobody was in the dumpster.

     Rick looked back to where he had burned a hole through the dumpster and ground to find glowing ashes and chunks of permacrete still falling into the sewer. He kept running, his lightsaber the only illumination in the sewer tunnel. Narska and Fox followed closely, their blasters drawn. As Rick’s eyes followed the path his feet took, he became grateful that he was wearing a breath mask. Multicolored substances that he refrained from trying to identify sat in centimeter-deep brown water.

     “Narska, tactical assessment,” Rick said as he continued to move through the sewer at a brisk pace.

     “We’ve just gone from a heated situation to a real shitty one,” the Bothan said, as if he were giving a serious report.

     Rick stopped in his tracks and turned to Narska. “That’s pretty good.”

     “Thanks. I’m the default morale officer.”

     “Seriously, what do we do?”

     Narska sighed. “Well, my first suggestion would be to run like hell before they figure out where we went and come after us.”

     Rick ran on. “But we’re already doing that.”

     “Slow down for a minute,” Narska said. “We can leave a little surprise for any pursuit.”

     The Bothan unzipped a pocket and pulled out a long strip of soft metal with a wire attached to one end. From a pouch he produced a roll of detonite tape. He took the tape and ripped a long piece off, sticking it to the metal strip. Bending down, he glanced back at Rick.

     “I wish I had some gloves.”

     Rick spread his arms.

     “I have some,” Fox said, pulling them from a pocket on his loose pants.

     “I’m sure they’ll fit,” Narska said.

     “Just have him do it,” Rick suggested.

     Narska scratched his chin. “Let’s see, touch this stuff or risk our lives by having the kid set the bomb. Considering how long it will take to get this smell off of my hands if we get out of this alive, I will go with the latter.”

     “Just hurry,” Rick said.

     “Hurrying is one of the things you don’t do when it comes to demolition,” Narska said. “Now, kid, take the strip and slide it under the sludge away from sight. There you go. Okay, now get over there with Rick while I activate the trip.”

     Narska touched his boot to the small control pad on one end of the metal strip. He slowly tiptoed back to Fox and Rick. The three of them crept away another five meters or so and then resumed their run.

     “That’s an awful thin trip,” Rick commented. “You think they’ll actually step on it?”

     “They’re sure to send more than a few men after us,” Narska said. “Besides, they’ll shake the surrounding area enough to set it off. It won’t stop them, but it’ll slow them down.”

     Rick nodded, turning as the tunnel curved off to the left. “It might warp the tunnel, possibly even blocking it.”

     “And it will make them more wary about barreling down after us,” Narska added. “They will send in demolitions experts, detectors, maybe even droids.”

     Rick stopped again. “Droids.”

     “Yeah, you know. Robots, automata, mechanicals…”

     Rick glared at Narska. “I mean they could send in some security droids after us. They wouldn’t have to risk lives and they might even be repulsorlift-equipped.”

     Narska opened an arm to the tunnel. “All the more reason to stop standing here gabbing and start running.”

     “All right, all right,” Rick said, resuming his pace. “But what’s your next suggestion? This tunnel doesn’t go on forever. What do they do with the waste? Incinerate it?”

     “Probably.” Narska sighed. “We’ll deal with that bridge when we come to it.”

     “If it isn’t already burnt by the incinerator?”

     “Very cute.”

     Fox growled. “Don’t forget, there is still the minor problem that my shoulder is bleeding.”

     “Don’t worry,” Rick said. “I’ve got a medpac on my belt. Once we stop, we’ll patch you up.”

     Narska patted Fox on his good shoulder. “In the meantime, youngster, you can console yourself with the fact that on many primitive planets people pay to have parasites suck the blood right out of them.”

     “I feel so much better,” Fox said, his voice dripping with so much sarcasm it could have splashed into the rest of the crap in the sewer.

     “Don’t get used to it,” Rick said. He stopped once again and lifted a long, crushed piece of rectangular metal for all to see. Fluid dripped from it and gave off a very chemical smell. “Somewhere along the way, the medpac got smashed. Narska, do you have one?”

