Jace limped through the curtains. The injury and weariness he presented to the audience was mainly for show—as he didn’t want to look invincible, for it might rouse suspicion—but he did have an ache in his right knee. He really must learn to kick with his left more often. The fighter he had left in the ring wasn’t so lucky to get away with a sore knee. Jace had shattered her pelvis with a snapkick before using the same leg stretch submission move he had used on Tull Raine. Had the girl given up after the snapkick, the submission move wouldn’t have been necessary. But she hadn’t.

     “You really kriffed her up,” Jen said, neither sympathy nor sadism apparent in her tone.

     “I did what I had to do to win,” Jace corrected.

     The med-techs came through the curtains with Jace’s beaten opponent on a stretcher. The Twi’lek girl gave Jace a nasty snarl, displaying two front rows of teeth that had been filed to points. Almost none of her naturally green skin was visible—and she wore only hip-hugging shorts, a halter-top and combat boots; tattoos adorned her stocky body from head to toe, in every shade of the spectrum, in many different forms. There were intricate geometrical designs, faces of interstellar celebrities drawn on not-so-flattering parts of the body, and even a tattoo above her cleavage of the Evil One from a sabaac deck with a much smaller Idiot within its jaws. What Jace found particularly grotesque were the tattoos on her lekku: both bore designs making them appear to be vipers, complete with gaping maws with dripping fangs at the ends. Not really anything more than an aesthetic problem for Jace, but a real disadvantage for any ophidiaphobe who might face the Twi’lek in combat.

     Jace took a few steps towards her. The med-techs had stopped and cut off the left side of her shorts to access the fractured bone; with the direness of her injury, shuttling her on to a private dressing room was out of the question, as was removing her shorts in the very public gorilla position, if for no other reason than revealing what terrible tattoos lie beneath.

     “Hey, you should’ve submitted,” Jace said, sounding more critical than apologetic.

     “Before—“ she began, grunting in pain. Her face wrinkled for a moment, the pink spiral galaxy etching around her right eye contracting slightly. “Before or after…this?!”

     Jace spread his arms. “Whenever.”

     Her eyes opened wide. The black contact lens she wore on her right eye appeared to be the event horizon of the pink galaxy. The yellow one in her left eye went with the snake theme of her lekku. She looked like she was going to speak again when the med-techs sprayed some kind of clear mist on her massive hip. Shuddering in pain, she looked down at them, then fainted.

     Jace turned from the Twi’lek as one of the med-techs muttered something about the kind of people that participate in uncivilized blood sports...to find a microphone in his face. Held by the dumb blonde woman.

     “Cam Revyg, you’re undefeated thus far in the tournament! How do you feel?”

     “With my hands,” Jace said. He looked at Blondy’s amply displayed cleavage. “How do you feel?”

     “Fine, thank you,” the interviewer said with a smile.

     Jace looked at Jen, then tried to step around Blondy. The women sidestepped to block Jace.

     “Cam, from the looks of your last opponent, you’re living up to your goal of inflicting pain.”

     “No one is immune from it,” Jace said in a menacing tone. “Not even people holding a microphone.”

     Blondy looked at the holocam and laughed. “Somebody better run to the ring and tell ring announcer Whardo Kinfell.”

     “To announce to everyone in the building that you’re a dumbass!” Jen finished for her enthusiastically.

     “This interview is over,” Jace said.

     He walked off with Jen in tow, leaving Blondy dumbfounded. The director jumped out from behind her, holding his arms up to stop them.

     “Another good interview,” he said, waving his arm in a grandiose gesture. He pointed to Jen. “But keep her out of it next time.”

     Jen threw a thumb over her shoulder, indicating Blondy. “Put her in clothing one size smaller and there won’t be room for me. Or him.”

     “I’ve got to get a shower,” Jace said, shouldering past the director.

     “No!”

     “What?”

     “Not now,” the director said, posting his hand on his hip. “The boss wants to see you.”

     Jace pursed his lips. “The boss.”

     “Yes, he told me to bring you immediately.”

     “He…told you…to bring me?” Jace asked, almost smiling. “You think you can do that?”

     The director slowly shook his head, a smile of pity on his face. “No.”

     Then a giant hand landed on Jace’s shoulder. Not a hand, two fingers, Jace saw as he looked down. Two fingers of a colossal hand. He slowly turned and raised his head until he saw the face of the hand’s owner. An Esoomian, taller by almost a meter and a half and more than twice as wide as Jace at the shoulder. The alien’s two short, thick mouth tentacles quivered as he looked down at Jace.

     “You come,” the Esoomian said in a way that made it sound less an order than a forgone conclusion. To him, there was no way Jace would refuse. And he didn’t.

     “Let’s get this over with,” Jace said.

     When Jen started to follow, the director cleared his throat meaningfully.

     “The boss doesn’t like a lot of company. If you would, miss, please return to your dressing room.”

     Jen looked at the director for a few seconds, then to Jace. He nodded to her and she nodded back. No reason to stir up any trouble. They were on track and Jace didn’t want to jeopardize anything. Besides, somebody should be there to stand guard by their locker, which held the blasters, comlinks and lightsabers they’d brought with them. Jen found a way to not totally lose face in the situation by making a biting remark to the director, but Jace didn’t catch it, as his Esoomian escort grunted at him in a clear message to hurry it up.

     As Jace walked astride the giant alien, he hoped to Sadow that this brute wouldn’t be one of his opponents in the tournament. The walk wasn’t very far: through some curtains to a narrow corridor cluttered with torn ringside padding, bent and broken stanchions for keeping the lined up fans lined up, and other forms of junk. At the end of the corridor there was another Esoomian, indistinguishable from the first by Jace’s eye. It opened the door and waved Jace through. Jace stepped into the space beyond, shadowed—more like shaded—by his escort.

     As a sharp contrast to the hallway, the room was decorated with grace. A black lacquer desk that matched the tiled floors sat on an oval-shaped animal pelt rug. Painting, sconces and shelves with sculptures adorned the white walls. The only light source was a white glow panel in the ceiling, illuminating the room to near-perfection: not exactly dim, yet not the power of an O-class star.

     Jace looked at the chair behind the desk, its back facing him. It was high-backed, wide and made of leather. He saw a patch of brown fur on the left side. Was a Wookiee running the place? Better yet, it was probably an Ewok. At this point, after all that had gone down on Reuss VIII, it would make perfect sense. But when the chair slowly rotated to reveal its occupant, Jace’s half serious presumptions were put to rest.

     An Adnerem sat low in the chair, its arms resting gently on the chair’s arms. The Adnerem were thin aliens with roughly triangle-shaped heads and large, opaque eyes. Their skin ranged in color from light gray to dark gray…and was completely hairless. The brown fur Jace had spotted belonged to the creature wrapped around the Adnerem’s body. It was a furred ophidian, with a face resembling a cross between a canine and a rodent. At first Jace assumed it to be part of the Adnerem’s flashy attire, but when the furred thing’s eyes moved, the assumption dissolved.

     The Adnerem said nothing. He only stared at Jace with his large eyes. Jace knew the Adnerem to be a very contemplative species, not quick to talk in public places, and this office was moderately public place, at least for an Adnerem.

     “You ruined the plan,” the Adnerem said.

     Jace decided the play wiseguy and offered his hand. “Cam Revyg.”

     When the mammal-snake clacked its jaws down twice in quick succession, Jace pulled his hand back. What was that thing?

     “Chonat,” the Adnerem continued. “You ruined the plan.”

     “Is Chonat some kind of curse or your name?”

     “My name. Would you care to respond to my statement?”

     Jace let out a breath. “What plan are you speaking of?”

     Chonat worked his narrow chin for a moment, as if preparing to answer, then nodded to the Esoomian, whom Jace had all but forgotten about. The giant left the office, leaving only Jace, Chonat and the dog-snake.

