Chapters 1-4

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Chapter 1 T

he glacier peaks of Rhen Var rippled with dappled light from the high sun above,

canvassing the glassy terrain with exceptionally intense scarlet hues struck through with ribbons of copper. The ice glittered so brilliantly that it could instantly blind the unprotected eye – which was exactly why the large man making his way across the frozen tundra had his face almost entirely covered with giant goggles. Nearly opaque and reflecting the golden light back at the mountains, they looked like antique copper lanterns from a distance. The rest of the middle-aged man’s ragged face was covered in a reddish-brown and grey beard that acted as insulation against the bitter temperature – a beard so matted, torn, and frizzed that it resembled the furred hide of a bantha. The grizzled man was Ton Rhakis, a burly human from the Core world Corellia, who was an explorer, a smuggler, and a businessman… among other things. Today he was a hunter – a hunter of the sort that preys upon treasure buried in time, lost for hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years; treasures that are worth many, many credits. “A bit nippy, eh, Cal?” Rhakis bellowed over his shoulder. His feet trudged through the

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permafrost as he waited for his companion to respond, but his worn boots weren’t quite high enough for this latest drift and the light-blue snow shot up his pant leg, the frigid powder attacking his naked skin. “Gah! This rock will be the end of me!” “I hope you don’t drag me with you,” Cal Arlon said. The second man was likewise plowing through the half-meter deep drifts about fifty meters back, his younger face also covered with goggles. “I got me plenty of years left. You, however, might as well dig a short hole in this here ice and plant yourself in it for half o’ eternity.” Rhakis laughed, a booming sound that echoed across the valley of ice they were wading through, bouncing off glaciers and mountains without discrimination, losing volume and coherency with each reflection. “Quiet, you! I don’t pay you make fun of my age!” “You pay me?” Rhakis snorted. “When we find the Jewel of Altruza, I’ll pay you enough to buy your own moon! Of course, I’ll get enough to buy my own planet, but that’s ‘cause I’m the captain…” “Whatever, boss. I’d be happy for enough to get me through the next Pazaak game.” Cal watched the older man continue to stumble through the snow. He held back a laugh: here they were again, going off on some crazed adventure for hidden treasure – treasure that never seemed to be where it was supposed to be, or bring in what it was supposedly worth. That is, if they even found it. Half the time they would wind up empty handed after weeks of searching through primordial swamp, blazing hot deserts, ancient caves, or even sewers deep below cities like Coronet or Imperial City. Sewers were the worst. Even this barren, frozen rock wasn’t so bad compared to some of the smells Cal had been unfortunate enough to smell. “Remind me why we couldn’t just swoop in with the Starhawk II and land next to this ice temple we’re trying to find? It would beat walking through this,” Cal hollered. Rhakis pointed up with a gloved hand, gesturing to the overhanging cliffs and the sheets

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of ice that traversed the gap not a hundred meters above the surface, resembling massive bridges made of frozen water. “What, and try to fly under those? I like my ship just the way she is, which is not skewered with ice.” Cal grimaced – even the Starhawk II’s shields and durasteel plating would be no match for the hundred-meter-thick ice. The glacier ceiling would shred the ship if Rhakis couldn’t thread her through the narrow gap. “Point taken. What about the Dart? She’d be a lot faster.” “Too cold. A small speeder, like the Dart, would freeze up and the snow and ice would clog it before you could even make that first bend. You’d need some sort of modified snow speeder to navigate these parts.” “Ah.” Rhakis sighed beneath his beard. “Can we stop yappin’ and start hikin’? We got another klick before we meet up with Bryce and Shen.” “You’re the boss.”