     The Bothan looked at Rick then down at his flimsy costume. The answer was obvious.

     “Damn,” Rick said. He pried open the medpac. “All smashed. I’ve got an idea. Fox, has Star taught you anything about controlling pain?”

     “Some, of course,” the little hybrid said. “She is a healer, after all.”

     “Well, do it, then,” Rick said. “Because you’re going to need it.”

     Fox stared in surprise. “What are you doing?”

     “We have to stop that bleeding.”

     “How?”

     Rick huffed. “Prepare yourself!”

     Fox looked at him for another moment, then nodded. He closed his eyes and breathed with his paws clasped behind his back, the shoulder wound open and uncovered, blood seeping from it. Rick carefully held his lightsaber away and tore Fox’s costume around the injured area. Fox continued to stand silent and still.

     Rick stood back and held his blade out, closing his own eyes. Using the Force, he examined the distance between his blade and Fox’s blaster wound. Slowly, letting the Force guide it, he lowered the blade. Millimeter by millimeter it descended until the farthest edges of the energy stream made contact. Fox did not remain still during this. A bellow roared through the sewer tunnel, draining out the sizzle of fur and flesh being burned. It was so alien and so full of anguish that it actually scared Rick. He pulled his lightsaber back from Fox before his broken concentration caused it to move the other way and add to the damage rather than repair it.

     Rick opened his eyes to inspect his cauterization job. Fox’s teeth were clenched and his head was shaking from strain. His hand was covering the wound again. Rick went to grab Fox’s hand and almost lost his own to sharp teeth that snapped so fast that any normal human wouldn’t have pulled away in time. But Rick wasn’t normal.

     “Hey, I need to see—“

     “GRRRRRRRRR!”

     Rick looked to Narska. “Bothan side coming out again?”

     “No,” Narska said. “’Some Jerk Just Burned Me with an Ancient Weapon’ side, I think.”

     “Come on, you have to know about field treatment.”

     Narska spread his arms and smiled noncommittally.

     “Now, Fox, show us that wound!” Rick ordered. “Show us or we’ll have to cut your arms off to see it. It’ll start a whole cycle until you don’t have any limbs left. Not a very encouraging proposition, is it?”

     Fox tore his arm from the wound, still glaring at Rick.

     Rick and Narska zoomed in. The wound had been neatly cauterized, leaving a short furrowed scar. Dried blood had soaked the fur around the scar. Rick sifted through it, looking for anything he had missed.

     “It looks like I missed a lower portion,” Rick said. “A centimeter or so. Your scream made me lose my concentration. I can finish it and—“

     Fox growled.

     Rick shrugged. “On the other hand, it’s fine for now. The proximity of the heat slowed the bleeding there. At least I got most of it.”

     “You know, kid,” Narska said, “that scar is for life, unless you undergo some major plastic surgery.”

     “At least he’s alive,” Rick countered.

     “Rick’s right,” Fox said with a hint of reluctance to his voice. “Besides, I kinda like the scar. Gives me a rough edge.”

     Rick and Narska exchanged glances.

     “We’ve been standing around here for too long,” Rick said glancing back down the tunnel, even though he couldn’t see anything around the bend. “Let’s get out of here.”

     “Five hundred credits!” Ryvo exclaimed. “Refundable only if you win! What a rip-off!”

     The spectators had been allowed to enter, and the benches were quickly filling up for the imminent qualifying matches. Lots of humans and aliens and very few Reussi, which was normal for the Tusk. Ryvo stood with the Siths at one of the rear bars, away from the bulk of the audience.

     Thunder shrugged. “You figure fifty-plus contestants, five hundred each. That’s the prize money, promotional fees, the crew, referees’ and judges’ payoffs, and the rational for the ‘free drinks.’”

     “Plus a twenty credit cover fee for every spectator,” Ryvo added. “Not too shabby for the owners. Whoever they are now.”