     “Tull Raine was supposed to go all the way and face Leko Akude in the final round,” Chonat explained. “But you did what was previously thought impossible. You beat Tull Raine. And you’re human. Aren’t you?”

     “I’m not a Gungan,” Jace agreed. He noticed that Chonat was already becoming much more vociferous. The fewer the people around, the more Adnerem spoke. Jace shook his head at the idea of going to a mall or swoop race to get some peace and quiet.

     “I want to know how.”

     Jace shrugged. “You saw the tape.”

     “Indeed I did,” Chonat said, stroking the dog-snake’s brown coat. “Nobody has manhandled Tull in that manner before. Nobody.”

     “I’m good.”

     “Yes. You are. Good at getting veterans to do a job.”

     Jace shook his head, confused. “Do a job?”

     “Look at the lights? Take a dive? Dirty your back? Lay down?”

     “Oh,” Jace said, everything becoming clear. “You think we threw the match.”

     Chonat make a spitting sound. “You dare feign ignorance. This is an atrocity of a magnitude the likes of which I’ve never seen. We’ve made more money on ticket sales at this year’s event than any since I took over. And you ruined it.”

     “Let’s see,” Jace said, rubbing his chin. “Tull lost, yet ticket sales are higher than ever. Coincidence?”

     “The tournament isn’t over yet. Attendance could go down by as much as half by the end.”

     The dog-snake hissed. “The human is right. Tull lost the first night in the qualifying round. Attendance and bets doubled the night after. If Tull’s absence were to be a factor, it would have shown already.”

     Jace tried to refrain from gaping. An accessory that not only had sharp teeth, but also gave business advice. Where was Chonat shopping?

     Chonat gave his furry friend a reproachful look. “Not now.”

     “Sorry, boss.” The dog-snake eyed Jace. “If you disagree with my opinion and have to get rid this human, may I eat him?”

     “No,” Chonat said.

     “Why?”

     “Because humans give you indigestion,” Chonat said. “We’ve gone over this. Now shut up.”

     The dog-snake bared its teeth, but laid its head down on Chonat’s shoulder, still eyeing Jace.

     “Now, Cam,” Chonat continued, “beating Tull Raine was a miracle, and could be treated as such. But what cements my case is your second win. Faenat’orcenu is a master of three martial arts and has a forty-two to one win to loss ratio. There is no way you could defeat both of them.”

     “You don’t know me,” Jace said plainly.

     “Precisely,” Chonat said. “But I thought I knew them.”

     “Okay,” Jace said. “Let’s take a different approach to this. Just for a moment, suppose that we did throw the matches. Why don’t you ask my opponents about this?”

     Chonat inclined his angular head. “I have spoken with Tull, but obviously I haven’t had a chance to speak with Fae.”

     “And what did Tull say?”

     “He admits it’s true,” Chonat said.

     The dog-snake cackled in its gruff tone and inflection.

     Jace wanted to choke it.

     “This is completely insane,” was all Jace could manage. “Why would he claim such a thing? He—“ Then it hit Jace. “He was beat by a newcomer in the qualifying round. The great Tull Raine toppled by a puny human. A thrown match sounds like a great way to save face. It’s also a cop-out.”

     Chonat leaned forward. “Are you calling him a liar?”

     “He’s a liar. Now I am.”

     “You admit your deception?!”

     Jace ran a hand down his face, scratching his hand on the forgotten shades. He had gotten so used to wearing them after so many hours.

     “No.” Jace shook his head. “My biting remark totally went over your head. You asked if I was calling him a liar, I called him a liar, then admitted I was calling him a liar.”

     Chonat showed no sign of hearing the explanation. “Perhaps Urrokur is right. The situation isn’t totally unsalvageable. The fans seem to enjoy new blood moving up through the ranks. You will beat your coming opponents and face Leko Akude in the final round.”

     “I will?” Jace asked, befuddled. He had no doubt in his mind that he could make it there, but Chonat’s sudden leap of faith in Jace’s—Cam’s—abilities was unexpected and in need of explanation.

     “If you don’t think you can take on your coming opponents, let me know,” Chonat said. “Arrangements will be made. If you are not lying and you truly beat Tull, then you should have no problem. You have beaten two of our best clinchers.”

     Now Jace was lost. Lost in the unknown regions without a navicomputer or eyes to read it with if he had. Was Chonat suggesting that he would arrange for Jace’s upcoming matches to be thrown after accusing Jace of doing the same thing? Something wasn’t adding up.

     “I see the confusion in your eyes,” Chonat said in a reassuring tone. “We underestimated you. I should have approached you before you beat Fae. Taking down Tull was telling enough. But know this: you can’t beat Akude. He is our poster-child, so to speak. But fret not, Cam, for you are getting a main event spot in the RSORSPCT. That is quite an achievement, if I do say so myself.”

     “But…” Jace began, having plenty of questions, but not knowing where to start or whether or not to ask them, risking looking ignorant and therefore exploitable. “I can beat Akude.”

     The dog-snake cackled again and Jace had to dig to the bottom of the barrel for whatever restraint he had left to resist using a telekinetic choke on the blasted thing.

     “If you could, I wouldn’t allow it, and surely he wouldn’t,” Chonat said, petting Urrokur’s back to settle the creature down.

     “What do you mean?”

     Chonat’s voice dropped in volume and temperature until it was colder than Adrianan ice. “Do as I say. Look at what you’re being offered. Take it. Or I might just let Urrokur here have a big meal.”

     Inwardly, Jace mocked the threat. Outwardly, he displayed defiant assent. He had pushed Chonat as far as he would go—or as good as he could bluff. Either way, this meeting was over. He would have to probe somewhere else for more information.

     Jace nodded. “Until later.”

     Chonat inclined his head.

     Jace turned to leave, but spun back around, indicating Urrokur. “He doesn’t really…”

     “Eat sentient beings?” Chonat finished in Jace’s pause. “Not anymore. Well, not as much as he used to.”

     Urrokur cackled as Jace left the office.

     He passed through the doors to find the two Esoomians flanking it, their arms folded. They said nothing or made no indication that they knew he was there. They could have been turned to stone during the meeting for all Jace could tell.

     Once he got out their sight, he leaned against a wall in thought. He needed to know what was going on in this building. There had to be somebody who could offer some kind of explanation. He ruled out the Devaronian. That would cost something Jace couldn’t provide…fights; he was already fighting for the Devaronian’s amusement in order to obtain information. The director was too much of a bootlicker to trust. He would most likely run and squeal to Chonat if Jace brought forth any inquiries.

     But there was someone who could undoubtedly provide the information Jace needed. Someone he needed to confront anyway. Someone he’d be facing in the main event and beating, one way or the other. The man that had pumped fear into Jace’s heart.

     Leko Akude.

     The man Jace found as a dark spot on the Force.

     Skate watched a sweat-soaked Ryvo collapse to the ground, panting.

     Star and Seven knelt by his side, the former grabbing a medical scanner and running it over him.

     “Just high-stress effects,” Star said, reading the scanner.

     Skate relaxed a bit. Along with Thunder, Star and Seven, they had all joined hands and channeled the Force into Ryvo to trigger and perhaps even enhance his telemetric ability. At first, Skate had thought Thunder either joking or suffering from lunacy when the Adumari woman had suggested the séance-like technique. But Thunder had insisted it was worth a try. Skate hoped she was right. At least Ryvo was still alive.

     Thunder knelt with Star and Seven, who raised Ryvo to a sitting position. “Ryvo, did you see anything?”

     Ryvo nodded, taking a sip of water from a bottle Star offered him.

     “Yeah,” he rasped, taking another sip. “That method you suggested worked.”