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hen Var’s sun was rapidly falling from its regal position in the violet horizon by the

time Rhakis and Cal arrived at their destination. A spectacular wall of pure ice that erupted severely from the frozen ground was there to meet them. The sunlight performed a striking dance on it, leaping and twirling in shades of maroon and gold upon the wall’s crystalline sapphire surface. The semi-transparent structure was hundreds of meters tall and over a kilometer wide; it was so massive it completely barricaded the valley and eclipsed almost all view of the other side. As Cal walked closer, the wondrous barrier dominated his entire field of vision and made him quickly look away, his pupils constricting even behind the goggles, as the brilliant sunlight reflected off the massive mirror-like edifice. “Majestic, isn’t she?” a voice called out before continuing in an incredibly proper and

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chiseled accent, the kind belonging to the royalty of various sectors. “A kilometer wide, two hundred tall, and at least ten thick. Completely, and utterly… breathtaking.” “Good to see you too, Bryce,” Cal called out. The taller human bowed crisply, his long ivory hair grazing the pallid ground. Forren Bryce was Echani by birth, part of a noble breed of humans native to the mid-rim of the galaxy. His white hair framed his ashen face and added a dose of regality to his already incised features. Cal whistled under his breath – sometimes he just couldn’t understand why such a respectable creature like Bryce traveled with them. “Maestro,” Bryce said with another complete bow as he greeted Rhakis. The “maestro” gave a thin smile at the greeting and walked past to look closer at the colossus of frozen water. Cal didn’t think that Rhakis much cared for the “nobility” Bryce brought to the group and often donned the same expression he used when looking at dressy and formal garments when he was around the Echani. “What’s the damage, Shen?” Rhakis said. A relatively diminutive woman with cropped brown hair that framed her unadorned features responded. “It’s a problem, captain. We’re going to have to run the laser drill full-bore if we’re going to cut through this by nightfall. Even then, the drill might burn out from all the strain. It wasn’t designed to cut through walls of ice that are ten meters thick.” “And I wasn’t designed to travel across the galaxy, looking in balls of ice like this in search of insanely valuable treasure, now was I, Shen? And you don’t see me short-circuiting and bursting into flames, now do you?” “Don’t speak too quickly,” Cal said. “It’s nerf sausage tonight.”

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ight came and went by the time the laser drill finally cut through the ice wall,

leaving a perfectly round tunnel about a meter in diameter that lead to the other side. The sun

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was just beginning to breach the peaks of the frosted-over mountains, casting its beams of yellowed light upon the crevassed terrain and painting the glaciers flaxen with narrow streaks of vivid ginger, when the team of adventurers emerged from the other side of the wall. “Amazing,” Shen whispered, her words trailing off and following her visible breath into the clear sky above as she admired the ancient structure in front of them. “This temple was probably built over five thousand years ago, back when Rhen Var was still populated. The natives obviously were fairly advanced–” “Yeah, yeah,” Rhakis cut in. “Ancient cultures, advanced technology, meaning of life – I know the drill. Do you know how to open the door… you know, other than blowing it up?” Shen scowled. “Well, the natives of Rhen Var were closely related to the Primarians – probably even descendents, so–” “Shen.” Shen scowled again. “Yes,” she said. “I believe I can open it.” “Good,” Rhakis said. As Shen walked closer to the door, Rhakis leaned over and whispered in Cal’s ear. “Archeologists…” Cal snorted and then joined watched as Shen manipulated a series of symbols carved into the wall adjacent to the massive stone door blocking their way. “Let’s see,” she said. Suddenly, a group of symbols lit up sequentially. “Aha!” The door began to open slowly, dividing into two thick panels down the middle. The panels spread apart, shaking and creaking with age, until they vanished from visibility. Darkness filled the fissure, giving no indication as to the contents of the cavern beyond. Bryce stepped forward and then produced a small glowrod. “Shall we?” The glowrods only created a small amount of light and the ancient temple remained shrouded in darkness for the most part. Bryce led the way, followed by Shen and Rhakis with