     “Who were the old owners?” Jace asked. “Resik mentioned new management.”

     “A couple of Gamorrean brothers used to own the place,” Ryvo said. “Hell, they opened the place. I don’t know what happened to them. But I have some ideas.”

     Jace raised his head in question.

     “During the daytime, the place was closed. On certain days, it was rumored that Imperial officers from the region would come with captured Rebel soldiers and force them to fight. Sometimes against overwhelming odds.”

     Jace nodded. “And you think their deal with the Imps somehow went sour.”

     Ryvo nodded back.          

     “Makes sense. Someone resourceful enough picked up the pieces and took over.” Jace looked at Ryvo. “You don’t think…”

     “Imperials running this place?” Ryvo asked thoughtfully. “Interesting idea. Most Imps would love the idea of watching aliens beat the crap out of each other.”

     “Or humans beating the crap out of aliens,” Thunder amended. “We’ll see how biased the brackets are once they are up. That will at least give us something more than speculation.”

     “You mean when we will see the brackets,” Jace said, indicating himself and Jen. “I want you and Ryvo to try and find that Nalroni. He is our failsafe. If for some reason I don’t get what we need from this Devaronian, then the Nalroni will be all we have left.”

     Ryvo frowned. “As much as I hate to leave, I was going to suggest going after Antig. It won’t be hard to find him. He screws over so many of the people he does business with that nobody will protect him.”

     “Sounds like you can get along fine without me, then,” Thunder said to Ryvo.

     “No,” Jace said. “Just go. I know you want to see my ass get kicked, but Ryvo could use your help, despite what he says.”

     Ryvo watched Thunder stare into Jace eyes. He could almost see electricity flowing between the two Siths. Thunder was in a difficult situation, Ryvo knew. She probably agreed with Jace’s assessment, but if she agreed with him, it would make her look subordinate to him. If she acted against his wishes, then she would be betraying her own instincts. Instincts that told her not to trust Ryvo. The same instincts that made Jace send Thunder along with Ryvo. Suddenly Ryvo felt like his significance was blown out of proportion. It was an ego boost that made him feel uncomfortable and out of place. He decided to cut in and break up the situation.

     “I could actually use your help, Thunder,” Ryvo said. “Palin is probably too busy and Tyros will still be in sickbay for at least a few more hours.”

     “All right,” Thunder said, not breaking her glare from Jace. “Sounds like a hunt. Can’t pass up on one of those. How do we get back?”

     “Take back the Just Like That,” Jace said. “When Tyros is ready, have him bring it back.”

     Thunder nodded.

     “I really wish we could stay,” Ryvo said. “Sounds like it’ll be a good show. I’d probably enter if I was staying.”

     Jen laughed. “You say that now that you’re leaving.”

     “I’m serious!” Ryvo shook his head. “I might even have gone up against Jace.”

     Jace’s face brightened slightly. “This could have been an idea.”

     Ryvo winced, then nodded knowingly. “Great minds think alike.”

     “Are we missing something?” Jen asked.

     “We could have thrown the match, thus advancing Jace a round without taking too much damage,” Ryvo explained.

     Thunder clicked her tongue. “You wouldn’t…”

     “Hey, this is Reno we’re talking about,” Jace said.

     Thunder looked down and even Jen sobered. Ryvo understood that Reno’s name evoked somberness and curtailed tomfoolery, and Jace had used it expediently.

     “But that plan is no longer valid,” Jace said. “You two can take off as soon as you’re ready.”

     “Are you sure?” Ryvo asked. “We can always find Antig after we leave here.”

     Jace shook his head. “What if you find him before the Devaronian speaks up? That means we will accomplish the mission faster.”

     “And it saves your ass from getting kicked that much more,” Thunder added. “Ryvo, we’ll have to look real slow. Let’s go.”

     Ryvo watched Thunder walk off, shrugged at Jace and Jen, and followed. He had some serious business to take care of, and he truthfully would need Thunder’s help.