     “It should,” Thunder said, shrugging. “Just relax and concentrate on what and where you want to see. Pretty basic.”

     “So what did you see?” Skate asked from her bed, still secured. Until she was cured—if that was the right word—they were taking no chances.

     “Did you see a short kid in his twenties with light brown skin at the prison base?” Ryvo asked her.

     Skate thought for a second. “Yeah. He was there with Veego when I was captured. I barely remember him being there, much less what he looks like. Why?”

     Ryvo slowly stood under his own power. “I was in a small room—“

     “’I’ being Skate?” Thunder interrupted.

     ”Right,” Ryvo confirmed. “And Veego was grilling me. Of course, I spat in his face and ignored him. Shot a couple wisecracks. He finally gave up. They put that restraining helmet on me. Soon after, it was removed, and that young guy was there. He had a cart with some hypodermic injectors and several vials. Without preamble, he began shooting me up. It was one of those non-puncturing injectors, so there wouldn’t be any needle marks. He then began to ask me questions. It was weird. I could hear the questions, and answer them, but I didn’t understand them. But after it was all said and done, I remember a…feeling, a purpose. Like I was a computer programmed to do something.”

     “What was it?” Thunder prompted.

     “In any way I could, to secure the SSD for capture,” Ryvo said slowly.

     Everyone turned to Skate.

     “I don’t remember anything like that,” Skate said. She shook her head, searching her memories. “Nothing.”

     “It doesn’t add up,” Thunder said. “They had Trebaum here for that purpose and he succeeded. For a while, anyway.”

     “Exactly,” Ryvo said. “If that ploy failed, they would need a backup plan. Shows you how much faith they had in my jackass cousin. But a Sith…they knew could pull it off successfully. Or maybe they didn’t trust ‘Trebaum.’ If Skate were to be their agent, perhaps she would be sent to ensure that he turned the SSD over to them. They didn’t expect him to show up so quickly, so she hadn’t been activated yet.”

     “Or,” Thunder began slowly, “you could be lying. You rescued Skate. How did you sneak into that secure base on that deserted, guarded planet? Maybe you were already there. Maybe you were to return her to us, so she could do exactly as she did. Your cousin was just a pawn, to build our confidence in you, if he didn’t succeed. But he didn’t, despite your attempt to draw us all away from the SSD, so you moved on to your backup plan—killed him, gained our trust and waited for the right time to make your move. With Skate’s help.”

     “What?” Ryvo demanded. “Do you sense any duplicity from me?”

     “Could she?” Skate asked. “You’re the self-proclaimed best conman in the galaxy. But honestly, even if he were lying, Thunder, there‘s still the no small matter of my flipping out.”

     “Perhaps they did pump you full of drugs,” Thunder said, shrugging. “But he didn’t learn this from a telemetric reading. He was there, remember? Or maybe he’s using his Force command to control you.”

     Ryvo buried his face in his hands. “This is in-kriffing-sane. You approved this idea of mine and now you act like you don’t want it to work, Thunder. Why would I lie about this? What does it get me? I wouldn’t do it to exonerate myself, since you and Jace and pretty much everyone else has cleared me at this point.”

     Skate turned to Thunder. The Adumari woman pursed her lips.

     “Perhaps you are clear…up until this point.”

     “Come on, Thunder,” Skate said, cutting in. “There has got to be a better way to settle this matter than sitting here using twisted logic. Let’s get some proof if that’s what we need. Star?”

     Star rocked on her heels. “I could scan the area of the injection and look for signs.”

     “Do it,” Thunder said.

     “I feel like this is less an exercise in finding out what happened to Skate than it is a test of my trustworthiness,” Ryvo said bitterly.

     “It’s both,” Thunder said derisively.

     Star stood next to Skate, holding a small scanning device wired to a monitor on the wall. “Where were the injections made?”

     “The right arm,” Ryvo said.

     Star nodded and ran the scanner over Skate’s right arm. She looked back at the display every few seconds.

     “There is a point zero zero eight three percent skin degradation right here,” Star said, hold the device over a point on Skate’s bicep.

     “She could have gotten that from running into a wall,” Thunder said. She looked to Skate. “Only when you’re drunk off the Whyren’s, of course.”

     Skate didn’t have a response, so she smiled.

     “This is true,” Star said. “But I’m not finished yet. The scan shows that several microscopic dermal breaches were made in a symmetrical pattern.”

     Skate looked at the monitor, seeing the double circular pattern of dots Star described. She felt relieved. That probably saved her ass, but there was still the matter of Ryvo’s innocence. Maybe Thunder wouldn’t bring up the next obvious question. Maybe this discovery would suffice.

     “Still, who says Ryvo wasn’t there to see the injection before he ‘rescued’ her?” Thunder asked plainly. “Or even after. He could have done it himself. You two were alone for more than a day.”

     Maybe not.

     “If they injected her with something,” Ryvo began, ignoring Thunder, “then why didn’t you detect anything in her system?”

     “I don’t know,” Star said, a baffled expression on her face. “I wish you could tell what this guy was saying to you—to her.”

     “So do I,” Ryvo said.

     Seven raised a finger. “Can you read lips? Maybe you can go back and try.”

     Skate raised her eyebrows at this idea. It wasn’t a bad one.

     “Not that well,” Ryvo answered glumly. “Besides, whatever that stuff was he shot into me, one or more of them made me go dizzy. And I had a hard time concentrating.”

     “What about nano-technology?” Thunder asked curiously.

     Star shook her head. “No. That was the first thing I looked for after running a chemical test. Damn it! I should be able to figure this out. We have some of the best medical facilities in the galaxy and I can’t even scratch the surface.”

     “Okay,” Thunder said. “Let’s take a different approach. Was anyone with the…injector?”

     Ryvo shrugged. “A couple of Emdee medical droids. I don’t know which models.”

     “Then this guy might have been a doctor,” Thunder reasoned.

     “Why would a doctor show up with the others when they captured me on MH-JL, though?” Skate asked.

     “Maybe they thought you might be injured, and they wanted you to survive. To use.”

     “Okay,” Ryvo said, leaning on a table. “So he’s a doctor. So what?”

     “Do you remember what he looks like?” Thunder probed.

     “Sure,” Ryvo said. “Much more than Skate says she does. Where’re you going with this?”

     Thunder waved him over to a computer terminal. She ran her hand over the keypad and brought up HoloNet access. On a secondary screen, a program came up. It had a blank, beige-colored screen and several touch-screen buttons.

     “This is a three dimensional police sketch program,” Thunder said. “It’s called CAS—Create-A-Suspect.”

     Ryvo frowned. “I’m not an artist.”

     Skate snickered inwardly. “You sure?”

     “I am not a visual artist,” Ryvo amended, giving her a mock-cynical grin.

     “You don’t have to be,” Thunder said. “You just describe what he looked like and the program does the work for you.”

     “Cool,” Ryvo said. “This should work great…in about three hours.”

     Thunder cocked her head to the side. “You’d be surprised. I used it quite a bit for hunts.”

     “All right,” Ryvo said, sighing and pulling up a chair. “I’ll give it a shot.”

     As Ryvo sat at the terminal and verbally illustrated the man who had mentally ravaged Skate, she watched intently. Seven left, probably back to the bridge or the nearest lounge—whichever was closer. Thunder kept an eye on Ryvo’s progress while Star leaned on a counter and fiddled with a datapad.

     The picture on the screen didn’t even begin to look familiar until well after fifteen minutes. Sometimes Ryvo would erase something he’d added or enlarge a nose or a chin. It was a long process, but it didn’t go on nearly as long as Ryvo had exaggerated. When the end product was on the display, Ryvo hit a button and it rotated.

     It also jogged her memory…of the man’s face in the field. She still had no recollection of the interrogation chamber.

     “That’s him,” Skate said. “Add a cap and that’s him!”

