The blaster bolt hit one of Frosto’s men’s helmet-mounted comm units. It shattered and melted instantly. Without pause, the four more bolts came from the rooftop, these blue, hitting each guard in the chest before they had a chance to raise their rifles. They all fell to the ground, leaving Frosto shaking nervously, his hand hovering over his holster.

     “Now, Frosto, seeing as the Reussi government—for a small price—will have no compunctions about turning a blind eye to killing in self-defense, I suggest you take my advice and go. Now. Send somebody back for you men. Somebody unarmed. And then leave the system.”

     Frosto backed away, looking down at his men. He looked back to Jace, as if to make a threatening remark before leaving, but decided better against it. The short man turned and jogged off, his hand reaching for a comlink on his belt.

     Jace leaned his head back. “Did you get all that?”

     “Yeah,” Jen said, leaning over the roof’s edge.

     “You know what this means, right?”

     “Yeah,” Jen said again. “TOS is here. Or at least someone on their payroll. If the Devaronian’s roughing up wasn’t enough, then combined with Resik’s death it is.”

     Jace nodded as he knocked on the Tusk’s door.

     The doors opened and the two Tusk guards came out, their weapons at the ready. Jace suggested they disarm the unconscious VosseTech men and close the door back up. Somebody would be back. Whether it would be a few people to pick the men up or a unit to raid the Tusk, Jace didn’t know. He just knew that all these new variables meant he that had to hurry.

     As he stepped into the airlock and the outer door was closing, it occurred to him that Frosto might have been the one that killed Resik and had his men intimidate the Devaronian. Once Frosto learned of OMEGA’s true identity by whatever means, he would have wanted to know where they were, and Resik knew where they had gone, or at least had an idea of it. But was Frosto that kind of man? Would he kill a “friend” for information because of an obsession with pirates? Sith Squadron wasn’t exactly a pirate organization, but they took part in acts of piracy. Resik would be clandestine, Ryvo had said. Clandestine to the point of dying while being tortured for information?

     Ryvo. He was another matter entirely. Ryvo leaves, Frosto shows up knowing who Jace really was. Frosto may not have been working with TOS—especially if his hate of pirates was legitimate—but this all made it look like Ryvo sure was. Frosto could just be a pawn in Ryvo’s game of treachery. Jace cursed himself for sending Thunder along with Ryvo. It would have been nice to have another lightsaber, considering the current situation. But he couldn’t have let Ryvo go alone. It was a no-win situation, and he had chosen the lesser of two evils. The smart, logical thing to do would be to collect Jen and get the hell out of there. But when it came to Reno, Jace was anything but logical. He had Reno’s location within his grasp. He could feel it. The sensation was so powerful it almost drowned out everything else.

     He and Jen would stay. They would fight off any attacks without Thunder. Without the rest of Sith Squadron. Hopefully, Rick, Narska and Fox were drawing as much attention away from them as they possibly could. If they died, then they died. Their deaths were fish bait next to finding Reno. As were anyone’s deaths who stood in the way of Jace’s goals.

     Including, ultimately, his own.     

     Skate woke again, coming out of her self-imposed healing trance. Star’s procedure had worked, but it had left Skate with an unshakeable headache. She had taken painkillers and slept for hours, but none of it had worked. So she had entered into the trance, using the Force to rid her of the spike-driving pain in her head. As she blinked her eyes and looked around, it seemed to have worked. Of course, she knew what it was. The residual pain from the replaced memory of the TOS doctor’s injections. The best way to describe the injections was pure torture. A searing pain that would supercede any linguistic description.

     She looked to her side, seeing a reflection of light on a glass surface. It wasn’t a bacta tank this time, though. A large rectangular case that held weapons of all sort: ancient energy weapons, slugthrowers, knives, swords. She looked to her other side and saw another identical case, but filled with more modern technology. These things didn’t remind her of where she was. Rather, they only reaffirmed her whereabouts. She was on Ryvo’s ship, the Thrillseeker, on its way to Celanon. Skate had gone into the healing trance not twelve hours after leaving the SSD, so the slight hum of the hyperdrive indicated that all things had so far gone according to plan in the interim.

     Except for the arguing voices issuing from the cockpit.

     Skate rolled from the bunk, pulled her boots on and made her way forward.

     “I just don’t see how you can any longer harbor the smallest fragment of distrust,” Ryvo’s voice came from the cockpit. “You wanted to let me go alone to find Antig. What was with that sudden burst of confidence?”

     “I had no intention of letting you go alone,” Thunder snapped back. “I was trying to get Jace to change his mind and send Jen.”

     “So you could stay and watch Jace get his ass beat?”

     “Partly,” Thunder said, her voice lighter, comical. “But I just can’t take any more of Jace ordering me around. He flaunts this hallucination of power he has. I didn’t want to stay there, even if I got to see his ass get beat. But I would have, if it meant defying him and saving face. In front of you and Jen. Especially in front of him. It is an affront to my honor.”

     “We’re straying from the point,” Ryvo said. “Look at all I’ve done. I showed my psionic skill isn’t banthashit. Isn’t that enough for you?”

     “Jace made a good point a few days ago,” Thunder said. “The legitimacy of your skill isn’t the case…the ends for which you use it is.”

     “Damn,” Ryvo said. “Do you actually think—“

     He turned around to look at Thunder, but found Skate standing at the door.

     “Sorry,” Skate said.

     Thunder whirred her head around. “I didn’t hear you.”

     “You were embroiled in this interesting discussion,” Skate said, dropping into the second passenger seat behind Ryvo’s pilot seat. “Forgive my eavesdropping, but please, go on.”

     Ryvo grinned in mock appreciation and looked back to Thunder. “If you don’t trust me, then probe my freaking head. Jace did. He didn’t find anything.”

     “As much as I hate to even consider that you’re in any way better than me, you have a powerful control of sending commands through the Force. What if you’re using this mental power to somehow block our probes?”

     Ryvo chuckled. “Thunder’s confidence against her paranoia. Which will win?”

     Skate laughed, too, but in good nature. Even Thunder joined them.

     “But honestly, Thunder,” Ryvo said, sobering. “Trust isn’t the issue here. Faith is. You can examine what you know and make a choice. Trust me or don’t trust me, I don’t care. Just make a decision. Because I’m tired of trying to prove myself.”

     Skate nodded. Ryvo did have a point.

     Thunder looked down in thought when a beep issued from Ryvo’s console.

     “Saved by the bell,” he muttered as he flipped a few switches. “We’re coming out of hyperspace.”

     “I woke up just in time,” Skate said, grinning.

     “For the fight or our reversion?” Ryvo asked, looking back.

     “Yes.”

     Ryvo just shook his head, smiling.

     “How long have I been out?” Skate asked, looking at Thunder.

     “Long enough,” Thunder said. “We’re dropping into the Celanon system. You missed our stop at some other planet on the Celanon Spur. Ze…Zer—“

     “Zeryedenettyl,” Ryvo finished for Thunder.

     “What he said.”

     “Did I miss anything?” Skate asked.

     “Not really,” Ryvo answered. “We just picked up a load of local crafts, I guess you’d call them. They’re giant serpentine helmets from ancient Zeryedenettyli civilization. Probably for decoration or burial purposes, since I can’t see anyone fighting in those things.”

     “That’s our cover?” Skate asked skeptically. “Who’d buy that stuff?”

     “A Nalroni trader would buy a bucket of shit if he thought he could make two credits off of it,” Ryvo said. “I don’t know of any fecal matter fanatics, but there are plenty of art collectors and anthropologists who’d snag these helmets for a modest price. The point is, we don’t need to sell them, we just need to have something there to show Customs.”

     Ryvo threw a few levers back and the Thrillseeker popped into realspace. Beyond the cockpit, myriad ships soared in all directions, appearing as white and gray dots against the backdrop of the planet and its yellow sun off to port. All except one, which appeared as a white arrowhead, the sun’s light bathing one side in light. Skate looked up at the passenger display screen over Ryvo’s head, fed the same data as Rvyo’s smaller pilot’s screen.

Impaler, KDY Imperial-class Star Destroyer II, registry Imperial Navy

Judge, KDY Law-class Light Patrol Craft registry Imperial Customs Service

Jury, KDY Nebulon B Frigate, registry Imperial Customs Service

Executioner, Damorian Manufacturing Carrack-class Light Cruiser, registry Imperial Customs Service

     “Cute names, there,” Skate said, skimming over the civilian ships on the screen. “But you need to change the text color. It’s not exactly easy on the eyes.”

     The color changed to black.

     “Sorry,” Ryvo apologized. “There should be another Star Destroyer or three somewhere. Probably on the other side of the planet.”

     “Fortified system,” Thunder said.

     “Here they come,” Ryvo said.

     The overhead screen switched to a visual to show a full squadron of TIEs approaching the Thrillseeker, or whatever name Ryvo was using at the moment.

     “Showstopper, this is Jury Squadron,” a gruff voice came from the speakers. “Slow to one thousand KPH and set a course for zero one two mark one.”

     Ryvo answered the order without reply. “I just hope we don’t get inspected. The skipper of the Jury can be a real dick. How many credits do you have on you?”

     “Couple thousand in my bag,” Thunder said. “Is that enough?”

     “Any amount is enough,” Ryvo said. “But the more you have, the more he’ll take. Usually about three quarters of what you have.”

     Thunder leaned back in her chair. “Bring him on. I’m so not worried.”

     Skate smiled. Damn, it felt good to have the power of the dark side.

     “We’ve scanned your records,” Jury Leader said. “You’ve never visited Celanon before. We have you coming out of Zery. What’s your cargo?”

     Skate grinned at the Imp pilot’s shortening of the planet’s name.

     “Local crafts,” Ryvo said.

     There was another short pause. “The verdict is in; you’re innocent. Your landing authorization code is being transmitted. Maintain this course and wait for contact from Celanon City Spaceport Control for landing instructions. Enjoy your stay on Celanon.”

     With that, the TIEs angled away to return to their mothership.

     “Courteous for Imperials,” Skate observed. “Humorous, even.”

     Ryvo turned to her. “They have to be. This system has to be on the Alliance’s hit list. The Empire needs to have the natives on its side. The Alliance, New Republic, whatever you want to call them, will have a hard time taking this system without inside help.”

     “So it’s pretty pro-Imperial here?” Thunder asked.

     “It’ll be business as usual for the Nalroni no matter who’s in charge,” Ryvo said. “If they taught me anything, it’s adaptation and weathering storms.”

     “And you know this Nalroni, right?” Skate asked. “This Drolen Antig?”

     “Mostly by name, as does everyone around here,” Ryvo said. “I met him once in a business transaction when I was learning the ropes from an old friend. That was a long time ago, but I remember what he looks like. He looks sneaky, even for a Nalroni.”

     “What makes you think he’s here now?” Thunder asked.

     Ryvo shrugged. “I made a few calls. It seems the general consensus is that he is holed up somewhere in the rural areas. He screwed over a group of Advoszec businessmen not too long ago. A shitload of credits. They apparently have a horde of bounty hunters after him.”

     “So if everyone thinks he’s hiding here, why don’t they just go find him?” Skate asked.

     “The hunters are actually the ones that came up with the theory,” Ryvo explained. “They can’t find a trace of him anywhere. Granted, it’s a big galaxy, but bounty hunter syndicates have contacts everywhere. Antig isn’t to be found anywhere. The problem is, they can’t go looking for him outside of Celanon City. Before you ask why, I’ll tell you: no non-Nalroni are allowed outside the city limits.”

     “Why?” Skate asked.

     “The Nalroni farmers shun Celanon City. Hell, some don’t even want the Celanites—that’s what they call the Nalroni businessmen—to come back. To them, Celanon City is a hole on the plains that sucks in greedy and corrupted Nalroni, hence purifying their land. But some clans welcome home their Celanite cousins, for they receive their share of the profits. Somebody has to sell their harvest.”

     “So Antig’s family is probably hiding him,” Skate concluded.

     “And the bounty hunters can’t go after him,” Thunder added.

     “Okay,” Skate said, turning a palm upward, “this is all very interesting, but how will we make it out of the city?”

     Ryvo turned back again, flashing a grin. “We’re not bounty hunters. It’s been arranged. Once were out, our contact will help us get across the plains safely.”

     “Your contact is that old friend you were speaking of, right?” Thunder guessed.

     “It’s an old friend, but not that one,” Ryvo said. He turned back to his controls. “This may take a while. Going in covert means I can’t use my connections. We’d be on our way down there as I speak if I could. We’ve got some time on our hands.”

     “Did you get your lightsaber back in working order?” Thunder asked Skate.

     “Yes, thanks,” Skate said. “Maybe I’ll go back and triple check it.”

     Ryvo shrugged. “Like I said, we’ve got time.”

     He put the Lone Scout in orbit and they waited for Spaceport Control to make contact. The wait was surprisingly short, considering the amount of ships in orbit. Skate assumed that some were probably loaded by barge. She collected her lightsaber and returned to the cockpit.