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Cal bringing up the rear. The artificial light flickered off the stone walls and cobblestone floors, dancing upon their frigid features and revealing the sheer size of the cavern. Even though the temple’s thick walls insulated the interior from the cold beyond, ice still crept in, painting the walls in frozen water and hanging like frosted swords from the ceiling. “Beautiful,” Bryce mouthed. He gazed around in wondrous delight as he continued leading the way through the frozen temple, winding around carved corridors decorated with gold trim and dyed tapestries. “Beautiful?” Cal questioned, looking up at the icicles above. “Try deadly. We make one false step and–” Rhakis cut him off. “You worry too much.” Shen stopped and knelt down. “This is amazing – the intricate patterns on these cobblestones! The way the gold is interlaced into the stone and accented by green marble… its just amazing! Have you actually looked at the design of this place? It’s the find of the century!” “You know, maybe Cal was right – those icicles do look pretty dangerous,” Rhakis said. “We wouldn’t want to cause one to fall by, you know, talking too loudly. To be safe, maybe we should all be quiet,” he said, glaring at Shen. “Now lets get going.” This drew a long and overly vocal sigh from Shen. “But captain,” she protested. Rhakis was already walking away. “Now, now, Shen,” he said over his shoulder. “You can have all the time to study the pretty floor when we find the Jewel of Altruza.” Shen sighed theatrically again before finally falling into step with the rest of the treasure hunters. They continued to follow the meandering corridor until they came upon a split in the path. One corridor continued east; the other west. “Well, this is interesting,” Rhakis said. “I suppose we ought to split up. Cal, you and Bryce take the western path, and me and Shen will take the eastern one.”

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“On it,” Cal said. “Come on Bryce, let’s spelunk.” The Echani bowed and began down the western corridor. Rhakis and Shen disappeared down the opposite passage. “So,” Cal said after a few minutes of walking through the frosted pathway. “You catch the latest swoop race?” “No, I did not,” Bryce responded. “It was a big one.” “I see.” Cal rolled his eyes and took a step down on the first stair of the ice staircase they had come upon– The staircase suddenly shook violently. Almost instantly, the entire structure of ice reshaped into a steep ramp leading down to parts unknown. Bryce, who was farther ahead, immediately lost his footing and began to slide down the icy slope. Cal lost his balance with his step and he teetered over the edge, searching for something – anything – to grab. “Oh, blast,” he whispered. Then he joined Bryce on his rapid descent into the bottom of the cavern. “Oh, ah, oh, blast, ah!” Cal muttered, the ice battering his body as he raced to the bottom. Bryce was silent, but Cal only expected as much. The Echani rarely, if ever, displayed emotion or engaged in vocal outbursts. Cal, however, was never one to shy away from expressing such things as pain. “Blast!” After covering a hundred vertical meters in only a few seconds, the two skittered out into an open cavern of pure ice that resembled the maw of an ancient beast. Thousands of icicles – some several meters in length – dangled up ahead as if they were taunting those below with promises of swift and brutal deaths. Cal scrabbled to his feet but quickly lost his footing again

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and fell to he knees. Bryce simply stood up. Cal finally got to his feet after a few more unsuccessful bouts and joined Bryce, his knees wobbling as he tried to maintain balance on the slippery floor. “Where are we?” he said as he brushed off the ice shards from his jacket. Bryce was looking intently at walls of the cavern. “I don’t know,” he murmured, “but look at that.” The Echani was pointing to a ragged corpse that was clad in a tattered brown garment that had formerly been a robe. The figure was halfway frozen into the wall and looked like it had been there for a long, long time. The crystal wall completely encapsulated the victim’s face, preserving perfectly the look of hopelessness and solemn terseness the man had worn to the end. “It looks like a Jedi Knight,” Bryce whispered, his near silent words turning into wisps of water vapor in the arctic air. “Or a dark Jedi. If there’s even a difference. Personally, I never understood the whole thing. Both used the Force, right?” “There’s a difference.” Cal grunted. “Well, whatever. The Force sure didn’t help him here. He came here a thousand years ago or so and was trying to steal the Jewel of Altruza–” “Or protect it–” “And he got killed,” Cal finished. Bending over, Cal retrieved a small metal cylinder from the unfrozen portion of fallen Jedi’s robe. “Well, you don’t see these everyday.” “No, you don’t.” “Hmm,” Cal murmured before tucking it into his jacket pocket. “Well, let’s see if we can figure out what this place is and how to get out–” “Arlon,” Bryce said, using his companion’s last name to interrupt him and grabbing his