     Thunder looked at her and nodded. The Adumari moved to the terminal and fingered the keypad again.

     “Running a comparison with images from over a million medical databases,” Thunder said.

     “This should take three hours, for sure,” Ryvo said, throwing his arms up.

     “Not likely,” Thunder countered. “I’ve cross-referenced for age and other factors.”

     “Then it should still take about three,” Ryvo began when the terminal beeped. “Uh, seconds.”

     Thunder gave him a look, then checked the results.

     “Five hundred results?” Ryvo said.

     “Computer, eliminate all findings with a sales ad,” Thunder said. The terminal beeped again. “There. Eight results.”

     Skate craned her neck so she could get a better view. Ryvo noticed and hit a few switches. The screen’s images appeared near the ceiling in the center of the room from the surgical holoprojector.

     Thunder flipped through the images.

     Skate looked them over and commented. “Too old. Too ugly. Wrong species. That’s a woman!”

     “Four down,” Ryvo said to Thunder.

     “The searches aren’t perfect,” Thunder allowed.

     “That’s him!” Skate exclaimed, whooping.

     “Andell Kovares,” Thunder said, reading the script. She looked to Star. “Anyone you’ve heard of?”

     “Not off the top of my head,” the woman from Orcania said, studying the image. “But I don’t know every doctor in the known galaxy.”

     “This is from an article he wrote for Brainpower, a publication covering news and theories on the mind and mental process,” Thunder said.

     “A shrink mag,” Ryvo simplified.

     “Not just shrinks,” Star said. “It’s also read by neurology specialists and general practice doctors. I’ve flipped through it a few times myself.”

     “It’s apparently for anyone who can translate it. What are these big words?”

     Skate scanned the text. “He developed a prototype drug that would allow doctors to instantly easily treat patients with addictions, both mental and physical by cutting off specific neurotransmitters. It was far from refined and was never tested on a sentient being.”

     “Until now?” Ryvo asked rhetorically.

     “Sounds like a perfect recruit for TOS,” Thunder said. “Star?”

     The slender woman was entrenched in reading, and didn’t answer right away. “This is amazing. And he isn’t even a doctor yet.”

     “Can you make any sense of it? How he did it?”

     “Sure,” Star said, keeping her eyes on the hologram. “This is, I think, the basis on which he worked from to…do what he did to Skate. Just from what I’ve read so far, I can see he used an electrostatic solution in the substance to create an adhesive affect to the red blood cells, which would prevent a catastrophic—“

     “Whoa, ixnay on the echnobabbletay,” Thunder said, holding up an arm as if to shield her eyes from the sun. “Can you fix it? That’s the question.”

     “If I use a microscopic sieve to—“

     “Yes or no.”

     “Yes,” Star said. “I think.”

     Skate shifted her shoulders. “Are there any risks?”

     “Only the chances of it not succeeding,” Star said. “And after the operation, you’ll have to undergo an engramatic scan and restoration plus a cerebral cortex flush. But I think I might be able to use the Force to make those post-surgery procedures much easier.”

     “Easier meaning quicker?” Thunder asked.

     “Yes.”

     “Good,” Thunder said. “Do it ASAP. We’ve got to get on our way.”

     “Jace is getting his ass kicked,” Ryvo sang, dragging out the last word.

     Thunder nodded and pointed to Star. “On second thought, take your time.” She gave Skate’s arm a squeeze and left sickbay.

     Star went to her adjoining office, leaving Skate alone with Ryvo. He made his way over to her bed.

     “Well, it worked,” she said, smiling at him.

     “No shit, Olie,” he said.

     Skate gaped. “Who taught you that?”

     “Conditioned behavior,” Ryvo said, shaking his head. “Look, if you want my advice, you should ask Star if you’ll be able to remember this Kovares giving you the injections after her treatment.”

     “Why?” Skate asked.

     Ryvo took a deep breath. “They hurt. Bad. Not the needles, but the drugs he put into you…they caused a lot of pain.”

     Skate frowned. “That bad?”

     “I screamed,” Ryvo said. “I mean…you screamed.”

     “Okay,” Skate said.

     He took her hand. “I better go get ready. Hopefully you’ll be coming with us.”

     “I will,” Skate said. She had no doubt of it.

     He raised her arm and kissed the inside of her wrist and headed for the door.

     She watched him go and called after him. “Ryvo.”

     He turned back.

     “Thanks.”

     He smiled. “For taking the pain?”

     Skate nodded. “For relieving it, too.”

     Ryvo smiled again and left the room.

     Skate laid back and tried to relax, mentally preparing herself for Star’s procedure. Mentally preparing herself to remember the agonizing injections. Ryvo had gone through the pain for her. But they were her memories, and she must live with them, through them.

     Jace found Leko Akude’s dressing room by asking one of the production crewmembers, who had given him an apprehensive look at the question, as if Jace had asked for the wrong fighter by mistake. These people were terrified of this Leko Akude.

     And deep down, so was Jace.

     Where the other fighters were fairly elementary in beating, thanks to the Force, the same trick wouldn’t work on Akude. Some kind of arrangement had to be made, without Chonat’s involvement or approval. If not, Jace would be forced to fight Akude one on one. From the looks of Akude and the fear he caused, that would be no easy—or attainable—task.

     The entrance to Akude’s room was a door, rather than a curtain. The champion was afforded much more posh accommodations than the ham’n’eggers. Jace rapped on the door, slamming his fist into the Aurebesh letters spelling out Akude’s name, as if doing so would somehow harm the champion.

     The door opened and the huge man stood there. He looked down until Jace came into view and snarled. The muscles on his face undulated as he did so. Jace didn’t think there was a single ounce of fat on his body.

     “Are you angry?” Jace asked boldly.

     “What do you want?” Akude growled. “Tell me now before I lose all restraint and knock you down the corridor.”

     Jace feigned incomprehension. “Why would you be angry at me?”

     “What do you want?” Akude repeated, this time staring over Jace’s head, as if not looking at Jace would enhance his self-control.

     “I’d like to come in,” Jace said. “We have some stuff to talk about.”

     “We have nothing to talk about! I will see you if and when I see you in the ring! And you will fall!”

     “Come on,” Jace said, giving Akude an incredulous look. “Aren’t you the least bit curious as to how I beat my opponents?”

     “No!” Akude roared, again looking down at Jace. “Because I know how you did it! And don’t think for one second that I will agree to such degradation. You rich idiots are all alike. You think you can buy anything!”

     Jace was getting impatient. “Look, this isn’t—“

     “No!” Akude bellowed, veins multiplying across his face.

     Jace had run out of patience. “Villip.”

     Akude stopped his temper tantrum instantly and looked down at Jace, his eyes searching. “What did you say?”

     Without waiting for an answer, Akude grabbed Jace by the neck and threw him into the dressing room, closing the door behind him. Jace slammed into a table, rolling across it to land on the floor on the other side. Akude stalked toward him.

     “How did you find me?” Akude hissed in a low tone. “Who sent you? You’re intendant caste, I can tell from your slightness of build. Which domain are you from?”

     “It’s not what you think!” Jace said, holding up his hands. “Let me explain! I am not here to kill you!”

     Akude took a few steps and leapt over the table. He grabbed the back of Jace’s neck with one hand and ripped the shades off with another. He searched Jace’s eyes for a moment, then pressed the side of Jace’s nose repeatedly. With a perplexed look on his face, Akude then put his fingernails to Jace’s arm and ripped. Blood flew and Jace gasped in surprise and pain. After a few seconds, Akude laughed and dropped Jace to the floor.

     Akude walked away from him. “Sending a human to do the job for them. What fools. The Praetorite, no doubt. Am I right?”