     After receiving landing instructions from Control, Ryvo slipped the ship into the atmosphere. When they broke through the light cloud cover, Skate gasped at the beauty of the planet. The large continent they were over was almost completely covered in the random patterns of farmland. Rows upon rows of crops covered the land, bisected at times by small rivers or streams and the occasional road. A huge plateau ran along the western bank of the irregularly shaped continent, rolling into a lush green forest at the north end. The sight almost reminded her of her homeworld of Toprawa, save for the fact that Celanon leaned more towards a brownish color than green. She scanned the terrain for any sign of Celanon City, but didn’t see anything.

     “Is the city in this hemisphere?” she asked, craning her neck to look out the octagonal viewport.

     Ryvo nodded. “There’s an old maxim. It goes ‘Celanon City—if it’s anywhere, it’s there.’”

     As they descended, Ryvo brought his ship parallel with the surface. They cruised over the plateau at an altitude of about five hundred meters. Several droid harvesters rolled through the crops, leaving flattened landed in their wake.

     Ryvo punched a few buttons and turned a dial. “Watch this guy.”

     The visual enhancers zoomed in on one of the harvesters. A smug-looking Nalroni farmer leaned on a rail on top of the enormous machine, letting it do its work. Ryvo then hit a switch and an alarm blared from the Thrillseeker’s external loudhailers. The screen showed the Nalroni scowl and put an index finger to the tip of his snout and flick it to point at the ship.

     “Did he just flip us off?” Skate asked. “Or the equivalent, I mean?”

     Ryvo nodded, turning off the visual.

     “Right back at ya, buddy,” Skate said, throwing up her middle finger and aiming it through the viewport.

     “Where in the hell is this city?” Thunder asked impatiently.

     “Right…there.”

     They came over the edge the plateau’s western face and at its base an oval-shaped city shined in the sun’s afternoon light. It sprawled across the landscape, but unlike cities on most planets, it didn’t gradually thin out to fewer and fewer buildings. It abruptly stopped, giving it the distinct oval shape. As they got closer and closer, Skate saw the reason…a high wall surrounded the city, with gates to the outside few and far between. She called up a map of the city using the control pad on her chair arm. The spaceport covered the entire western end of the city. A red area indicated a no-fly zone—the Imperial garrison, which also had a wall around it. A flashing blue point on the map indicated the beacon in their assigned landing bay. Ships left the city as they approached, while other buzzed down past them to make a landing.

     Skate got up from her seat. “I better go powder my nose before we debark.”

     “Aren’t you worried about your weapons?” Thunder asked Ryvo.

     “Why would I be? Celanon Customs is far from being as aggressive as the Imps. And a lot cheaper to bribe. Those weapons are just part of my collection, after all.”

     “This is your world,” Thunder said, getting up to join Skate. “I’ll assume you know what you’re doing.”

     Skate waited for Thunder and they made their way to the passenger compartment. Skate opened a bag and pulled out the components of their minimal disguise. They were supposed to be down on their luck scouts who’d been forced to turn to free trading. As she felt the repulsors bring the Thrillseeker to the ground, Skate donned her neck-flap cap and pulled a pair of goggles over her head to rest on the bill. When she turned, she almost laughed.

     Thunder stood with her arms folded, wearing a large, floppy hat of worn leather. It was the type used to block the sun while riding pack beasts. Along with the brown and tan fatigues identical to the ones Skate wore, she looked out of place.

     “Don’t worry,” Skate said, trying to stifle her laugh. “Ryvo said we have to change somewhere in the city.”

     “We do,” Ryvo said.

     Skate looked over at the cockpit hatch and laughed again. Ryvo stood there with the same style of brown and tan fatigues as the women, but with the arms cut off—what was it with Ryvo and cutting the arms off of shirts? But that wasn’t what Skate found so funny. Ryvo had inserted a set of phony teeth that poked out from his mouth, all crooked and yellow.

     “Whachoo laughin’ at? I’m just a good ole boy from Krazo!”

     Even Thunder laughed. “Ryvo, that accent is great!”

     “I hope the customs officer agrees,” Ryvo said in his normal voice. “This is an old smuggler’s ploy. Acting like a stupid hick never fails.”

     He stood by the hatch and looked to the women for approval. They nodded and he hit the switch. The ramp slowly dropped and they all descended the ramp. Ryvo stuck a long piece of wheat in his ersatz teeth on the way down. Skate had to hold down a giggle.

     One in the bay, they looked around like they’d never been in such a fancy bay—although it wasn’t all that fancy. Less than a minute later, the doors to the bay slid open and the customs team entered. Two humans led by a Duros, the former strapped with blaster rifles on their backs.

     Skate purposely turned from the trio, in case she laughed at Ryvo’s accent again.

     “Captain Trechen?” the Duros asked.

     “Dat’s me,” Ryvo said in an unnecessarily loud voice. “But choo can call me Arly!”

     “Right,” the Duros said slowly. He removed a datapad and began tapping a few buttons on it. “Papers?”

     “What’s yer name?” Ryvo asked the inspector as he tossed him a datacard.

     The Duros briefly looked up from the datapad, annoyed. “Han Solo.”

     “Didja hear dat, mama, this Neimodian’s name is da same as dat guy we see on the newsnets!”

     The Duros shook his head and continued typing. His two human subordinates tried to stifle their laughs.

     Ryvo moved the wheat around in his mouth and crossed his arms. “So how long you been here, Mr. Solo? Didn’t like Neimodia?”

     “I am not a Neimodian,” the Duros said in an exasperated tone. “And if you think my name is Han Solo, then you’ve been chewing too much of that stuff. Now, let’s get this over with, shall we? Are the two ladies your only passengers, Captain Trechen?”

     Ryvo tilted his head at the Duros.

     “Arly,” the Duros said, doing the equivalent of a human rolling his eyes.

     “Yup, these be da only two.”

     “Their names?”

     Ryvo pointed to Thunder. “Dis is my wife, Gelana. Dat lil’n standin’ there lookin’ cute is our daughtiece Ceilany.”

     The Duros frowned. “Daughtiece?”

     “Yeah,” Ryvo said. “She’s my niece and daughter at da same time.”

     The Duros looked back at his two men, who were red from restraining their laughter. “You mean…Gelana is your…”

     “My sister?” Ryvo finished for him. “Dat’s right. I’m da oldest brother, so I got first pick.”

     “Okay, Arly, it looks like you are ready to go,” the Duros said. He tossed Ryvo a package. “Here are the ID’s you will be using while visiting Celanon City. There is a datacard with further instructions in there, too. Good day.”

     “Don’t you want to inspect the ship?” Ryvo called to the Duros’ back.

     “Maybe some other time,” the Duros said as he exited the bay and hurried onto the street outside, his guards not far behind.

     “I applaud your performance,” Thunder said.

     “Never fails,” Ryvo said. “Come on, we’ve got to go somewhere and change into our other disguises then meet our contact. Let’s go grab our bags.”

     “Okay, daddy,” Skate said in the Krazoni accent.

     Ryvo turned to her and shuddered. “Don’t do that again.”

     Skate looked good in leather. Real good. So did Thunder, for that matter, but Skate was the object of Ryvo’s affection, so she had full command of his attention.

     She had changed into a tight leather halter-top, black chaps over very short denim cutoffs, knee high boots and a gray bandana with fake black strands of hair hanging down. As Skate was not really one to show off, Thunder took one of the Toprawan woman’s hands and spun her around.

     Thunder wore a denim tank top and black leather pants. Her hair was streaked with temporary blonde dye styled differently than normal. A few ersatz tattoos on the two women rounded out their disguises. They didn’t look anything like themselves, and that was neither bad nor good.

     Ryvo himself had on denim pants, spiked boots, a torn Mobquet shirt, snowcap and a phony goatee that hung to his chest. A pair of contact lenses transformed his eye color to a dull brown and a scar ran across the bridge of his nose.

     As they approached the entrance to their meet point, the owner of the neighboring business watched in horror as a swooper relieved himself in a bush on the side of his building. On the hood of a beat up landspeeder, a swooper kissed a woman dressed like Skate that shouldn’t have been dressed like Skate. Swoops were zigzagged and randomly parked around the building, making the door the endpoint of a maze of metal and plasteel. Off to the left, a few dozen sport swoops were neatly lined up, arranged by the color of their bodies; red, yellow, florescent green. From what Ryvo could tell, there were at least three different gangs—or riding clubs—inside.

     When they finally reached the hinged door, it burst open and two couples came stumbling out, laughing and whooping all the way to the parking area. Ryvo raised his eyebrows at the two Sith chicks and read the sign next to the door.

     “Ah, a unique double feature tonight mixing music with comedy,” he said. “Worm Ridden Filth and Harri Haha.”

     “Let’s see if they live up to their names,” Thunder said, throwing the door open.

     A chorus of boos and catcalls filled the large room. A look to the right showed the stage and a small man holding his hands up; apparently Harri Haha.

     “Wait, okay, just wait, people,” Harri said. “Here’s one. Ahem. Why is Flangth-2-Go still counting? How insecure is this company? Forty million, eighty jillion, billion, zillion…is anyone really impressed anymore? Oh, eighty-nine billion sold! All right, I’ll have one. I’m satisfied. Who cares? I would love to meet the chairman of the board of Flangth-2-Go and say to him: Look, we all get it. Okay, you’ve sold a lot of Flangth. Whatever the hell the number is, just put up a sign that reads ‘Flangth-2-Go, we’re doing very well.’ We are tired of hearing about every blasted one of them. What is their ultimate goal, to have nerfs surrendering voluntarily, or something? Showing up at the door saying ‘We’d like to turn ourselves in. We see the sign. We realize we have very little chance out there. We’d like to be a Kiddie Kase if that’s at all possible.’”

     The audience of swoopers was silent for a moment, all of them exchanging glances.

     “He’s a goner,” Ryvo muttered.

     Harri looked at his audience, smiling expectantly. The swoopers stared back. Then they rushed the stage. Harri threw his microphone in the air and ran for the side stage exit. The swoopers ran after him like a herd of feral banthas.

     “Get that man a jukebox and a pair of really big shoes!” a voice yelled across the room.

     Ryvo looked over to see Meltdown sitting at the bar, which now was all but cleared. “Nobody else would get that.”

     “I bet you’d be surprised,” Meltdown said, getting up from his stool and proffering his hand to Ryvo.

     Ryvo gripped it and pointed to Skate and Thunder. “I’m sure you remember these two ladies.”

     “Of course,” Meltdown said. “And Skate, you must remember Havoc, the man who gave you a ride back on Kiffu.”

     “How could I forget,” Skate said, nodding to the Advozsec standing next to Meltdown.

     Ryvo noticed Havoc looked down, which was uncharacteristic for the alien, who was usually in high spirits.

     “What’s wrong, Hav?” Ryvo asked. “You look like you lost all your money in a bet.”

     “It’s not that bad,” Meltdown said, waving a hand. “He just lost his wife.”

     “Oh,” Ryvo said. “I thought it was something serious.”

     “A wife dying isn’t serious?” Skate asked.

     “He didn’t say she died,” Ryvo clarified. “He said he lost her. He loses her every few months or so. I thought you went to marriage counseling, Havoc.”

     “We did,” Havoc said, twirling a finger in the air. “They told us to put the magic back in our relationship. Well, it worked. She disappeared.”

     “This makes, what, eight times now?” Ryvo asked Meltdown.

     “He’d been doing pretty good, actually,” Meltdown said. “It was down to a few times a year. But now, he’s worried it’s for good.”

     “Will you guys quit it,” Havoc said. “Don’t you know it’s rude to talk about someone in the third person when they’re standing right next to you.”

     “This is bad, Melt,” Ryvo said seriously. “He’s turned into a protocol droid.”

     Havoc gave Ryvo a scowl. “Shut up and order a drink for the ladies.”

     “Barkeep, three mugs and a bottle of Whyren’s,” Ryvo called.

     “You can pay up front for that, ese!” the bartender exclaimed.

     Ryvo tossed a few coins on the bar. “So, how’d you recognize me?”

     “It wasn’t hard,” Meltdown replied. “One tall guy and two hot women came in. So how’d you get all your hair up in that cap?”

     Ryvo pulled off the cap.

     “You cut your hair?” Meltdown asked uncertainly.

     “Yup.”

     “Why?”

     “Because it heralds the new man I’ve become. A symbol of freeing myself of what I used to be, to make room for what I am and what I will be.”

     Meltdown nodded. “Got tired of taking care of it?”

     “Yep,” Ryvo said, pouring the delivered Whyren’s into Skate and Thunder’s glasses before his own.

     “What is that?” Skate asked, indicating the plate in front of Meltdown.

     “Food,” Meltdown said. “Danochitlon food, to be exact. This is a Danochitlon restaurant, if you haven’t noticed.”

     “Danochitlon?” Thunder asked.

     “Planet on the Rimward end of Hutt Space,” Meltdown explained. “The native population is a strange lot. They constantly brag about being the hardest workers in the galaxy, but usually do so while leaning on a stack of crates as everyone else toils away. But they have some good food.”