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arm to gain his attention. “Look at those symbols etched into the rock.” Cal reached down for his glowrod that was lying on the ice. Angling it at the wall, he tried to make out the gold symbols. “Oh man,” he said after a moment. “This is bad. First the dead Jedi and now this.” Bryce looked surprised. “You can read them?” “No, but that one looks like a skull.” Bryce rolled his eyes, but a low growl suddenly menaced from the far corner of the cavern, accenting Cal’s statement. As Cal and Bryce turned in unison to identify the sound, thousands of torches suddenly lit with fire all around the chamber, basking the icy walls in a flickering reddish-gold light. “Oh man, this is so not good,” Cal whispered. The cavern shook tremendously as a massive door composed entirely of ice divided down the middle and opened outwards. There was a still silence for several seconds. Cal held his breath– Heavy footsteps suddenly echoed throughout the cavern. The rock shook and Cal looked up at the icicles as they vibrated– A massive shadow emerged from the archway. The dancing light revealed the features of the beast, splashing the creature in golden rays. “Well, I’ll be…” Bryce whispered, gesturing at the giant reptile with cerulean scales and rainbow wings. “It’s a Cave Dragon.” “A what what? A dragon?” Bryce nodded. “I’ve read about them. They’re related to the Krayt Dragons of Tatooine, although these types have wings to go with the name. They can live for indefinite periods of time, feeding only once in a hundred years or so.”

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“Well, it’s about to feed right now,” Cal shouted as he reached for his blaster– It wasn’t there. “Blast!” he exclaimed as he searched for anything that he could use to ward off the incoming predator. He came up with nothing. Then a sudden thought hit him and he produced the weapon of the fallen Jedi and flicked the power switch on. The metal hilt made an odd hissing noise, but failed to produce the notorious shimmering blade of focused energy and, instead, remained as lifeless as its former owner. “Sithspit!” The emerald-colored dragon lumbered forward, sniffing at the air with scaled nostrils big enough to fly a swoop through. Catching scent of the two unfortunate travelers, it let loose a roar that shook the cavern again. Rearing up on its hind legs and spreading its wings to their full majestic glory, it began to move towards Cal and Bryce, its meter-long claws piercing the frozen floor with each massive step. Gelatinous saliva rained down from its deadly teeth as its jaws quivered in anticipation. “Beautiful,” Bryce whispered. Then, as if only now understanding the danger, he continued. “We should run, Arlon.” “You think?” As the dragon quickly moved towards them, Bryce and Cal began to run across the icy floor in an attempt to dodge the dragon’s lethal grip. Bryce moved effortlessly, but Cal slipped after only a few meters. He looked up as the jaws of the dragon snapped towards him; yellow teeth as long as his forearm and dripping with saliva, moving to rip his body to shreds...

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Chapter 2 T

he dragon’s infernal jaws suddenly wrenched backward and the beast let loose a

primal cry. A half-meter long harpoon stuck out of the side of its mouth, skewering tissue and bone. Cal scrambled to his feet and stumbled away from the shrieking beast. Bryce was there to offer him a strong hand; the other held a harpoon gun that usually impaled rock instead of the flesh of dragons. Cal got his balance. “Thanks for the save, buddy–” He stopped talking at the sound of metal hitting ice. He looked down to see the harpoon on the ground; up to see the dragon let loose a fearsome roar. “Uh, oh.” Cal started to try to climb up the ramp they had fallen down, but Bryce stood his ground. He was loading another harpoon into his gun and taking aim at the great beast. The dragon drew closer, its jaws snapping in anxious delight. “Bryce you idiot,” Cal shouted, grabbing hold of the Echani’s shoulder. “Come on!” Cal pulled back on Bryce’s shoulder, yanking him to the steep slope just as he fired. The