     “No!” Jace said through gritted teeth, clutching his arm. “Just give me a second to explain and I will. Several weeks ago, I was imprisoned with one Jeminn Carr. We escaped together, and he gave me a villip to contact his people in the future. He said I was worthy or some such. Nobody sent me here to kill you. I wasn’t looking for you. I just…found you. It’s a coincidence.”

     “How?”

     “I just came here to conduct some business and—“

     “No!” Akude roared. “How did you know I was…”

     “Ah,” Jace said, understanding. “My sense of you—or lack of sense—is a shadow on the Force. The instant I saw you at the gorilla position I knew.”

     “Force?” Akude asked in a suspicious tone. “You’re a Jedi?”

     “Jedi,” Jace echoed. “You say it correctly.”

     “So you are?”

     Jace shook his head. “No, I am a Seeth. I mean…Sith.”

     Akude didn’t say anything. He only stared at Jace through alien eyes. There was something different about this Akude. He wasn’t like Carr had been…fanatical. The violence was definitely there, but the fanaticism was absent. Good. This would only make Jace’s plan easier to execute.

     “There was a Jedi here once,” Akude said, his voice calmer than Jace had ever heard it. “He was a combatant here, when this was still called the Dool Arena. He was part of a core group of several elite fighters, including your first opponent Tull Raine. Weapons were still used back then. He was good. But along the road to becoming the first man to defeat Tull, I beat him. More precisely, I killed him.”

     Jace frowned at that. Was he supposed to take it as a threat?

     “Did you use an…amphistaff?” Jace asked.

     “You know much of us…of them.”

     “Them,” Jace stated.

     Akude looked down. “My people.”

     “You’re AWOL, aren’t you?”

     “A Wall?” Akude asked, his eyes moving around. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

     “You abandoned your duty, right?”

     “Yes,” Akude answered, more than a bit of shame evident in his tone.

     “Why?” Jace asked. “Carr seemed…obsessed with his ways.”

     Akude actually sighed and fell into a chair. “I was one of the first to come. I scouted a few worlds, sent my reports. My new orders came and I followed them. More scouting. I grew…bored. I am a warrior! I should be taking the fight to our enemies! I needed to rip something…someone apart. So I found a primitive planet and landed. I attacked a few of the colonists who strayed too far from the towns, but they were easy pickings. It was a self-sustaining human colony, but a starship or two would come every month with medical supplies, entertainment goods, and the like. I convinced one of the captains to give me a ride off planet. I asked one of his crew where one went for fighting, if there was some sort of military I could join. He told me about the civil war raging across the galaxy. But this sounded too clean for me, too sporadic, too structured. So he then told me about these fighting events. The closest one was here, on Reuss Eight, and when we were in the neck of the woods, making a drop at Bridin Anchorage, they left me here. The rest if history.”

     Jace nodded. “And your ship?”

     “Still on that colony. Buried. Far from any town.”

     “Amazing story,” Jace said, taking a seat. “Now that we have that out of the way—“

     Akude interrupted him with a laugh. “Of course, you must realize that I can’t let you keep this information and live.”

     Jace leaned forward. “So far I have been civil. I am trying to work with you, Akude. Now, I might be small, I might be human, but I have the Force. The dark side of the Force. That makes me many times your size in my eyes. So let’s cooperate or let’s be enemies. It’s your choice.”

     “The Jedi I killed admitted his powers were useless on me,” Akude said.

     “Must I repeat myself? I am not a Jedi. I have ways of making the Force work.”

     It was a bluff, but not a complete lie. There were things Jace had come up with that could possibly work on Akude. They were untested, but all he had in the event of a fight with Akude. They were also all he had to back up his bluff.

     “What is it you have in mind?” Akude said, seeming more interested than submissive.

     “I need some answers,” Jace said, standing and beginning to pace. “I just got out of a meeting with Chonat. He seemed to think that I had arranged for Tull and Faenat’orcenu to lose. Just as you did. But now that you know my secret, you can be sure that my wins weren’t flukes. But he can’t know that. So he made a deal with me. He said I would go to the top and fight you—assuming you make it to the final round—but I would lose to you. Quite hypocritical if you ask me. He accused me of throwing matches, yet guaranteed me a spot in the main event. Can you explain this?”

     Akude laughed again. “You are so out of touch with everything going on around you. It wasn’t like this in the old days when the two Gamorreans were in charge. At least not all the time. This is all a ruse. We’re not a shoot-fighting outfit. Once the old owners were done away with after their sour deal with an Imperial moff, Chonat bought the Tusk and took over.”

     Akude paused.

     “And?” Jace prompted.

     “Now,” Akude said in a reluctant tone, “we’re a…pro wrestling show in disguise.”

     Jace stared at Akude. “Pro wrestling? You mean like on holovision?”

     “Yeah.”

     “I don’t get it,” Jace said, resuming his pace and shaking his head. “What’s with this tournament, then? How do you know a newcomer won’t come in and tear through the competition?”

     “Like you?”

     Jace nodded. “Like me.”

     “This is why they arrange for people like you to fight the best of the best in the first round. It’s a tactic Chonat used when his show would travel from planet to planet. He had a hotshot back then, whom he brought with him to the Broken Tusk. This guy would take on all-comers, who would put up money, and beat them. Nobody ever beat him because to the average man, he was unbeatable.”

     “Is that what you call a clincher?” Jace asked.

     “Yes, a clincher,” Akude confirmed. “Like Tull.”

     “Well, what happened to Chonat’s hotshot?”

     “Career ending injury,” Akude said. “At my hands.”

     “Ah. So this is all for show. How do you keep the secret from the fans?”

     “This is the problem I made a solution to,” Akude said. “We really beat each other. The pain will pass, but the impression on the fans will not. To them, if it looks real, then it is. Even the production crew does not know.”

     “Including that fruity director?”

     “He knows,” Akude said. “He comes up with some of the best ideas.”

     “I see.” Jace slowed his pacing, preparing to tell Akude the bad news. “Mr. Akude, this is what it breaks down to. I bet an exorbitant amount of money on myself winning this tournament. You are an obstacle that I did not expect. While there are things I could do to you in here, in private, that could do much harm to you, I can’t do them in front of the crowd, for obvious reasons. I need you to lose for me.”

     Akude laughed, harder than before. “You beat me? That is the funniest thing I have ever heard, and I’ve heard some funny things in this galaxy.”

     In this galaxy, Jace thought. There it was again. Jeminn Carr had referred to the galaxy as a foreign place, too. But now was not the time to ask. Business came first. Reno’s rescue came first.

     “Let me ask you something, Leko Akude,” Jace said, looking at the wall as if he were examining a piece of art. “Do you plan on returning to your ship and your duty?”

     “It’s too late now,” Akude said. “I haven’t sent a report in years.”

     “Then why didn’t you return long ago?”

     Akude looked at the floor, a hot-blooded look in his eyes. “Because I fell in love.”

     “Well,” Jace said, “that’s unfortunate. If you don’t want to cooperate with me, I might just have to give my buddy Jeminn Carr a call and tell him I ran into another of his kind. I’m sure he’d be quite interested in knowing this little piece of information.”

     “Carr,” Akude cursed. “I know of this domain. A member of the Praetorite.”

     “Whatever he is a member of, he was pretty impressive. And he could bring more like him. You might be strong, Akude, but you’re not that strong. Then, you’d not only lose your love, but you’d be captured by those you so hold in contempt.”

     Akude rose, his lungs pumping air in and out harshly. “You dare threaten me?”

     Jace turned to face Akude. He used the Force to push the oxygen away from Akude’s head. The mammoth warrior stopped in his tracks and clutched his throat. As he stumbled forward, Jace had to redirect his manipulation of the Force to keep the air away from Akude. When Akude fell to his knees, Jace let the air go. A wisp of air blew Akude’s hair ever so slightly.