     “It doesn’t look very good,” Skate said, dismay apparent on her face. “Especially those chunks covered in that red gravy. Doesn’t smell very good, either.”

     “To each his own,” Meltdown said, shrugging. “Or her own. But if you think it smells bad now, just wait a few hours.”

     Thunder sighed emphatically. “What a cultural lesson this has been. Danochitlon is a planet whose natives are spicy food cooking braggarts that love swoops.”

     “I don’t think they love swoops as a whole,” Meltdown amended. “They just host this weekly Swoop Night thing to boost sales. Good business move. Booking that Harri Haha guy for Swoop Night…not good business.”

     “So what have you found out?” Ryvo asked, eager to get on to business of his own.

     “I got in touch with all of the usual people,” Meltdown said. “A few of them say they know his rumored location. The rest don’t claim to know anything, so I’m inclined to believe the rumors.”

     “That’s great,” Ryvo said. “Where is it?”

     “One of the smaller Cekbar-Owu islands.”

     Ryvo sighed. “That’s not so great.”

     “Why?” Skate and Thunder asked simultaneously.

     “It’s gonna be hard to get across the sea to those islands,” Ryvo explained. “It’s isn’t far, but still, if you’re over water and someone decides to harass you, there isn’t anywhere to run. Er…swim.”

     Thunder nodded and sipped her drink. “How did you plan on getting there in the first place?”

     Ryvo jerked his head at Meltdown.

     The big man elaborated not so elaborately. “Swoops.”

     “Great idea,” Thunder said. “Extremely stealthy vehicles.”

     Meltdown snorted and reached into his jacket’s inside pocket. “With the help of these.”

     Ryvo and each Sith picked up one of the chrome discs, which were roughly the size of a portable holographic projector.

     “Very impressive,” Ryvo said, turning his around in his hands, “what are they?”

     “Sound bubbles,” Meltdown said. “Activate them and they generate a sphere that blocks sound vibration. Here, I’ll show you.”

     Meltdown took one and hit the small button. The device lit up and suddenly Ryvo couldn’t hear anything but his stool squeaking as he moved on it. Meltdown’s jacket ruffled as he pointed to the bartender, whose back was to them.

     “No toca esa botella! No es legal servir orina a sus consumidores!”

     Despite Meltdown’s cacophonous warning, the bartender grabbed the bottle and poured a yellow-colored drink for another patron. Meltdown spread his arms and deactivated the device.

     “I’ve seen units like that before,” Skate said. “But they were usually much larger and built into something that could be used as a decoration, a tree or coat rack, for example.”

     “Yeah, well, these are from the same company, but they only dampen sounds in an area of about two fifths what the bigger units do,” Meltdown said. “These are more for use on public transports, restaurants, libraries—“

     “Offices, when the secretary is paying a special visit to the boss,” Thunder cut in.

     “Anyways, great idea, Melt,” Ryvo said.

     “So, what do we do now?” Thunder asked. “This is your turf, so you come up with something.”

     “We’re just gonna have to take our chances,” Ryvo said. “We go in, stop a few kilometers out, then swim the rest of the way. Underwater.”

     “Man, I hate swimming,” Havoc said.

     “Then stay here,” Ryvo said. “Wuss.”

     Havoc shook his head. “I can’t. I told my cousin I’d make sure Antig’s head came off.”

     “His cousin is one of the businessmen Antig’s been hiding from,” Ryvo explained to the Sith chicks. “Don’t worry, that little bastard’s head will come off. Both of them. If he even has both. He screws over everyone and then buys himself an island and lives comfortably? I don’t think so.”

     “Actually, the rumor is that he’s only leasing the island,” Meltdown said. “And he can’t be living too comfortably, knowing bounty hunters are looking to collect the price on his head, dead or alive.”

     “Whatever.”

     “We’re going to need a lot of equipment for this,” Thunder said. “Can you get it?”

     “Look where we are,” Ryvo said, sniffing a laugh. “If it’s on the galactic market, it’s in Celanon City and it’s negotiable. We better get moving. It’ll be dark soon. I’m assuming the arrangements have been made?”

     Meltdown nodded. “The security net will be down at the proper time.”

     “Twenty-nine hundred local?”

     “Twenty-eight.”

     “I want to stop by my parents’ place,” Ryvo said, taking a look at his wrist chrono. As he did, he noticed that Skate had looped her arm through his. He smiled at her. How had he missed that?

     “We have three swoops,” Meltdown said, rising from his seat. “The women can ride on back.”

     “Skate can ride with me,” Havoc said, forcibly smiling.

     “She’s with me,” Ryvo said. “Besides, you shouldn’t have a passenger while you’re in your current state of melancholy.”

     Thunder slammed down her last bit of Whyren’s. “I agree. In fact, you shouldn’t even be operating a swoop. You can ride on my back, because I’m not taking a back seat to anyone.”

     Havoc raised a finger. “Just wait a second! Nobody flies my swoop but me! What makes you think you can just tell me to ride bitch?”

     Thunder gaped. “What did you call me?”

     “No, no,” Havoc said, raising his hands. “I didn’t say ‘ride, bitch’, I said ride bitch. Adverb.”

     Thunder relaxed. “Ah. Well, I can make you ‘ride bitch’ because I have an energy blade that could cut off that finger you thrust at me in half of a heartbeat.” Thunder raised her eyebrows. “Bitch.”

     “Okay,” Havoc said. “I see your point. I could use some rest. You can pilot. But after we’re gone from the city. Don’t want anyone to see. Please?”

     Thunder rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

     “We’re gonna go warm the swoops up,” Meltdown said, laughing at the exchange. “Come on, Hav.”

     “Follow me, Thunder,” Havoc said. “I’ll show you my swoop. The one you’ll be riding, remember. The one you’re responsible for. I don’t want any scratches on it. It’s brand new.”

     “So that’s why your wife left you,” Thunder said as they headed for the entrance.

     Ryvo laughed. “Why is it that women get mad at men for spending money? Is it because they want the men to spend it on them?”

     “Not exactly, I don’t think,” Skate said, rolling off of her stool and standing in front of Ryvo, putting her arms around his neck. “More like they want them to use the money on something to win their hearts over and over again. Women are in love with falling in love. And if the men buy something that takes time away from doing that, then that makes the woman not mad, but jealous. But jealous in a good way.”

     Ryvo nodded and looked at the Whyren’s Reserve on the bar top. “And if he spends it on something that the couple can share together, then that’s even better.”

     “Sound conclusion,” Skate said, nodding.

     Ryvo bit his lip. “But sometimes women are like the men. They buy a new wardrobe or something like that. Or a perfume that smells slightly different than the fifty they already have.”

     “You’ve just never found the right one, that’s all,” Skate said, playfully pulling on his fake goatee.

     “Perfume?”

     “No, woman, silly,” Skate said. “Thunder told me about your ex on Reuss. Wasn’t she a bit old for you?”

     “Not really,” Ryvo said innocently. “When we got together, she was about thirty-five, I was about twenty-one. Something like that.”

     “She was old enough to be your mother.”

     Ryvo sighed. “Well, she’s the only older woman I’ve ever dated, so I guess when I did, I had to go for the gold. But you’re right. She wasn’t right for me. There were literally dozens of women to choose from when I met her at VosseTech’s headquarters. But I went after her because she was the most flamboyant choice. We weren’t together for long. Pretty much it left me with a hole in my bank account and a reputation as ‘the kid that was with Roget Jiriss.’”

     “But the sex was great, right?” Skate asked suspiciously.

     Ryvo looked at her.

     “You never slept with her,” Skate said, sounding half questioning and half stating.

     “When I said it got me a thinner bank account and a reputation as her boy toy, that’s what I mean it got me,” Ryvo said, shaking his head. “All it got me. It was just a big mistake.”

     Skate smiled. “We’re entitled to some mistakes in life. But that’s quite a mistake for someone going for the gold.”

     “I don’t even try to go for the gold anymore,” Ryvo said.

     “Oh?”

     Ryvo shook his head, nodding to the hair concealed under Skate’s bandana. “I go for the red.”

     Skate smiled. She grabbed her glass from the bar and downed it.

     “Let’s go,” Ryvo said, grabbing the half-full bottle of Whyren’s. “They’re probably about ready to go.”

     Skate pouted jokingly. “We can’t stay for the music?”

     “Do you know what kind of music Worm Ridden Filth does? They’re a monotheistic death metal band. Any theories on how that sounds? THE CREATOR IS GOOD! FOLLOW HIM YOU SHOULD! THE DEVIL IS EVIL! WALKING HIS PATH IS FEEBLE!”

     Skate laughed as they headed for the door.

     “Hey, go ahead, I’ll be right out,” Ryvo said. “I need to use the ‘fresher.”

     She smiled and nodded. Ryvo weaved through the tables to the restroom’s door. He made sure it was the correct one, as the signs were in Danochitloni. He entered the surprisingly clean restroom and entered a stall. Somebody entered as he locked his stall. Ryvo, being naturally paranoid, paused and listened. The newcomer also went into a stall and locked the door. He heard no rustling of pants or other telltale sounds that the commode was being used.

     Ryvo slowly bent over to look under the stall. Two stalls over, he saw bare, two-toes feet. He searched his memory for aliens with two toes. Without any warning—even a discharge sound—a blaster bolt tore a hole in the stall, making Ryvo thankful that he had been leaning down at that moment. He dropped flat to the floor, not even considering its state of cleanliness. Grabbing his blaster he aimed it at the alien’s feet…which were no longer there. Had the bastard run from the room, thinking he’d gotten Ryvo in one shot? No, there had been no door slam, not to mention enough time to get out.

     Ryvo kept his blaster aimed at the stall. He raised it up, aiming where somebody would be if they were sitting on top of the commode. The assailant was probably waiting to see if he was still alive, listening for signs of life. But Ryvo stayed still, making no sound. Except for the sound of his blaster firing thrice. He heard a scream and got up, leaving the stall in a crouch. Sneaking up on the stall, he aimed his blaster at the door from an angle.

     “Throw out your weapons, if you’re still alive.” He paused. “If there is no response, I’m going to blow that stall apart, regardless. If you’re already dead, it won’t matter anyway.”

     A blaster with a silencer landed on the floor of the restroom. A knife soon followed.

     “Good,” Ryvo said. “Now is when I pump that stall full of blasterfire anyways!”

     He heard a gasp.

     Ryvo chuckled. “Gotcha.”

     Just then, Skate and Thunder burst into the restroom, their blasters drawn. Meltdown stalked in after them, confused.

     “What’s going on?” Thunder asked.

     “Son of a bitch tried to kill me,” Ryvo said, chucking a thumb at the stall. “How you’d know? He’s using a silencer.”

     When neither woman answered, Ryvo shook his head, realizing the stupidity of the question he’d asked.

     “Who is it?” Skate asked.

     “That’s what we’re about to find out.” He turned back to the stall. “Come out with your hands up. That is, if you still have all your hands.”

     Two three-fingered hands became visible, one covered in blood. The would be killer stepped out, revealing himself to be an Iotran, a species renown across the galaxy as soldiers, police, bounty hunters, mercenaries. Essentially anything to do with combat.

     “Who are you?” Ryvo asked.

     “Virad Yeb,” the Iotran answered, moving to put the bloody hand over a nasty wound on his shoulder.

     “Keep your hands up!” Ryvo ordered.

     Yeb complied.

     Ryvo nodded. “Why did you try to kill me?”

     “I was hired to.”

     “By whom?”

     Yeb looked surprised. “You don’t know?”

     “If I knew, would I be asking?”

     Yeb hesitated. “Drolen Antig.”

     “Where is he?” Ryvo demanded.

     “I don’t know,” Yeb answered, his eyes looking down at his wound.

     “You don’t answer me, you’ll have five more of those to worry about,” Ryvo said fiercely, his blaster aimed. “Now, where…is…Antig?”

     “Do you want me to make something up so you won’t shoot me? I don’t know.”

     “He’s telling the truth,” Thunder said.

     “I’ll take your word for that,” Ryvo said. He took a few steps toward Yeb. “Give me a reason I should let you live.”

     Yeb grunted in pain. “I can tell you where his ship is.”

     “Where?” Ryvo said shrugging.

     “It’s in a garage in the government sector,” Yeb said. “He convinced a rival family to hide it for him.”

     “Last place anybody would look,” Ryvo said, nodding. “Which family?”

     “Beldin,” Yeb said, eyes strained in recollection.

     “Well, Mr. Yeb, that was nice of you to tell us. But you’re going to die anyway.”

     Ryvo blasted three shots into Yeb, throwing the Iotran off his feet, killing him. He turned around to find Thunder, Meltdown and Skate staring back and forth from the dead alien to him.

     “What?”

     “You killed him,” Thunder said. It was said less out of surprise than in an appraising tone.

     “Uh…yeah. I don’t see why I should let someone go who just tried to kill me in cold blood.”