     “I don’t threaten you,” Jace said after giving Akude a chance to breathe in several gulps of air. “I am a threat to you.”

     “Chonat won’t have it,” Akude said, coming to his feet.

     “I’m sure he’ll listen to the champ’s advice,” Jace said. “But I’ll go for now. Think about the things I’ve told you. Work with me and I will leave you as you were. Or don’t and lose everything.”

     Akude didn’t say anything. He didn’t nod. He just stood there, staring at Jace.

     Jace stared back. He wanted to ask a dozen more questions about Akude’s origins. About why Akude had pressed the side of Jace’s nose. About Chonat. But those questions could wait until later.

     Jace turned and left, cradling the bleeding wound that Akude had inflicted, confident in the fact that he had scarred the warrior more deeply.

     Jace stumbled through the outer area of the Broken Tusk on his way for a meeting with the Devaronian. He had beaten his third opponent, an enormous Houk, who’d proven a less potent enemy than Faenat’orcenu. Still he’d taken a palm-slap to the side of the head from the Houk, causing a ringing in his ear that still hadn’t subsided, sixty minutes and a shower later. Worse, he’d awakened that morning sore all over his body from Faenat’orcenu’s precise kicks, causing him to abandon any sympathy he felt for shattering her hip.

     Some of these guys do this night in and night out, Jace thought. Makes you wonder how they keep going.

     Jace turned back to Jen, who was following him. “Go get a drink for the Devaronian. I don’t think he’ll talk to me if we don’t.”

     “What kind of drink should I ask for?”

     “I don’t care,” Jace said. “Just bring me one, too.”

     Jen moved off to carry out his instructions while he spotted the Devaronian at his usual table. Two human females who once had been pretty at some points in their lives sat one on each of the Devaronian’s knees. One of the squat bodyguards stood to the side, ever vigilant.

     Jace limped up to the table and fell into the chair opposite the Devaronian. “Your ante is on the way.”

     The Devaronian, wearing his perpetual grin, nodded. He looked to the two women in turn. “Time for business. You run along and come back after.”

     The two rugged women smiled and walked away. One of them looked back and winked at Jace. He turned away from them, shuddering.

     “Are you satisfied?” Jace asked the Devaronian.

     The red-skinned alien looked at the table in thought. “Don’t know. The one on right knee is nice, but one on left knee is better—“

     “I mean our deal?!”

     “Oh,” the Devaronian said. He slid a datapad across the table. “Much satisfied. So far. But tournament not over yet. Here is list of coming opponents.”

     “Come on,” Jace said, looking down at the display. It wasn’t a list of opponents. He looked back up. “I’ve torn through my competition. Isn’t that enough for you?”

     The Devaronian laughed. “You not understand. I am big fan of you now! All these people are! I want to see you go all the way! Beat them all! Underdog effect, you bet!”

     Jace chewed his lip in thought. Did the Devaronian know that the matches were fixed? He decided against asking, for it might bring the full weight of Chonat’s anger—anger that weighed about the same as two Esoomians—down upon him. Not that they posed any serious threat, but in his current situation he couldn’t afford any trouble. He just hoped whatever he had glanced on the datapad wasn’t trouble.

     Jen came to the table holding three blue drinks in her hands.

     “Three Blue Nebulas for me?” the Devaronian asked. “How nice!”

     Jen set one in front of each man and then sat down with the third. “Touch my drink and you’ll be seeing a nebula in front of your eyes.”

     The Devaronian sneered and took a gulp of his drink.

     “Mela, look at this list of opponents,” Jace said, himself glancing down at the datapad. He hoped she got the idea.

     Jen pointed at the screen. “That’ll be a tough one.”

     “Yeah,” Jace said, feigning agreement. Jen had gotten the idea. As he looked at the screen dejectedly shaking his head, he took the chance to read what was on it.

     Few hours ago two big men come with big big guns and tell me to divulge all I know about you. I resist, so they burn Stretch. Doofy here can’t fight two so I tell the men what they want to know. Lives were at stake! I tell them you want to know about TOS group and I tell them I give you information about Drolen Antig. They ask me where other man and lady with you before go, and I tell them I have no idea, because I don’t! So they hit me with gun and leave. Stretch died on way to medical facility. I not see the men again. I doubt they want to get your autograph.

     This wasn’t good, and in two possible ways. One, the TOS agents had tracked Jace down before he could find them. Or two, the Devaronian had dropped the decicred on Jace. There was a bruise on the Devaronian’s red temple, but that could be a makeup job and part of the ruse. Whatever the case, this game had become a lot more deadly than a broken hipbone or a beating from a couple Esoomian brutes.

     “I’ll double it whatever you would win,” Jace said. “Just give us the info and we’re out of here.”

     “Money not the issue,” the Devaronian said, shaking his head. “This is exciting! Nothing can beat excitement these days!”

     Jace looked to the bar where the two aging women had moved. “Indeed.”

     “You trust—“

     The Devaronian was cut off by a five-taloned hand slamming face down on the table.

     Jace looked up into the slit eyes of a snarling Tull Raine. “Drop it two more times, then you’ll have it right.”

     It took the giant lizard a moment to comprehend this. That, or he was letting it bounce around inside his head, building up his anger. Jace didn’t care.

     “Oh, I’m sorry,” Jace said apologetically. “You can’t count to three.”

     Tull opened his mouth wider, revealing more sharp teeth. Jace still was neither impressed nor intimidated.

     “Oh,” Jace said, looking at Jen. “I get it now. He doesn’t understand Basic. We can just call a protocol droid—“

     The Barabel’s hand crashing into the table interrupted Jace again, only this time the table crumbled under a closed fist. Jace rose to his feet, legs spread wide in a combat-ready stance. Tull crouched like a predator.

     “If you have something to say, then say it,” Jace said, his voice even. “If you have a move to make, then make it. Just don’t waste my time.”

     The Barabel’s tongue flicked out between the needles of teeth. “I don’t have anything to say. I just have a statement to make.”

     With that, Tull pushed Jen to the ground. She tried to dodge, keen to the assault from her Force reflexes, but he was just too close and too fast. Jace wanted to laugh. If Tull only knew. Pushing down Jen was something that would make Tyros blow his top, but not Jace. In all truth, Jen was nothing to Jace. Still, he couldn’t back down from what was clearly a challenge. Not in front of the growing crowd of spectators. They were currently in an intermission from the matches, and this confrontation was the most promising thing the place had going at the moment.

     Jace was about to take a step forward when Tull was spun around and hit with a wooden bar stool over the head, which shattered into several dozen pieces. When Tull fell to the ground, the comparatively smaller form of Leko Akude stood there, looking down at the Barabel, panting. He stepped over the mess and stood in front of Jace.

     “I’ll see you in the ring,” Akude said. He spun on his heel and trudged away, stepping on Tull’s chest as he did so.

     The crowd that had formed was silent, looking from Tull to Jace to the departing Akude.

     Jace felt a tingling from the Force. He instinctively groped for his concealed lightsaber and looked over to a bar. Behind it was a man stooped down with a holocam, conspicuously “hidden” between a napkin dispenser and two seasoning shakers, shooting away. Behind him, not as visible in the shadows, the director giddily jumped up and down. Not the danger Jace had expected in view of the Devaronian’s message.

     Jace looked back down to the prone form of Tull. What kind of crap had he gotten involved in here?

     The Devaronian, who had scurried away during the altercation, surveyed the damages in horror; the crushed table, the splintered stool, Jen leaning on one elbow from the shove that Tull had given her.

     “How could they?!” the Devaronian asked, outraged. His bodyguard had his hand on his holstered blaster, still wary. “This was favorite table of mine!”

     “I’m sure the table feels the same way about you,” Jen said, picking herself up from the floor.