     Thunder walked up to him. She clapped him on the shoulder. “There’s hope for you yet.”

     “Hell,” Meltdown said, indicating the dead Iotran, “he’ll probably wind up in the food here.”

     “But, you made one mistake,” Skate said, casting a glance at the door.

     “What’s that?” Ryvo asked.

     “You should have used his blaster, what with it being fitted with a silencer and all,” Skate explained. “Now the cops will be here.”

     Ryvo laughed. “For one, cops will take a report of a blaster shot in a place like this as low priority. Two, I have this.”

     Ryvo reached into his pocket and displayed the sound bubble-generating device.

     “My hero,” Skate said in a feigned star struck voice.

     “Your hero?” Meltdown jabbed himself in the chest with a thumb. “If you’ll remember, the sound bubbles were my idea.”

     “You know, Melt, this means that they know we’re here and that means they’ve seen you with us,” Ryvo said, indicating the corpse. “What with your involvement at the prison base, you might not be so safe back on Kiffu, Dark Star Hellions or not.”

     Meltdown considered it for a moment. “Is that repulsorpool job still open?”

     “I think I can arrange it,” Thunder said, stepping out of the restroom.

     “Thunder,” Ryvo called and she stepped back in. “This also means Antig may move from the island if this guy here has contacted him.”

     “Or he will stay, thinking it’s the safest place on the planet,” Thunder said. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

     Meltdown followed Thunder out. Skate stood staring at Ryvo, her expression unreadable.

     “What’s wrong?” Ryvo asked her, holstering his blaster.

     “Nothing,” she said, a smile forming. “Nothing. It’s just…I see who you really are.”

     “And?”

     “And I think I like it,” Skate said.

     Ryvo shook his head. “Let’s get out of here.”

     He took Skate’s hand and led her out.

     Jace walked down the corridors of the Tusk’s backstage area. He was feeling physically refreshed from a hot shower after his fourth match. This time he had faced a Gigorian, who he had mistaken for a Wookiee. While the alien had shorter and lighter fur than the average Wookiee, otherwise he had been a dead ringer for a Kashyyyk native. That included his size and strength. Jace had narrowly missed a palm slap that would have knocked him out cold, but his Sith reflexes had aided him in ducking under it and applying his now signature leg stretching submission hold.

     Arriving at Leko Akude’s room, he knocked on the door. “It’s Cam.”

     “Enter,” Akude’s rough voice barked, muffled through the door.

     Jace entered and stopped dead in his tracks. Sprawled across Akude’s lap, one leg wrapped in a cast, was Faenat’orcenu. Akude wore a grin as he looked into her eyes. He rubbed a hand along her good leg, his fingers tracing the tattoos.

     “The pain will pass,” Akude told her. “You will heal from it and grow stronger. Leave now. I have business.”

     Faenat’orcenu smiled at him leaned down and kissed him, but it was more of a bite. She got up from Akude’s lap, activated the splint that aided her walking and strode from the room. She gave Jace a feral grin on the way out.

     Jace watched her go as the door shut. “What a pleasant woman.”

     “I think so,” Akude agreed, rising from his chair. “And strong. That is why I love her.”

     Love her? Jace thought. What kind of sick mind would be attracted to such a gruesome creature?

     “Wait,” Jace said, pointing at the door. “You told me you abandoned your people because you fell in love. I thought you meant you fell in love with this fighting deal. You mean you’re in love with her, don’t you?”

     “Yes,” Akude said. “I was in love the moment I laid my eyes upon her. Every ounce of my being wanted her, so I went after her and I got her. I can never leave her. Nothing is more important to me.”

     Jace winced. “Sorry for jacking up her leg.”

     “You heard what I told her,” Akude said. “It’s true. You people shy from pain too much. You should embrace it and learn from it.”

     “I can’t speak for everyone, but I myself may shy from pain, but I don’t fear it.” Jace crossed his arms. “What have you come up with?”

     Akude sighed. He was exasperated at the change of subject, Jace knew. Especially this subject.

     “I spoke with Chonat,” Akude said. “He was not happy. He immediately knew something was afoot. He was under the impression that I was willing to do this only because you were offering me money. He knew it made no sense, had no logic. You beat me—the champion—in the RSSPCT, and disappear. It would serve no greater purpose, and that is what Chonat looks for in everything…something to build more matches from.”

     Jace nodded. “Is that what why Faenat’orcenu was so angry for losing? Were you going to face her in the final match?”

     “That was the plan,” Akude confirmed. “She has been my companion in and out of the ring for a long time now. A match between us was just what was needed to spice up the company. We act like it will be a friendly, fair match. Then one of us does something dishonorable to win, and a feud is sparked that will last for many months culminating in a rematch.”

     Jace nodded again, but was only paying half attention to Akude’s words. If Chonat didn’t like the idea of Jace winning, then it was doubtful that Akude would want to go against his boss. Maybe the Devaronian’s appetite for erroneous entertainment would be sated with what Jace had done in the ring and decide to give up the information leading to the TOS agents. Especially after an athletic, engaging match with Akude in the finals. After all, it was entertainment that the Devaronian wanted, so the outcomes of the match shouldn’t matter. Or should they? If the old devil had money staked on Jace or Akude, he would care very much about the results, more so than he had led on. Money staked. Staked…Lives were at stake!

     Why would the Devaronian be worried about lives—his own life? He had told Jace that he had lived a long and adventurous life in so many words and that if he was killed, Jace would be the one losing needed information. It would have been true if the Devaronian had been showing bona fide resolve. But he hadn’t. The hornhead feared death, proven by his telling of the deadly encounter with the suspected TOS agents.

     “I think I have a way out of this,” Jace said. “A way to allow to me to get what I need, for you to win and for your big ‘feud’ with Faenat’orcenu to proceed as planned.”

     Akude chuckled. “You greenhorns always have crazy ideas.”

     “No, really,” Jace said. “It’s a sound plan.”

     Akude fell back into his chair. “Tell me, then.”

     Jace took a seat across from the strange alien and schemed away.

     Skate crouched in the big tree next to Ryvo’s parent’s empty house. Supposedly empty. Hopefully empty. Or perhaps not hopefully empty. She could use some violence. After missing out in the battle over Reuss VIII, she felt out of touch with her combat sense. A good slashing and crashing would undoubtedly solve that. But for now, there was only the smell of tree bark, the sound of rustling leaves and the gloom of night.

     She eyed the first floor window at the front of the house. The flashed twice with light; Ryvo’s glowrod signal that entrance had went without mishap. Right about now, Thunder and Meltdown would be filing in after him, covering the door. Havoc would be lying in wait in the backyard, much like Skate was, ready to move in at moment’s notice. There were several long, seemingly unending moments in which Skate’s anticipation fought with her boredom.

     Then she felt it…a sudden sense of shock in the others’ emotions; her cue. Skate leapt from the tree branch in a swan dive, went through a full somersault, grabbing her lightsaber from her belt in mid-air. Her feet crashed through the fiberglass sunroof on the ceiling and she landed, knees bent, in what appeared to be—the house’s dark state notwithstanding—a study loft. Igniting her blade, she leapt over the loft’s railing, landing catlike on the first floor. Ryvo, Meltdown and Thunder—blasters drawn and lightsaber ablaze—were standing behind the cover of the sides of a doorway, staring through the opening that showed only greater darkness beyond. None turned to look at her.

     “Lights,” Ryvo said after a few moments of silence.

     The glowpanels lit up and revealed the room beyond to be the kitchen. A kitchen staffed by hulking chef droids…covered in armor plating and equipped with arm-mounted blaster cannons…either someone liked their food extra well done or these weren’t chef droids. They stood in an arced line, passive.

     Thunder took a step forward, her lightsaber still at the ready. “Who’s in charge here?”

     Skate flinched and raised her own blade when one of the super battle droids creaked and stomped forward. It extended its unarmed extremity and revealed a small holoprojector. The device buzzed and a scratchy, one-third scale image of a human appeared in the air.

     “Forgive me,” the man began, holding up his arms. “I realize this must have been startling to you, but it was the only way I could contact you. I’m just glad you made it here so soon.”

     “You’re expecting us?” Thunder asked, wariness evident in her tone. She moved forward, deactivated her blade, but kept it at the ready.

     “Yes. You see—“

     “How?” Ryvo demanded, keeping his blaster aimed.

     “That’s what I was about to explain,” the man said. “This is quite a story, so you might like to have a seat. You and your colleagues on Reuss Eight were being tailed by killers contracted by TOS. Those killers wound up dead, most likely thanks to whoever was watching your back. More agents were then sent out and while they didn’t find you right away, they found several people who’d seen you around. They also found somebody of your acquaintance who you’d met with. This gentleman divulged information that led them to a Devaronian. The—“

     “What?” Ryvo yelled. “Just how did ‘somebody of my acquaintance’ divulge this information?”

     The man’s face became grave for a moment. “By any means necessary.”

     Ryvo’s barely contained rage only increased. The way Ryvo had spoken of Resik, Skate knew only the most necessary means would have gotten him to talk. Unfortunately in those situations that usually meant the disclosed information amounted to the person’s last words.

     “The Devaronian,” the man continued after a moment, “revealed that he’d given information to you about Drolen Antig. This bit was sent to TOS. The comm-tech immediately got in touch with the TOS team here, who are set up to watch the very house you’re standing in. He gave them one order: neutralize Drolen Antig any way they can, up to and including death. Then the tech informed the TOS general of the situation. The general wasn’t happy about the technician going over his helmet, so to speak. He contacted me stat, had me come here to deliver this message.”

     “Well, thanks,” Thunder said. “Now we know we’ve got to hurry our asses up.”

     “Not exactly,” the man said. “What I just told you wasn’t the message.”

     “Then what is it?” Ryvo asked harshly, blaster still aimed. Skate moved up beside him and put her hand on his forearm, pushing it down. His arm was hot.

     “The reason the general sent me here is to offer you something, Ryvo Lorell,” the man in the hologram said.

     “Me?” Ryvo asked, exuding puzzlement with his anger. “And you can start calling your general by name. We know who he is.”

     “Of course,” the man said. “Anyways, he wants to offer you your parents for release.”    

     Ryvo stared at the hologram. He said nothing.

     The man nodded at Ryvo’s nonreaction, and elucidated. “They’re being held at the TOS headquarters. He wants you to send somebody back with me posing as a prisoner. This courageous person will leave with your parents aboard a ‘stolen’ vessel.”

     “Right,” Ryvo said, dragging the word out. “And why doesn’t he simply provide them with a ship and send them on their merry way?”

     “He kept all the details to himself, but one would surmise that Xanthis would catch wind of an unauthorized ship leaving the base,” the man said with a small touch of derisiveness.

     Thunder filled the silent void with the obvious question. “Why is he doing this?”

     The man spread his arms. “That is unknown to me. I can only speculate on his reasons, and you can do just the same and quite possibly come to sounder conclusions than I.”

     “What about Reno?” Thunder demanded. “Did he say anything about the whereabouts of Baron Reno?”

     “Reno is no longer present at HQ, to my knowledge,” the man said. “They move him around quite a bit. But your two other comrades are still there, according to the general. I’m sure you could pick them up on the way out.”

     “You can only speculate on Kovares’ motivations,” Ryvo said slyly. “You know what yours are.”

     The man nodded. “The general offered me a way out of this. Several weeks ago, my brother was executed because he didn’t respond to Xanthis’ comlink call. I was sent off on a thinly veiled exile with these monsters standing before you to guard a small weapons cache on a moon in a relatively nearby system. Our family was killed by TOS. All of our families were killed. The general told me that if I did this job for him, I’d be free, and my absence would be explained. Nobody gets this chance, probably because the general never trusted anyone enough not to report him for such treachery. So I figured what have I got to lose? My entire family is dead. I have nothing to live for. Which brings me to my present position before you.

     “But after this…mission…I won’t just go back to my life,” the man continued. “Even if I were to attempt to do so, I wouldn’t be free. I would be consumed with avenging my family’s death. I can’t be truly free until I’ve drawn blood from the bastards who killed them…including myself. Even if you choose not to accept this offer—no, this humble request—I will still get my revenge. The other TOS agent here is accompanied by his own squad of standard battle droids. He is also the man who pulled the trigger on my brother. I will aid you, then I will return here and kill him.”

     “Sounds good,” Thunder said, shrugging. “But how do we know we’re not walking into some half-baked TOS trap?”

     “Not all TOS traps are ‘half-baked,’” the man said.

     Skate winced as Thunder’s grip on her lightsaber tightened.

     The man quickly raised a hand. “I’m sorry, bad choice of words. But I assure you, this is not a trap.”

     “If it is a trap, then you’re a really good actor,” Ryvo said.

     “Mr. Lorell,” the man said, spreading his arms, “I am but the messenger. The message has been relayed. What you do with it now it your choice. The table is set, the food is served, the wine is poured…now you must decide where to dig in.”

     Skate nodded. It was essentially the same thing Ryvo had told Thunder on the way in to Celanon. The soon-to-be former TOS agent was giving Ryvo a choice; a path possibly leading to what he sought, a path leading to the parts unknown. The former required trust in others, because as it could quite indeed lead to the prize, it could also lead to ruin. The latter required great trust in one self, since rejecting the risk of the first path meant relying on your own skill to find another path to the goal. While some would argue that taking the first path was an act of arrogance, citing the bigheaded attitude of “I know what I’m doing,” taking the second path was truly walking along the road of conceit. It meant passing up an opportunity that fate itself had placed before you; it meant pompously relying on yourself in lieu of that opportunity.

     Just like Skate had done on Sova when she had taken the information and kept it to herself. That had been the wrong path. She should have shared it with Jace and Jen and Thunder and everyone else. But she had taken the path of haughtiness, running off to play the heroine, to make amends for something she hadn’t been responsible for. Even if it had not turned out as bad as it could have, it had been the wrong choice.

     That’s the way Skate saw it. She hoped Ryvo did as well.

     “When do we leave?” Ryvo asked, still stone-faced.

     The man grinned, apparently happy with the decision. “Mr. Lorell, you can’t go. I need a prisoner, remember? Why would you be my prisoner? You’re supposed to be working for Xanthis. You did complete the task with the tracking devices, did you not?”

     Ryvo looked at Skate. “Not exactly…but…you could say that I betrayed him and you captured me.”

     “Mr. Lorell,” the man sighed. “The general anticipated this. Xanthis would execute you and your parents if he found out you were treacherous. He’d no longer have any use for you. Somebody else.”

     “Me,” Thunder piped up.

     “Xanthis would dissect you,” the man said after a moment of studying her. “I’ve read the data files TOS has on you. The general was actually hoping for—“

     “Me,” Skate said, as if it were a revelation.

     “Yes,” the man said. “He gave me a formula for a solution that will remove a—“

     “We’ve already taken care of that,” Skate said, giving her best sweetly evil smile.

     The man’s mouth formed an O. “Ah...well…yes, even better then. The general and Xanthis would…debrief you and you’d undergo further treatment…all a mock-up this time, of course. Then you’d likely be locked up until they were ready to release you for another assignment. That’s when you’d make your move.”

     “Unless Xanthis simply decides to execute her,” Ryvo said pointedly.

     “He isn’t that stupid,” the man said. “As much as I hate him, he isn’t. He wouldn’t throw away such a powerful tool to use against his enemies.”

     “When do we leave?” Skate asked, consciously repeating Ryvo’s earlier words.

     Thunder turned to her. “Skate, are you sure about this?”

     “Yes,” Skate said, nodding. She approached Thunder. “I’m sure our mysterious friend in the haunted house hologram here will provide you with the coordinates to the TOS base?”

     The man shrugged. “Yes.”

     “You can plan an attack and while I’m there, I can do some sabotage.”

     Thunder looked at her, nodded and turned to the hologram.

     “Answer her question,” the Adumari woman said.

     The man smiled. “Soon. The other TOS agent was probably halfway to Antig’s island when we disabled the droids he left behind here. If he turned right around when he became aware of this, he could be here within the hour. I will be there in thirty minutes in a gray speeder truck. Come right out and get aboard. I’ll leave a datacard with the information you want on the sidewalk.”

     “Thirty minutes?” Ryvo asked, pondering. “You must be on the other side of the city.”

     The man huffed. “I didn’t think there was too far a safety buffer when dealing with the likes of all of you.”

     “Wise decision,” Thunder said.

     “It is…safe for me to go, isn’t it?” the man asked, suspicious.

     Skate smiled ruefully. “The food is served, so decide.”

     The man’s face twisted into a sheepish smirk. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

     The hologram winked out.

     “So does this mean we don’t get to go after Antig?” Meltdown asked.

     “I’m afraid so,” Ryvo said. “But I’ll personally dip him in an acid vat when this is all over. That is, if Havoc leaves anything left of him.”

     “Damn,” Meltdown said, shaking his head. “I thought my whole plan with the sound bubbles was brilliant. Now it’s all gone to waste. I’m just full of bottled up potential that the universe refuses to allow me to free.”

     “Yeah, I’ll tell you what you’re full of,” Ryvo said.

     “What concerns me is that he said somebody killed our stalkers on Reuss,” Thunder said. “Did you have somebody watching our back, Ryvo?”

     “Not that I’m aware of, but we did run into Prestin’s people, if you’ll remember,” Ryvo said. He shrugged. “I don’t know. Something to think about. Skate, can I talk to you alone?”

     “Sure,” she said.

     “Thunder, while we’re gone you can talk to Melt about what he’s full of.”

     Meltdown spreads his arms. “What, Danochitlon food?”

     “You’re close,” Ryvo said, opening a door leading into a garage.

     Skate smiled as she descended the steps. When she got to the bottom she gasped as she looked up into the face of a TF battle droid. Her hand instantly went to her lightsaber, but Ryvo put his hand on her wrist.

     “These must be the disabled ones the guy was talking about,” Ryvo said. “The guy…he didn’t even tell us his name.”

     “I’m sure I’ll be learning it soon enough,” Skate said. Ryvo was still holding her arm. She looked into the blue chaos of his eyes, trying to read what he was thinking, but logic made it unnecessary.

     “Yeah, I know,” he said, pulling her arm around so she faced him. He pulled her close to his body, looked down at her. “You don’t have to do this.”

     She smiled. “I know. You didn’t have to come to MH-JL and rescue me, either, did you?”

     “You didn’t have to go there and get captured,” he said seriously. “You don’t have to do this to prove anything. You don’t have to do it to repay any debt you think you owe me, because there is no debt. If there were, I’d want you to remain indebted to me for the rest of my life, just so I could keep you close. I did what I did because I loved you. Well, maybe I did it because I was highly infatuated with you…but it paid off, because now I know that I really do love you.”

     Skate laid her head on his warm chest. “What do you think I’m doing this for?”

     With her ear on his chest, she heard his heart speed up a bit. He took her face in his big hands and looked into her eyes. She met his gaze and took in the blue electricity from his eyes.

     “A garage with battle droids…sorta like the first time we met face to face.”

     Ryvo smiled. “Sorta, but different.”

     The blue electricity acted as tractors beams, drawing her face closer.

     “How?”

     “The droids are asleep,” Ryvo said, “we’re not running for our lives…and we’re alone.”

     He leaned back and sat on the landspeeder, bringing her face to his level, and kissed her. Skate kissed him back, putting her arms around him. The kiss was short, but quite sensual. She laid her head on his chest again as he rubbed her back, both of them silently contemplating the possible consequences of the future.

     But in a small part of her mind, Skate also thought about the rewards that the future could very well have in store for her.

     “My clothes stink,” Jace said. “I guess that’s what happens when you don’t wash them for days after they’ve been soaked in sweat many times over. I did hang them up when I slept, though. That got rid of a little bit of the must. Old trick we used on Tatooine.”

     Jen sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk this much. You must be nervous.”

     “Nervous? Me? Why would I be?”

     “I don’t know,” Jen said, eyeing him suspiciously.

     Jace hoped she hadn’t picked up on Akude’s strange lack of presence in the Force. It wouldn’t be too much of a problem if she had—or would later on—but he would rather she not know anything about it. As for his nervousness, she was correct. He was on the verge of getting the information he wanted. The information that would possibly in turn lead to the crucial information he had been searching for. It now seemed like that search had lasted an eternity.

     “Jace,” Jen said, snapping him back into the present. “Are you there?”

     “Yeah,” he said. “Just thinking about the match. No problem. Don’t make me feel stupid.”

     “Would telling you that they have a clothing reprocesser for the fighters make you feel stupid?”

     “You’re full of it,” Jace said, wishing she would wait outside his dressing cubicle.

     “I’m serious.”

     “Well, you could’ve told me about it.”

     She sighed again, this time shortly. “I would have, but you’ve been so busy with this disappearing act of yours that I assumed you had come across the washroom in your journeys.”

     “Wait, if you washed your clothes, what did you wear while they were in the recycler?”

     “Well, I thought about just walking around in my undergarments and projecting the image of me wearing clothes into everyone’s mind, but then I was afraid I’d come across you. So I borrowed a bath robe from someone’s cubicle.”

     If Jace’s life had taken a different course, he might not have minded—or he possibly might have loved—to see Jen in her undergarments. But as it were, his life had taken a tumultuous path, and Jen’s body was one of the last things on his mind. Somewhere inside him, he knew that this was sad, but it was simply the way it was.

     Of course, her projection wouldn’t have worked on Akude, either, but since Jen wasn’t covered in tattoos the alien probably wouldn’t have given her a second glance.

     Akude…he hoped the alien would follow through with the plan they’d laid out. If not, Jace was screwed. He’d have no choice but to take a chance on his contingency plan. But that contingency plan could backfire and have the entire house descend upon him, devouring him like feral predators. Even if it didn’t backfire, there were two hulking Esoomians to deal with, not to mention a toothy mammalian ophidian, intent on making a human his dinner.

     “You’re going out first,” Jen said, again snapping him back into the present.

     “And?”

     “And they’ll probably want to do an interview,” Jen said.

     “I’m not in the mood,” Jace said, shaking his head. “I’ll just go up to the camera, push the interviewer of out the way, growl and walk off the set. That should send the same message these interviews do.”

     Jen smiled.

     Jace reached under his cot and opened the safe. He removed his lightsaber and blaster, handing them to Jen.

     “We might not have time to go back for this stuff, so we’ll take them now.”

     “What are you worried about?” Jen asked, stuffing the items in her loose military pants. “You’ve beaten everybody else. What’s so special about this guy?”

     “He’s the champion!” Jace exclaimed.

     “Oh yeah, belts mean something,” Jen said facetiously, raising an index finger.

     Jace sighed. “What I mean is, some newcomer strolls in and beats everyone, including the supposedly unbeatable champion who beat the former champion, who was thought unbeatable…that’s gonna cause some problems.”

     “So everyone’s money is staked on this Akude?”

     Jace shook his head, annoyed. “No! Most people’s are, but if the ones who stake their money on me win, then huge amounts of credits will change hands and the losers will think the match was thrown, and a huge riot ensues. Get it?”

     Jen shook her head, grinning. “Krif, Jace, you just might have a flair for this stuff.”

     “It’s all obvious,” Jace said, shrugging.

     “Especially to those from the Outer Rim,” Jen said.

     Jace didn’t find the taunt funny. Not because he was defensive, being from Tatooine, but because he rarely found Jen’s antics funny.

     A head appeared in the split of the curtains. “Five! Five!”

     The head disappeared.

     “I’m assuming he meant five minutes,” Jen said, looking up, eyes squinted in thought. “But some of these beasts may think ten, as five plus five is ten. Or fifty-five…or five point five…”

     “Or your IQ,” Jace said. “Let’s go.”

     As they wound their way through the maze of cubicles, Jace could hear some music starting. It wasn’t any music he’d heard them play before, so he assumed it was being used to hearken the final match of the tournament.

     With Jen right behind him, they left the cubicles and entered the staging area. The camera was in its usual place by the gorilla position. Jace spotted Mr. Fruity, as he’d come to call him, and pushed Jen in that direction.

     “Distract him.”

     Without looking to see if she’d followed his order, Jace stomped towards the camera, the busty blonde interviewer already talking in front of it. He shoved her aside—eliciting an open-mouth gape from her—and growled into the camera, then moved off to the other side. The director had gotten away from Jen and was now heading for Jace. He jumped in front of Jace and planted his fists on hips.

     Jace stopped, scowling.

     The director scowled back, then smiled. “That was great! You’ve shown again that you are truly an original thinker in our…”

     The two Esoomians had flanked Mr. Fruity, their arms crossed. As the director went on about Jace’s ingenuity and potential, Jace looked up that them.

     “Just this one time? Come on, you can’t say you don’t get annoyed. I promise no permanent damage.”

     The two aliens looked around, then at each other, then shrugged.

     “…that maybe someday, your name would be one that would be recognized in households across the galaxy! And that’s—hey, wait! What are you doing?”

     Jace picked up the director, ran a few meters, and tossed him into the interview set, a plain blue duraplast diorama with the RSORSPCT logo on it.

     “Thanks,” Jace said to the two Esoomians.

     A man with a headset next to the curtain waved his hand. “You’re on.”

     Jace nodded and burst through the curtains, Jen in tow. Instead of the Reussi ring announcer, there was now a graying human wearing a tuxedo in the ring, dragging out words so that they could barely be understood. In Jace’s memory, he’d never heard anyone take ten seconds to say “Outer Rim.”

     This time, his reception was different. There was still the majority of boos, catcalls, and signs like “ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US,” but there was also a surprising number of spectators in support of him. A group of twenty-something men decked out in military gear and shades each held up a letter, spelling out “REVYG.” Another fan, an old lady in the front row, held up a sign in two shades of green and black reading “CAM-ouflage.”

     These people were sick.