     “Maybe we can take a seat over here?” Jace said, indicating an adjacent vacant table. After they were all seated, Jace continued. “What was that all about? You hang around here quite a bit. You should know something.”

     “Trying to build up big match,” the Devaronian explained in a conspiratorial tone. He lowered his voice further. “But Tull might have legitimate heat with you. They play off this heat well. Smart business, yes?”

     “Legitimate heat?” Jace asked.

     The Devaronian frowned. “Tull not expect—“

     “Excuse me, uh, sir, I am Lurn Daleop…manager,” a nervous voice from behind Jace said. “Somebody wants to speak with you at the entrance.”

     Jace spun around to find a thin, well-dressed Reussi male standing there, his hands pressed together and head bowed in a placating gesture.

     “Who?” Jace asked, his voice tense.

     “Uh, sir, I don’t know exactly who they are, but the bouncers wouldn’t admit him.”

     “Why?”

     The Reussi paused, as if thinking. “I believe their words were that the group is ‘armed like a full grown Lyra.’ We do permit weapons, but these men are outrageously overly equipped.”

     Jace was no sentientologist—a fact made evident by his inability to identify the species of Chonat’s dog-snake or even the Devaronian’s bodyguards—but he knew of Lyra…they were an aquatic species that grew as many as ten limbs and several eyestalks. His first thought went to TOS. He knew there was—or had been—TOS contacts in or around the Broken Tusk. These two men had somehow gotten wind of Sith Squadron covertly coming to the planet, in effect spotting them first before they even learned his/her/their identity. They had bullied the Devaronian into revealing information that led to confirmation of the true identities of “OMEGA.” It was then only a matter of time before TOS forces would arrive. That was why the two men hadn’t simply struck; they were waiting for the cavalry. Jace would go from predator to prey in less than a second.

     But no. This didn’t feel like TOS. There was no underlying danger in the air of the patrons around him. Only the primal instincts that alcohol and a devotion to athletic competition, supplemented by small causes of distress and ill feelings such as a bartender’s anger over a small tip or a man’s jealousy at another’s man’s lingering stare at his female companion were present.

     Jace also ruled out the planetary police force. The messenger would have known who they were. Imperial or New Republic agents were also a possibility. They certainly had better contacts and intelligence than TOS.

     In the end, Jace knew there was only one way to find out.

     “Watch my back,” Jace muttered to Jen.

     She nodded to him as he rose from his chair, a concerned look on her face. She had read the datapad, too, so Jace had to assume that she had come to the same conclusions as him. As he followed the obsequious Daleop, he tapped the comforting form of his lightsaber, hidden away inside his pants. If this got ugly, he’d have to have it drawn and ignited pretty quickly.

     They waded through the scum of the galaxy—i.e. wrestling fans, unknowing wrestling fans at that—until they came to the inner entryway, which was flanked by two members of Tusk security personnel. Two more were in the airlock foyer, their blasters drawn. Beyond them, visible through the transparisteel door that had been brought down, stood Prestin Frosto. And four men in VosseTech uniforms armed with what looked like BlastTech A280 blaster rifles.

     This was not a distraction Jace needed right now. Especially not now.

     The inner airlock door closed shut after he passed through it. The two Tusk guards looked at Jace and he nodded at them. They didn’t understand the nod, so he made a gesture indicating that he wanted them to open the outer door. With a shrug, one of them hit the switch and the door opened, the overhead light turning instantly red.

     Jace took a few steps forward and stopped just outside the huge door’s frame. Frosto stood there in all his excellence. He himself was not that excellent by any standard—Jace guessed that the man didn’t stand more than a meter and a half tall. But the armed men surrounding Frosto made his diminutive size mean squat. Jace shook his head at the double meaning. He must have a special skill in the Force for subconscious puns.

     “What do you want?” Jace asked harshly as the durasteel doors closed behind him.

     “You don’t have a breather on,” Frosto stated. “Those are wise to use on planets like this.”

     “Oh, I thank you for your concern,” Jace said dryly. “Again, what do you want?”

     “Cam Revyg, huh?”

     Jace shrugged. “An alias. Those are wise to use on planets like this.”

     “Particularly for mercenary leaders with a penchant for at-shows?”

     “At-shows?” Jace asked, confused. Whatever that meant, Jace didn’t care. “Frosto, I will ask you a third time: What do you want?”

     Jace felt a flicker of emotion from Frosto.

     “You’re not Cam Revyg,” Frosto said, shaking his head slowly. “You’re not even Kaj Lieno. I did some checking. I know who you are.”

     “And just who am I then, Frosto?” Jace asked, then looked up in thought. “Oh, wait, I know…I’m the man that paid you a hundred and fifty thousand credits.”

     Frosto shook his head again. “This goes far beyond that.”

     “This isn’t any of your business,” Jace said flatly, putting some Force behind the statement.

     “That’s where you’re mistaken,” Frosto said. “You killed my friend.”

     “I didn’t kill Ryvo, I just sent—“

     “I’m not talking about Ryvo!” Frosto bellowed, his face turning a few shades redder.

     They say detonite comes in small packages, Jace thought.

     “Who then?” Jace asked in a dull tone.

     “Resik,” Frosto said, his voice low. “You got what you wanted from him and then you killed him. Why in hell Ryvo was working with you, I don’t know, but it probably got him killed, too!”

     “Frosto, I am telling you right now that I didn’t kill Resik, and I didn’t,” Jace said fiercely. “I didn’t kill Ryvo, for that matter, either. Now take your toy soldiers and go home.”

     Jace felt Frosto tense and his men tense further. Jace also felt another presence, above and behind him. Before Jace could turn, though, a shot rang out.

     Andell lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The low-powered glow panels around the upper walls gave the room an ambient light. His bed was big and made of only the softest synthetic cushioning that money could buy. The sheets were fresh, cleaned daily by the housekeeping droids. Music played, a soft symphony from a world on the other side of the galaxy. The conditions were as relaxing as any human being could ask or hope for.

     But still Andell stared at the ceiling.

     He thought about his episode in the dungeon and what it meant. His psychology classes pointed to newly surfacing insanity brought on by deeply buried guilt. But his self-diagnosis was flawed in that it was a self-diagnosis in the first place. His actual ailments would be hidden to make room for what he wanted to believe was the real problem. There was guilt for sure, but it was for more than committing “simple” atrocities. And it was more than guilt. It was also disappointment. In himself.

     He was disappointed in not only his actions, but in the motivation behind them. The reason behind them. The real reason. He had let his family…die. Die. It was hard to think of it as a concept, let alone a memory.  He had let her die. His first true love. There was no fooling himself. Of all the women he’d used in TOS—the tall, the sultry, the submissive—none compared to her. Andell wanted her back more than anything else in the galaxy, save perhaps his loving parents. A family life that could have been his was now gone. All the potential was gone. The holographs. The trips to amusement parks. The helping with homework. None of it would ever happen now.

     Andell had peaked out long ago in his self-indulgence. Nothing could replace those lost opportunities. He couldn’t hide behind the women and the gourmet food and the spice any longer. Mistakes had been made on his part, all stemming from one big mistake. More than a mistake. A sin. An unpardonable offense that he could never atone for; he was a coward. A self-preserving, spineless coward devoid of any strength of will.   

     And it didn’t stop with his family. He had murdered General Veego for not evacuating from Bastille. He had murdered the man for staying and fighting, depriving him of an honorable death. For all of Veego’s inferiority to Andell, he still had more honor than the younger man. He didn’t think they’d make it off the planet, so he’d chosen to make a stand and die in battle. Andell had assured him they’d make it off the planet. Veego had told him to go ahead. But Andell couldn’t have left Veego there to be captured, so he’d killed him. After a narrow escape, he was promoted to take Veego’s place.

     It had to stop.