     Jace entered the ring, the ropes opened by Jen, as was now custom. By now, the well-dressed ring announcer was on the name, and after eight seconds, he was finished. The mixed reaction from the crowd turned into a roar when Akude’s music started.

     Akude strode down to the ring, carrying his belt on his shoulder. Stopping at the ringside area, he held the belt up, then rapidly slapped himself across the face with it twice, once on each side.

     The man was sicker than the crowd.

     Akude laid the belt down across the floor, then jumped up on the apron, and stepped over the top rope into the ring. The announcer finished his name and the crowd cheered. Someone jumped over the barrier and ran towards the ring, but was grabbed by security and hauled off. The ref called Jace and Akude to the middle of the ring and went through the formality of checking them for foreign objects and explaining the rules.

     The match was on. It was time to see if Akude would follow through with the plan.

     Surrounded by smelly fans that were jumping and hollering at the top of their lungs, Wenzel tried his best to keep an eye on the entrance ramp. A few seats over—seats was a figurative term, of course, as one paid for a seat, and then took part in a free-for-all for the best seat—a human vomited, overconsumption of cheap liquor the obvious cause. Wenzel groaned. He waited and waited for the idiotic ring announcer to get past emphasizing how big this match was and to the actual ring announcing.

     Finally, after almost a minute, he did.

     Then the man and woman came through the curtains. Wenzel looked at his datapad and the images on its screen.

     “They’re in the arena,” he said into this comlink, ducking from the swinging arms of an excited Amanin. “They’re in the arena.”

     The job was done. All he had to do was get out of this crowd of drunk morons, which was easier said than done.

     Jace ducked under a forearm smash and side kicked Akude, but the alien dodged and Jace only nicked him in the side. Akude turned his dodge into a spin and came back with a kick of his own. Jace caught it full in the side of the head, and went down. Akude jumped on Jace and twisted his arms and legs into some kind of submission hold. Jace hissed through his teeth in pain. After an indeterminate length of time, he heard Akude’s voice in his ear, telling him to get to the ropes. Jace waved his free hand and grabbed a hold of the bottom rope, and the referee ordered a break. Akude didn’t break right away, and when he did, he stomped Jace in the head.

     Jace leapt to his feet and shoulder blocked Akude’s left knee. They’d been going for twenty minutes plus, and the small amount of offense Jace had gotten in was to that knee. Akude dropped to one knee, but gave Jace a back elbow that sent blood flying from his mouth. As Jace lay there, eyes blurry, he saw Akude give the knife to the throat signal; the universal sign of a finishing maneuver. It was time.

     As Akude grabbed Jace’s legs, Faenat’orcenu jumped on the apron. Jen started to jump on the apron as well, but Jace caught her eye and gave her a warning look.

Akude smiled at her as he spun through Jace’s legs. As his back was to Faenat’orcenu, she hit him over the head with a metal pipe. The crowd went wild, but not in a good way. They booed and spat names at the Twi’lek normally reserved for streetwalkers. Meanwhile, Akude fell to the mat. Jace acted as if he were coming around. He slowly rolled over, throwing an arm across Akude’s chest. The referee dropped his arm once…twice…Akude kicked out at two and three quarters.

     The crowd roared. Both grapplers dizzily climbed to their feet.

     Jace went for a punch, but Akude ducked under it, came back with two punches of his own, knocking Jace back into the ropes. Akude took hold of him and threw him into the opposites ropes, but Jace slid through Akude’s legs, locking in the finishing maneuver he’d used throughout the tournament. Akude immediately rolled it into a pin…one, two, reversal. One, two, kick out. In Jace’s reversal, he’s rolled them into the center of the ring. Instead of going for another reversal, Akude grabbed Jace’s legs and went for his submission move. The crowd went wild.

     Jace winced in legitimate pain, waited several seconds for the drama, then tapped out. Akude released the hold and raised his arms. The music started. The referee grabbed one and pointed, but Akude snapped his arm out of the ref’s. Akude now pointed down at Faenat’orcenu, who looked up, her face contorted in shock, shaking her head. Limping on her leg, she scurried up the ramp, taking a few looks back to see if Akude was giving chase, but he wasn’t. He simply watched her go, a look of betrayal and disappoint on his face.

     Jace had rolled out of the ring, leaving Akude alone to celebrate.

     Jen kneeled next to him. “What happened?”

     “It’s taken care of,” Jace said.

     “Cut the music!” Akude roared in the ring. “There are some underhanded forces in this galaxy that always try to take out Leko Akude. They come in all forms, and all are defeated. But one never expects those underhanded forces to come in the form of your beloved. More than that, what one never expects is defeated just the same. Just like Cam Revyg, the guy down there with a bloody lip. No one in this building expected him to go all the way and face me in the finals. But he did, and he was defeated. Like any smart man, he capitalized upon Faenat’orcenu’s treachery, but he wasn’t involved in it. That is something that runs much deeper, through rivers of blood and passion. She didn’t care if Cam Revyg won or not…she simply wanted me to lose. So Cam…look up here at me…you are the true winner, beating the odds and facing hell to get this far. That you couldn’t beat the unbeatable is nothing to be ashamed of or surprised at. You should be commended, because you rose to the occasion, and EMBRACED THE PAIN!”

     Akude dropped the microphone and the music restarted. He left the ring and made his way up the ramp. Through the cheers, screams could be heard. Not screams of adoration or excitement, but of death. Then the arena got darker as some of the lights went out. No, as they were shot out.

     “It’s taken care of?” Jen asked, looking up.

     “This isn’t part of the plan!”

     “Frosto?”

     Jace shrugged. “What do you think?”

     Jen already had their lightsabers out. Jace gripped his, but didn’t ignite it.

     He stayed down behind the cover of the ring. Now distinct blaster shots could be heard ringing out, accompanied by more screams. Then they came into view…battle droids.

     “Jedispit!” Jace cursed.

     “How many?” Jen asked.

     “There could be dozens. Hundreds.” Jace pulled up the ring apron. “Come on, get under here!”
     They rolled under the ring to relative safety. Jace pulled off his shades and cap. A few seconds later, they heard a voice from a loudhailer.

     “Several people have already died! If nobody else wants to die, the two people under the ring will be handed over to us. Immediately and unconditionally.”

     Jace used the Force to call Akude’s microphone to him. “Now hear this. These droids are here from the Imperial Security Bureau, sent to stop all forms of what they deem unwholesome entertainment. If they are allowed to take anyone, it will be a slap in the face of freedom of speech and the freedom to choose!”

     Jen gave him the thumbs up and mouthed the word “Great!”

     “So I urge you, do what is in your power to keep this from happening.”

     “It’s not going to happen,” came another voice. It sounded like Frosto’s. “Whoever is in command of these droids…take them and leave immediately, or pay the consequences.”

     “I would urge you to leave,” the first voice retorted.

     “Make me,” Frosto said.

     The shots erupted. Jace nudged Jen and they both came out of hiding, lightsabers ablaze. Red bolts of deadly light came their way, but they batted them into the ceiling. Spectators ran amuck, the ones who were armed taking shots at the battle droids. As Jace pivoted, deflecting blaster bolts, he saw Frosto’s group. They were men in the uniforms he’d seen earlier, at least fifty strong. A few went down from the droids’ shots, probably more from luck than accuracy. Jace rolled into the ring, ran to the opposite turnbuckle, leapt on top of it, then used the Force to somersault onto the lighting fixture, and climbed up it to the support structures in the ceiling.

     He snatched a blaster from a fan using telekinesis and started picking off battle droids. From that vantage point, they made for easy targets, and he had made it as far as eight when their master figured it out. Shots began hitting all around him, so he swung away, like a child on a playground structure, or a simian on tree branches. He briefly caught a glimpse of Jen fighting off blaster bolts from a fortified position. He also noticed something else. Frosto’s men were not attempting to take her.    

     As Jace neared the outer edge of the seating area, he ignited his lightsaber and cut the beam he was hanging on. Not having a crossbeam for several meters, his weight brought it down, landing him in the thick of the war zone.

     Two battle droids were beheaded before they could turn to look at him. Three more were downed by their own fire rebounded back at them. He went into a whirlwind of action, spinning and sidestepping, ducking and leaping, beheading and bisecting battle droids left and right.  Four of the insectile droids fired in unison at him, but he rolled away and came up in a carefully aimed jump, landing in front of at least a dozen droids, then leapt away again. The fire from the first four droids took out at least eight of them. Jace was glad TOS used these brainless droids.

     Fans around the arena destroyed their own share of the TOS forces, using blasters, pipes, and in the case of a group of Wookiees—their bare hands. Far more impressive was the work of Frosto’s men, who did their work like professional soldiers.

     The droid situation under control, Jace stretched out his senses to locate the TOS agent who had spoken earlier. With so many beings and emotions roiling in the arena, it was hard to isolate anything, much less the mind of somebody he didn’t know. As he batted away the occasional blaster bolt, he tried to search for the mind that fit the voice he’d heard just a few minutes before. There was somebody cowering under a bar on the far wall…a frightened bartender, perhaps? No…it was the person who’d spoken earlier.

     With dizzying speed, Jace ran through the riot, almost floating. He raised his lightsaber on the last step and brought it down once the left and once to the right, then kicked the sliced section of the bar away. A man, shaking and hugging his knees, looked up in terror. Jace grabbed his collar and lifted him into the air.

     “Where is the comlink to the control unit to shut these droids down?” Jace demanded.

     “I—I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you we’re on a diplomatic mission?”

     “WHERE?”

     A blaster bolt hit the TOS agent in the head, instantly killing him. Jace dropped the body and looked for the origin of the shot, saw the tails of a black cloak going through a curtained doorway. He bolted to give chase, making it to the door easily, as this part of the arena had comparatively less fighting.

     Not sensing any threats, he burst through the split curtain, lightsaber waving about. He was in the kitchen. A chef popped his head over a counter, but ducked back quickly as he saw Jace. At the far end of the room, a door slowly clicked shut. Jace was there in a second, yanking on the door. It wouldn’t open, probably fused from the inside. His blade made short work of whatever had sealed the door. He pushed through to find himself in a very cold freezer. A ladder off to the side bore marks on the rungs where feet had rubbed off frost. He peaked over the edge of the hole in the floor. Seeing nothing, he jumped on the ladder and slid down, coming to a crashing halt on a hard floor. He spun around quickly and raised his blade in anticipation of attack, but none came.

     The room in front of him was a large space filled with huge tanks with pipes attached in several places. Some kind of boiler room. Between the rows of tanks, at the far end of the room he saw an exit. Adjacent to the door was a large cargo droid and stacked pallets of some kind of bagged substance. Jace used the Force to pick up the deactivated droid and move it in front of the door, placing it in such a position that if ordered to move, the rudimentary logic circuits would have a hard time complying.

     Then he cleared his throat. “I know you’re in here. That was a fast, fun chase but it’s over now. If you come out now, I might think about letting you live and even going easy on you, provided you cooperate. You can’t win. That is a guarantee. Just toss your gun out and come out slowly.”

     No response.

     “Okay, we can play this the hard way.”

     Jace sensed a lone being behind one of the far tanks. His boots clicked as he stepped slowly along to permacrete floor. This person had to be a fool. There was no chance of escape. The ladder and the door were not reachable. As well, there was no chance of putting up a fight. Aside from the fact that he was going up against a Sith—whether or not he knew it, the lightsaber had to be a slight giveaway—firing a blaster would be unwise, as a missed shot could puncture a tank, releasing superheated steam into the room.

     Crouching, Jace sneaked along the last tank with his back to it, lightsaber in a rear-guard position. He stepped around the bend and the person proved their hypothesized foolishness as a shot was fired. Jace deflected it into the wall and pulled the blaster away with TK. A Force choke was on the being before any other weapons could be reached.

     Jace stepped up and pulled the hood of the cloak back…to find the face of “Stretch.”

     “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Jace asked.

     The alien opened its toothy maw to respond.

     Jace held up his other hand. “Hold that thought.”

     He backhanded Stretch across the side of his neck. The aliens fell to the floor. Jace set the procured blaster to stun and shot the prone alien, then ran back the way he’d come. The fight in the arena was winding down, the droids contained for the most part, with the remainder fighting on with the logic only brainless automata could.

     He saw Jen holding her own on the floor near the entrance ramp.

     He saw Frosto behind bar taking pot shots with a blaster pistol.

     He saw bodies lying all around, both organic and metallic.

     He did not see his prey.

     Jace leapt down the steps of the amphitheater towards the entrance ramp and Jen. The few battle droids still active were too busy with the throngs of adrenaline-pumped wrestling fans. As he sprinted up the ramp, Jen smiled.

     “Glad you could—“

     Her words were drowned out as he burst through the curtains. Several people were piled up on each side, terrified. Jace looked through the assembled people, gritted his teeth and turned to move deeper into the locker rooms. But he didn’t need to. The two Esoomians stalked from an adjoining hallway, their bulk completely blocking the passage. They split and Chonat emerged, the detestable Urrokur wrapped around his body. And peeking from behind one of the Esoomians was a pair of horns and eyes.

     “What is this all about?” Jace demanded.

     “That is the question we should be asking you,” Urrokur said.

     “I’m looking for someone,” Jace said, “and I think you did me a favor by bringing him right to me.”

     Urrokur growled a laugh. “It’s funny because we were just looking for you.”

     The dog-snake was doing an awful lot of the talking. It dawned on Jace that Chonat was in a room full of people; Adnerem did not speak in public.

     Jace spread his arms. “Here I am.”

     Chonat gave Urrokur a knowing stare.

     The dog-snake seemed to clear his throat. “The Devaronian here tells us that you’ve been forcing him to place high bets on your matches. Your confidence was overwhelming, considering you’re newcomer with little or no experience in this craft. This is highly suggestive that you have been arranging for your wins and collecting the money from bets you threatened people to make…because you knew you were going to win.”

     “Uh, aren’t you the least bit worried about what’s going on out there?” Jace asked, throwing a hand behind him.

     “Of course we are,” Urrokur said. “But that is directly involved with this. The Devaronian tells us that these intruders are some of your former…creditors.”

     “He’s lying,” Jace said. “Lying through his pointy teeth.”

     “Why else would a seasoned gambler place all of his bets on a rookie he knew nothing of?” Urrokur purred in a patronizing tone.

     “He—“

     “Why was he assaulted when he failed to place a bet on one of your matches?”

     “That was—“

     “And why, Mr. Revyg, were you just now chasing down one of the Devaronian’s bodyguards? Perhaps to have him lead you to his employer, hmm? Yes, we are convinced that this scam is one you pull throughout the galaxy, not only in mixed martial arts competition, but in all manner of sport. Our best guess is that you have a not-so-slim bank account set up somewhere. So, for a modest fee, we will now hand you over to your debtees out there. Once they discover the location of your stash, they will hand over the money to makes repairs to the arena. If you’ll drop your blaster, please?”

     Jace looked down at his hand, which still held the blaster he’d taken from Stretch. He curled his lips inward and nodded. The blaster hit the floor.

     “Good, now—“

     “You’re still no match for me,” Jace said, his lightsaber in his right hand, hidden behind his forearm.

     Urrokur flashed a toothy smile as the Esoomians rubbed their huge hands together. “I think we have to disagree.”

     “Maybe it’s time for some of my own shocking revelations,” Jace said. “Like how many people in this room know that this whole tournament was a crock? A total set up. Predetermined. Phony.”

     There were a few gasps from the crew behind him.

     “That is not true,” Urrokur said quickly after Chonat hissed in his ear. “This fraud standing before you is saying that because he made his matches that way…by paying his opponents to lose to him. All the other matches were what they were…shoot fights. So, Mr. Revyg, if we were running worked matches—and we’re not—you couldn’t prove it.”

     “Maybe not…but I can.”

     Everyone in the room turned to the voice.

     “Akude…er…” Urrokur trailed off, waiting for a cue from a shocked Chonat.

     “Do you have nothing to say?” Akude asked, still coming forward. “Boss?”

     Urrokur gave a nervous snarl. “This is an unexpected…surprise.”

     “Yes,” Akude said, his neck muscles rippling as he smiled wickedly. “But so is this.”

     Something at Akude’s leg caught Jace’s eye. A dark tubular form was coiled around the disguised alien’s thick calf. It came to life and moved, corkscrewing up his leg, crawling across his torso to his arm, where it rested in his hand, and stiffened. Jace recognized it instantly; it was an amphistaff.

     “Beautiful, isn’t it, Urrokur?” Akude said, admiring his living weapon. “In some ways like you. But in other ways, unlike you.”

     The canine ophidian’s snout moved nervously, searching for a response.

     “For example!” Akude roared, and in one smooth motion stepped forward on one foot, thrusting the amphistaff forward. The weapon’s head spat forth a glob of green goo, which hit one of the Esoomians right in the face. The colossal alien felled to his knees, clutching at his tentacled face.

     “He shouldn’t have taken the physical challenge,” Jace said in a rare moment of wit.

     He had his lightsaber ignited before the acidic glop had made it halfway to the Esoomian. He blocked blaster bolts coming from the Devaronian’s other bodyguard, Doofy, who’d been hiding behind the Esoomians with his boss. One of the deflected bolts hit the other Esoomian in the arm. The beast roared and threw his arms back in pain, inadvertently bumping into Doofy, knocking the bodyguard off balance. The Esoomian quickly recovered and switched the vibroaxe he was holding to the other hand. Chonat made a run for it, heading back down the hall he’d come from. Jace immediately spun to the production crew behind him, but was surprised to find Jen keeping the passive group at bay. When had she come into the room?

     Behind Jace, Akude was now battling with the Esoomian who’d been hit by the blaster bolt. The acid had now burned through the other’s face and head, leaving nothing but a crispy mass on the shoulders of the prone body. The Devaronian crouched in a fetal position behind Doofy, his arms over his head. In the hallway, Chonat was slowly backing up along the way he’d come. As Akude beheaded the remaining Esoomian, Jace saw the reason why. Faenat’orcenu was limping forward towards Chonat, a blaster leveled at his face.

     Having sized up the situation, Jace nodded. He pulled Doofy’s blaster from his hand with TK and sliced it in half in midair. The alien went for a second weapon in a boot holster. Fae shifted the aim of her blaster and shot him before he had a chance to draw.  That about extinguished the opposition. Chonat now stood with his head down, knowing he was defeated. More than that, he knew he was ruined. If he’d handled the situation differently, things might have turned out for the better. But of that Jace was uncertain, as Akude’s actions were yet to be explained.

     Jace shut down his lightsaber, but kept it handy. He cleared his throat.

     The Devaronian peaked through his fingers, still cowering.

     “A big fan of me, huh?” Jace asked casually.

     “Would you believe—“

     “No,” Jace said. He looked to Chonat. “What is your involvement in all of this?”

     “We are—“ Urrokur began.

     “I asked him, not you, trousersnake!”

     “I am—“

     “I asked him!” Jace repeated loudly.

     Urrokur emitted a sound that could best be described as the amalgam of a growl, a hiss and a whimper. The Devaronian winced. Chonat, face impassive, looked at the production crew, then at Jace. The alien inclined his triangle-shaped head.

     “I know not what you speak of,” Chonat said in a low voice.

     Jace detected no deception from Chonat, but he was still wary. Adnerem were a crafty lot. The Devaronian must have used Chonat and the others as unwitting pawns in his game of treachery. If so, then the fight—wrestling—promoter wasn’t as smart as he made himself out to be. Then again, neither am I, Jace mused. Old hornhead had worked him over real good, too.

     Jace took a few steps forward. “One way or another, I’m going to get some answers.”

     Akude tapped himself in the chest, the amphistaff now wrapped around his arm. “Let me get your answers for you.”

     “I can get them just fine,” Jace said, continuing towards Chonat.

     The alien tensed and his living accessory recoiled, fangs on display. But Jace walked right past them, stopped before the Devaronian. He looked up at Jace and flashed a nervous smile.

     “Up,” Jace commanded.

     The Devaronian rose.

     Jace signaled him to follow, started for the hallway, but looked back to Akude. “Do you have all this under control?”

     Akude chuckled. “That was the perfect question to ask.”

     Jace nodded, glanced at Jen, then headed back down the hallway, the Devaronian in tow. Jace entered a random supply room, waited for his follower to enter, and closed the door.

     “Sit.”

     The Devaronian spread his arms. “No chair.”

     “Then get on the floor or I’ll make it so you no longer need chairs,” Jace ordered, pointing with his deactivated lightsaber.

     After the Devaronian complied, Jace began pacing the small room. “All crafty. Very, very crafty. You know, you actually had me fooled the entire time. I actually thought you were some random Devaronian drunk cheating people in this predetermined tournament. I was right, of course, on both counts. But still, I only had part of it right. You’re also a stool pigeon who will do anything for a quick credit, including selling your soul to the devil…no pun intended.”

     The Devaronian looked up. “Ah, I guess this not good time to ask what a pigeon is.”

     “And this is why you’re so crafty,” Jace said, ignoring the remark. “And correct me if I’m wrong along the way here: After we were followed to Resik’s place, our stalkers beat him until he revealed all that he had told us. They made it to you before we did, tossed you a bag of credits and asked you to keep us here as long as you could. So we show up, as expected, and to stall us you come up with the most erroneous reason possible; you want to watch us fight in a tournament because it is the only thing that entertains you. You don’t want money. You’re not afraid of death. You just want to see some good old-fashioned bare knuckle brawling! But at the same time, knowing what you know of us, you place some bets, and you deepen your pockets even further. It’s almost time for your benefactor’s cavalry to show up, so to get me out of the building, you hatch this oh-so-devious story that somebody killed Stretch and assaulted you while asking for information on us. You think this would scare us into getting the hell out of here, thinking our cover had been blown. But you blew your own cover, showing fear for your life on that datapad. You thought we’d be stupid enough to run off and so you’d have your money your life back to normal. But I had problems outside, as well, and besides…I am on a quest…”

     Jace broke off, turned away.

     “And so,” Jace continued, “your friends didn’t want to wait for us to come out, so they came in. Not wanting them to reveal your connection to them, you had your ace in the hole Stretch kill the TOS agent in charge while Doofy protected you. And for the finale, you ran to Chonat and came up with the inconceivable story that these attackers are debt collectors looking for me. Well, in the end, none of it quite worked out the way you expected, did it? It never does, when you’re dealing with a Sith.”

     The Devaronian remained silent.

     “Do you have anything to say?”

     “How much money you want?” The Devaronian asked.

     “Funny…you offering me money. I offered to pay you handsomely for the information I sought. Information you had. But you refused.”

     The Devaronian shrugged. “They come first. Work for one employer and get paid. Work for two and make both mad…no money and maybe no life.”

     “Well, you worked for one, and while you got paid, you won’t be keeping the money. And as for your life…that remains to be seen. Depending on how much information you give me, I will let you keep a proportionate amount of your life.”

     “What you going to do, cut me up?” The Devaronian asked in a fearful tone, unaccompanied this time by the nervous smile.

     “No, no,” Jace said. “See, that is the assumption of a simpleton. Somebody who thinks in layman’s terms. What I mean when I say I’m going to let you keep some of your life runs much deeper.”

     “I tell you all you want to know,” the Devaronian said, nodding up at Jace. “Ask me any question.”

     Jace shook his head. “You still don’t understand. I said your fate was dependent on the amount of information you give me, not tell me.”

     “Mind trick? Long time ago some do this, but I learn to resist,” the Devaronian said. “Then I had weak mind, but in my old age, I am much sharper.”

     Jace leaned in close. “Not too sharp, deciding to play sabaac with Siths.”

     “Sith, Jedi, same thing,” the Devaronian said. “I can handle them, I can handle you.”

     “Sounds like a challenge,” Jace said. “But you’re mistaking one thing. While Jedi may be afraid to hurt someone, Sith are not. Mind tricks, as you so eloquently put it, are not painful. Deep mind probes hurt. Being drained of one’s life essence hurts…or leads to death.”

     Jace leaned closer.

     “Teno, Teno!” the Devaronian bellowed. “His name is Teno! He is lieutenant in the Shadow Phantoms pirate gang! His base is somewhere on Reuss Eight! I don’t know where!”

     “How do you contact him?!”

     “Busboy from one of the bars!” the Devaronian said.

     “He’s probably run off by now then!”

     “Yes, yes!”

     “Oh shit!”

     “Oh shit!”

     After a few seconds, Jace calmed, and the Devaronian relaxed, settling against the wall.

     “Does this mean no mind probe?”

     Jace shrugged. “I just had to make sure you weren’t going to lie to me. For cowards like you, the fear of a mind probe is just as good as a mind probe itself.”

     “Whew! Thank the Maker for my cowardice!”

     Jace grabbed the Devaronian by the arm and shoved him towards the door. The hall was empty. They headed back the way they’d come, to find the area where the confrontation with Chonat had taken place completely empty…save for the dead bodies. And Jen. Jace nodded to her and looked towards the curtain. No blaster shots could be heard coming from the arena; the TOS forces had been neutralized by the combined forces of two Siths, a pro wrestling audience and Prestin Frosto’s group.

     Jace hadn’t even thought of what Frosto’s assistance meant. He hadn’t had the time to think. But one thing was clear: Frosto was not working with TOS, as Jace had earlier elastically postulated. Frosto had most likely learned who had killed his friend Resik and was out for revenge.