     Results from the information scouring had come through before he’d gone to bed. Teno had a family. A wife and three kids on Hyrol Preen Beta. Andell had told himself it was late and that he’d give the order in the morning. But he couldn’t just ignore it. Xanthis would ask about it, and Andell could casually hide only so much from the Sith Lord. It wasn’t that he was afraid that Xanthis would kill him, or of dying in general. In fact, Andell wanted to die. But not before carrying out one last thing. So he had to do something to appease Xanthis for just a little while longer. There was only one option that came to mind: kill Teno. Andell could tell Xanthis that the contact had become unreliable and that his services were no longer needed, which was halfway true. Once the hunters Teno sent out had found and relayed the Sith Squadron members’ locations, they served no purpose. In any case, Teno wasn’t entirely innocent. If captured by New Republic or Imperial forces, he’d be tried and punished, possibly by death. The more Andell thought about it, the better it sounded. The freighters full of battle droids he’s sent to Reuss VIII had arrived hours ago. He’d order the command center watch commander to send a message with the new orders. This was really a great idea.

     As for that one last thing he wanted to do in life, he thought he had come up with a satisfactory method to complete that, too. Just hours ago he’d received a call from Teno, telling him that some of the feelers had found Sith Squadron. They’d picked up where the original hunters Teno had sent out were killed by unknown assailants. After interrogating and killing the owner of a bar the Siths had visited, they’d followed the trail to a seedy establishment where some kind of fighting or gladiatorial competition was the main attraction.

     The bar owner had “tipped” them to a Devaronian. After proper motivation, the Devaronian agreed to assist them. He revealed that the Siths were looking for TOS contacts; that confirmed that they were indeed, without a shadow of a doubt, members of Sith Squadron. They weren’t there to sell the captured Strike cruiser. They were there specifically to hunt down TOS. Andell didn’t know how in their search they had been tipped to the Reussi system, but it was immaterial. The Devaronian told the feelers that one of the women and a tall man had left after the meeting with him. The tall man had been very interested in Drolen Antig, a Nalroni who TOS had used as a broker from time to time. The “tall man” was obviously the one described by Teno’s first hunters; Ryvo Lorell.

     Logic suggested that they’d go after Antig, in hopes that the Nalroni could lead them to the TOS base, or to use in setting a trap. Andell knew that Ryvo’s parent’s home in Celanon City was constantly staked out by a small TOS team consisting of one man and a squad of droids, in place to kill or capture anyone visiting the site. It was a sensible measure, and Andell had given the order himself after becoming general. Unfortunately, it was a measure that backfired on him in the end. Teno had notified the TOS HQ about the Devaronian’s revelations when Andell hadn’t been available, and they in turn had taken the initiative to go over Andell’s proverbial helmet and send a message to the team on Celanon. That team had taken action immediately, but it was unknown what that action was. All Andell knew was that team could not be allowed kill Ryvo Lorell. It would destroy Andell’s chances of executing his last relevant act in life.

     Andell had run the options through his head. Ordering the TOS agent stationed in Celanon City to stand down would raise an alarm. The man was fiercely loyal to Xanthis and TOS not to mention just plain fierce. He could have been promoted to general, but he lacked the smarts to be an effective leader and decision maker…except for when it came to the decisions involving death, which Andell could only feign to excel in. If Andell tried to hire someone to find and eliminate the squad, time and firepower would be hurdles too high to leap. He had to send another team. Quietly.

     But who could lead such a team and risk a fate worse than death at the hands of Xanthis? Who would? Andell would lead it himself, but to implement the rest of his plan, he had to be here, on Zhar Delba. It wasn’t cowardice. For the first time, it wasn’t. In fact, his role would be far more dangerous, nestled in the cradle of menace that he was. But there was someone who he had thought would help him. Another man who walked that line of treachery and self-respect. Lieutenant Jeevers had walked the hallways of the TOS base with an expression that Andell knew from his own reflection. The only difference was that Andell knew how to hide it in public. He had been sure Jeevers would jump at the chance. And he had been right…after convincing the man that it wasn’t a deceptive test of his loyalty.

     Andell laughed. Not hard, just a chuckle. He was going to do it. He had found a way to vindicate himself for his sins. In the unlikely event that he survived, which he still hoped he didn’t, he’d spend his time in incarceration on finding a way to bring people back from death. There had to be a way. It was all in his head, somewhere. But for now, he had some calls to make.

     As he reached for the comm panel on his nightstand, he felt his bed move.

     “Andy?” a soft, female voice asked.

     Andell froze, arm in mid-air. Had he brought a slave girl into his bedroom without remembering? He threw that theory away in the same second his mind suggested it. The voice was familiar, but in a nostalgic way. And it had called him “Andy.” It sounded a lot like her. Andell dropped his face into his pillow and laughed at himself. It was probably a sound slug of her voice, then, coming from the player on the other nightstand that had somehow triggered automatically. That’s what it had to be. Except that he didn’t have any slugs with her voice on it.

     Slowly, Andell rolled over, knowing that he’d find an empty bed and realize it had been his imagination. But what he knew and what he thought he knew weren’t the same. There she was, hair disheveled, and eyes heavy with sleep.

     “Did you forget to set your alarm again?” she asked.

     Andell looked at her and burst into tears. He hugged her and she slowly hugged him back, obviously confused.

     “I’m sorry,” he wailed.

     “It’s okay,” she said. “I probably wake you up every night when I have to go to the bathroom. Don’t be so emotional.”

     Andell pulled back and looked at her. “You always were sweet like that. Worried about me over you. Listen to me. I want to tell you something. I love you more than anyone or anything in the galaxy. Please believe me. But I’m sorry for doing what I did. I’m going to make up for it. I am going to make the moral choice. That’s something I haven’t done in a long time. I’m doing it for you. I owe it to your memory.”

     She shook her head, still confused. “My memory?”

     “Yes,” Andell said, sobbing, “your loving memory.”

     “What are you talking about?”

     “I…killed the life we could have lived together. I killed the kids we could have had. I killed you. I killed who I was and became something terrible.”

     Her body started to glow, but not brightly. She didn’t look sad, but as if she were thinking of something far away, as if she had suddenly been hit by an understanding.

     “How are you going to make the moral choice, as you put it?” she asked as her body’s glow began to fade and her along with it.

     “Somebody is in need and I’m going to help them,” Andell said. “I’m doing it for you. I’m doing it for my mom and dad.”

     Her now transparent hand caressed his face. “No. We’re gone, Andy. Do it for them. Do it for yourself. You need it more than the dead. Those living people need it.”

     “Okay,” Andell agreed. “But after I do it, if I survive, I don’t want to be among the living. I want to die. I can’t live knowing that I allowed what happened to you to happen with my consent. Death is less severe.”

     “No,” she said again, her image thinning more and more. “Don’t murder yourself for fear of paying the consequences. That would be the ultimate cowardice. Face them. That is the moral thing to do, my love.”

     “I will,” Andell said. “For you—for myself I mean.”

     She smiled. “Good. Now I must go, Andy. I love you.”

     “No!” Andell yelled, grasping for her fading form. When it was gone, he stared at where she had been. “I love you, too, Lena.”

     Andell sighed, his tears drying on his cheeks. He thought about his death wish. It didn’t make sense. It would be a final act of cowardice after completing the last thing he wanted to do in life, hence cheapening it. The ultimate cowardice, Lena had said. For once, he’d make a stand in life. He’d face his fears and adversity, instead of running away from them. It was the dignifying thing to do. Besides, he now had a reason to live. He’d just talked to Lena, proving that there was a way to bring people back to life. Given time and study, he’d learn the mechanics of it and make it work.

     Soon Andell was asleep after making two calls on the comm. Some of his apprehension was put to rest by the conversation with Lena that never took place.