     But all this still didn’t clear Ryvo’s name, at least in Jace’s mind. Ryvo rescues Skate after a short stay on MH-JL, and Skate turns out to be a programmed TOS agent. Ryvo uses his telemetric power to find a link to TOS on Reuss VIII. Once there, Skate makes her move, but is defeated in the end, along with the TOS ambush. At the same time, Ryvo’s old friends show up to save the day, in turns saving Ryvo’s ass and his good name. On the planet, Ryvo takes them to another old friend, who happens to be a retired grappler. This friend refers them to a certain Devaronian who just happens to have a fancy for grappling. Who also just happens to have information leading Ryvo to his homeworld of Celanon, getting him out of harm’s way. The friend is killed, infuriating Frosto, thinking Jace did it. Frosto runs a check on Kaj Lieno, finds the startling truth. Frosto kills the Siths in revenge, eliminating the threat to this Teno character on Reuss VIII and keeping the location of the TOS headquarters, along with Reno, secret. Ryvo and Thunder return to the SSD, where he collects Skate and they return to their true masters. But no…Thunder wouldn’t let it happen. She was too strong for Ryvo and Skate to deceive or overpower. They’d have to convince her to let Skate come along to Celanon. Once off the SSD, the advantage would be theirs, and they’d make their move. And they’d have the SSD’s location in their hands.

     Knowing his timetable had been jumped up, Jace looked at Jen and nodded towards the arena. She stuck the Devaronian in the back with her lightsaber hilt and pushed him through the curtains. They passed through after him and found themselves surrounded by carnage, both organic and mechanical. Arms, legs and heads of both types lay strewn throughout the amphitheater, and the collective smell of dozens of blood types was enough to wrinkle the nose of even the most hardened of doctors.

     There was a low buzz of conversation throughout the place. Trained medical technicians giving out orders, people telling each other about their particular pieces of the action like children on a playground, employees moaning about the damage, the loved ones of victims weeping over the bodies. Jace even heard one fan proclaiming that it was the best show he’d been to in his life.

     But spread throughout the arena were the VosseTech soldiers, silent. They stood with their military-grade rifles at the ready, as if the battle were still in full swing. None acknowledged the situation around them, let it distract them.

     Jace descended the ramp, his captive and Jen behind him. He looked to the bar where he’d seen Frosto. The short man was there, arms resting on the counter, blaster aimed, as if at an invisible enemy in front of him. He noticed Jace, and the blaster rotated to point right at him.

     “Frosto!” Jace called. “I have to thank you for your support. It couldn’t have come at a better time.”

     “Hey, no problem,” Frosto said. “I couldn’t let you fall into their hands, could I? Or let them kill you? No, not if you’re to come with me. I’m just surprised you came back.”

     The VT troops pointed their blasters at Jace, who now was at the bottom of the ramp. So that was Frosto’s motivation.

     “Wow, I feel special,” Jace said. “Like a lone krayt dragon egg sitting between two herds of starving banthas and dewbacks.”

     “Nice analogy,” Frosto said, sarcasm apparent in his tone. “Now, do you want to be over easy or…boiled?”

     “I always liked deviled, myself,” Jen said, jabbing a thumb at the Devaronian.

     “I’m glad you can laugh about this,” Frosto said. “But happytime is over. We have you surrounded. You can’t possibly block five hundred shots in five seconds. These people won’t defend you now, after you got a good fourth of them killed. And they won’t fire on us, after we fought alongside them while you ran off in the heat of battle. Drop the lightsabers and I guarantee you will get a fair trial.”

     Jace shook his head. This entire plan of Ryvo’s was foolproof. Even if TOS didn’t kill or capture Jace, Ryvo knew that Frosto would. With Reno in custody, Jace dead or out of the picture in New Republic hands, and the SSD in peril, Sith Squadron seemed doomed. Jace felt a sudden flash of embarrassment at the impression of sentimentality, in spite of himself. He didn’t give a womp rat’s ass if Sith Squadron was doomed per se, but in terms of his plans he did. It wasn’t time.

     “I’m not going to wait all day,” Frosto said. “Drop your weapons or we will fire.”

     Despite what Frosto said, Jace believed he had a chance in a fight. If he could…no. What am I thinking? Somewhere along the lines of one hundred troops firing at once, all at him. He couldn’t dodge, he couldn’t deflect, he couldn’t absorb that kind of firepower. If he could get Jen to link minds with him, they could use their combined powers to project an image into the minds of Frosto and his men. No, that would take too long. Too long to convey his intentions, too long to implement. And also, he didn’t want his mind touched by Jen. There were secrets there that were well beyond the realm of secrecy. A word didn’t exist in any language that could describe how secret those private thoughts were.

     Perhaps if he made a run for it, using the Force to empower him, he could escape. A leap off the side of the ramp and through a door and he’d be gone. Along with the Devaronian and his chance of tracking down the TOS agent from the Shadow Phantoms. But the busboy was gone, and there was a slim chance of extracting any more useful information from the Devaronian. Yes, at this juncture a quick escape was the most prudent route to take. If Jen made it out with him, she did. If she didn’t, then so be it.

     Jace was about to shout back a biting remark to Frosto for a distraction when the doors on the floor on the sides of the ramp opened, VT troops filling through. Frosto was too smart to be taken for granted. On the other hand, Jace found his actions a compliment, as the man was not taking Jace for granted. With the troops now behind Jace on the floor, he still might make, albeit injured. But he’d make it. He’d find another path to take to Reno.

     But there was no way he would surrender. A New Republic prison would delay his plans, let Reno slip further away. One could only guess what was being done to him. Time was of the essence in Reno’s rescue, and sitting in a NR penal facility was not contributory to that end.

     “You’ve got me surrounded,” Jace conceded.

     “I’m glad we can agree on something.”

     “Surrounded by your treachery, surrounded by your delusions,” Jace added. “You think you can take on a Sith, then go ahead, try it! Shoot! Order your men to shoot!”

     The first shot rang out, followed by cacophony of more.

     As it were, the first shot didn’t come from Frosto’s men. As smart and resolved as the man was, he simply didn’t have the intestinal fortitude to make such a quick decision after listening to Jace’s bold challenge. Frosto was a man of restraint, Jace had observed. He was a man to reflect and calculate before making any rash decisions.

     Unlike the twenty men falling from the arena’s domed ceiling.

     One by one they dropped, like paratroopers over a war zone, as the rest provided cover fire. It was hard to get a look at them, falling as quick as they were, but their red and black outfits were stood out like a shaven Wookiee at a nudist colony. Jace knew they had to be a bounty hunter guild out to collect the bounty TOS, the New Republic or the Empire had put out on them. And they were fighting like scavengers with the VosseTech force for the prize.

     Eight of the VT troops fell in the first volley of shots, four more in the time it took them to unmuddle their minds and defend themselves. Jace acted on pure instinct, like a dewback to the call of a krayt dragon, like an Ortolan with a lunch ticket. He dove to the left side of the stage, landed in a rolling somersault. While in the air, he had activated and thrown his lightsaber. It soared through the air at an inclined angle, cutting through the remaining three VT troops’ bodies and their weapons. Just like in the animated children’s holos, one of the men was sliced in two. Unlike the animated holos, their halves didn’t pop back in place. He saw Jen, still on the ramp, deflecting blaster bolts back at the men on the other side.

     From his crouching position, Jace couldn’t see the Devaronian, but he felt him through the Force. He was laying on the ramp; prone from being hit or in his standard fetal position Jace didn’t know. Throwing his arm over the ramps’ edge, Jace grabbed the Devaronian’s booted ankle and pulled him off the ramp. The alien landed with all the grace of a sandbag.

     Using telekinesis, Jace called two of the downed VT troops’ A280 blaster rifles to him. Hefting them, he aimed at a cluster of aggressors taking cover behind a bench back across the amphitheater. He fired a succession of shots, making good on less than half of them. Jace’s good shots were a testament to the A280’s reputation as a lethal weapon; the men were all but cut in half by the shots. Limbs were severed and the men were thrown back as if Jace had sent a telekinetic push along with each shot.

     Taking out the concentration of troops bought time for all twenty of the red-and-black-clad “friendlies” to land safely, not to mention to allow Jen to roll off the other side of the ramp. Jace sensed something off behind him and he turned. The Devaronian was crawling on all fours towards the nearest dead trooper’s weapon. Jace stopped him short with a firm Force choke.

     “Ack!”

     “Mind yourself,” Jace ordered, putting his attention back to the arena.

     “Just want to help!”

     Jace ignored him as he watched the developments in the firefight. The red-and-black combatants were launching a massive assault against the VT troops. They formed a rough circle in the clearing around the ringside area, picking off their targets one by one. Stun grenades were thrown where blasters couldn’t hit. Wrestling fans still in the arena took what cover they could or ran off in all directions. Several were caught in the crossfire.

     As Jace observed, he got a better look at his temporary allies’ uniforms. They were black bodysuits of some kind, slightly padded, with red boots. For headgear they wore Imperial snowtrooper helmets, painted entirely black. One of them wore a comm unit backpack of some kind, the antenna highly visible amid the others.

     This was the time to make a discrete exit. The interlopers had provided the distraction Jace needed. He yelled Jen’s name and turned to collect the Devaronian when he unexpectedly heard her return his yell with a negative. Exasperated, he slammed the butt of one of the rifles he was holding into the side of the ramp.

     “Jen! Go!”

     “No!” she returned again. “Watch!”

     “Watch wh—oh shit.”

     One of the red-and-black fighters was running across the amphitheater, leaping over benches like hurdles. He now had the antenna in his hand. Jace now saw that it was not, in fact, an antenna, but a custom-made force pike, its long slender blade shining as its wielder swung it about. It thumped one VT troop in the head, knocking his helmet off, stuck another in the side, instantly collapsing the man.

     The red-and-black clad warrior left a trail of prone bodies in his wake. And he was headed right for the ramp.

     Jace stood and ignited his lightsaber. The warrior landed on the ramp with a clank. And stood there. Jen leapt onto the ramp, moved toward the aggressor. Her blade was disengaged, lowered at her side. The clouds in Jace’s mind lifted milliseconds before the helmet did, and the name left his mouth before the first strands of sandy blond hair became visible.

     “Tyros!”

     After he embraced Jen with one arm—his other held the force pike—the guardsman looked over at Jace and nodded roguishly.

     “What in the hell is this?” Jace said, an arm taking in the still-fighting red-and-black warriors.

     “You know me,” Tyros said. “I’m always the forgotten quantity.”

     Jace was still taken aback. “Yeah, but—“

     “Uh, Jace, can we talk about that later?” Jen asked, grimacing. “It think we should use this opportunity to get the krif out of here.”

     “That is why I’m here,” Tyros said, taking a look back at the action. “Let’s go.”

     Jace grabbed the Devaronian by the belt and pulled him to his feet on the way to the side door. Tyros and Jen followed, pushing the red-skinned alien through the exit. The door led into a storage room. It was filled with ring components and barricades and dust-covered signs. The dim light revealed a short staircase on the far of the room, leading up to another door, the backstage area.

     Jace sensed it a split second before it lit the room up, but it as a split second too late nonetheless. The blaster bolt hit the Devaronian in the left arm, spinning him around. Jace threw a Force push in the direction of the attack’s origin and then held the ambusher in place.

     In the same instant, from two sources on the other side of the room, a volley of shots came at the group. Jen sensed and deflected these shot back at their sources, silencing them. The sounds accompanying those shots were deep, resonating. Jace recognized them as the sonic characteristic of A280’s. But the first shot hadn’t come from that model; else the Devaronian’s arm wouldn’t still be attached to his body.

     Jace had his own lightsaber activated now, in anticipation of more attacks. When he knew none would come, he kept the blade ablaze, using it as a lantern in the gloomy room. The person he still held down with TK was curled into a ball against the wall, where the Force push had flung them. A few feet away, a blaster lay. Jace pointed at it and threw it across the room with his will. He turned his attention toward the incapacitated assailant.

     “Your boss is not one to leave holes in his plans,” Jace said. “That, at least, I have to respect. Unlike his petty double-crossing and stature.”

     “You know what they say about short guys,” Jen snorted.

     “Well, it’s not true,” a catty female voice said. “I know from experience.”

     Jace frowned with admiration. “You people don’t shy from the front lines, do you?”

     Reema Frosto crawled to her feet. She was wearing an unmarked jumpsuit with the same color scheme of the VosseTech security personnel; forest green and gray. The outfit was dirty and her left cheek had a scrape on it.

     “Now where would the fun be in that?” the woman asked wryly.

     “Fun, maybe,” Jace began, “but ultimately a bad idea, putting yourself at risk like this. You, Mrs. Frosto are what I call a ‘the keystone to a peaceful solution to a situation that could result in many unnecessary deaths.’”

     “That doesn’t quite roll off the tongue,” Jen said. “It’s easier just to say ‘hostage.’”

     “I warned your old man to say away from here,” Jace said.

     “He always was stubborn.”

     “In addition to being short and treacherous?”

     “We are the ones betrayed!” Reema snapped. “Ryvo screwed us over. After all the years we’ve known him, he takes your side and swindles us.”

     “Ryvo,” Jace replied slowly, “is certainly at fault for deceit, but that is another matter entirely. Right now, we need to get the hell out of here, and you’re our express ticket.”

     “But there is only one ticket…and three of you.”

     Jace recognized the voice. He turned to find Leko Akude standing at the top of the staircase, the light filtering in from outside the door making him appear a menacing silhouette.