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harpoon missed the dragon’s heart and soared high into the ceiling. The dragon charged, its jaws leaping ever closer, centimeter by centimeter, spraying the two with yellowed saliva– Suddenly it shrieked and its jaw snapped shut; it’s eyes rolled back and its breath grew ragged before finally stopping altogether as it fell to the floor with a great crash. The ice shuddered with the violent impact and fissures erupted throughout the floor, traversing the ice from crater to corner. “What…” Cal murmured as he got to his feet and examined the massive corpse. He looked to see a hundred icy daggers stabbed deep into the beast’s armored viridian hide. “Well, I’ll be…” Cal whistled. “That shot hit the ceiling and knocked down all the icicles.” Cal grabbed hold of the larger Echani and hugged him. “Oh, man. Oh, man. I love you!” Bryce raised a single eyebrow and then backed away. “Look,” he said. He pointed to the far corner opposite the lair of the Cave Dragon. Two figures emerged from the shadows. “It’s Shen and the Captain.” Rhakis’ voice boomed out. “Come on you lazy shipmates, we got a treasure to find!” Shen caught site of the fallen dragon and sprinted across the ice, somehow keeping her footing. “Oh, wow! A Cave Dragon!” she exclaimed. “Oh, you killed it?” Rhakis shook his head. “Shen, I love you, but you are the most naïve creature I have ever seen this side of the Kathol Rift.” He looked over at Cal and Bryce. “Shen tells me that each path has a trial to face before you can reach the treasure. A dragon, eh? Not too shabby.” “What was your trial?” Cal asked. “Well, there was this big rock we had to move…” “Figures,” Cal muttered. Bryce stepped forward. “Maestro,” he said with a bow that produced a groan from Rhakis. “Do you have a way to the treasure grotto?”

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“As a matter of fact, Shen says it’s right through there,” he said, pointing to the far wall. “There’s some sort of hidden door somewhere in the ice that responds to some sort of hidden terminal or switch or something.” “Found it,” Shen called out. She pulled an ancient-looking lever and the ice wall began to spread apart. Rhakis grinned. “Shen, did I tell you that I love you?” Gesturing to the rest of his crew, he motioned towards the treasure chamber. “Come on, let’s stop dawdling and start getting some formerly hidden treasure.” The chamber ahead was also entirely made of perfectly clear ice that surrounded an altar that was likewise made of ice. The chamber glowed with light reflecting to infinity and resembled a small star with a large blue jewel resting atop the crystal pedestal as its core. “The Jewel of Altruza,” Shen whispered. “Lost for ten thousand years, preserved alive in an ancient freezer…” The archeologist removed her thick gloves and reached out for it. She held her bare hands over the muja fruit-sized cyan crystal. Static electricity hissed as it met her skin and the air pulsed around the gem. “It’s like it’s alive,” she said nearly silently. She held her breath and then reached out to touch the jewel… “Shen,” Cal warned. “Is it a good idea to just reach out and touch it? It could be boobytrapped.” Shen ignored the warning and lightly touched the faceted surface. A twinge of electricity traveled up her fingers. “There’s some sort of electrical field here,” she said. “Harmless.” Cal stepped forward. “Shen–” She grabbed the jewel with both hands and lifted it off its pedestal. Nothing happened. “See?” she said. “It’s fine.” She held the jewel in the flickering light and studied it closely. “It’s

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beautiful. Surprisingly heavy, but beautiful.” Four symbols carved into the walls of ice suddenly lit up, glowing with innate golden light. Cal looked up at them but couldn’t deduce their meaning. “Shen,” he said slowly, tapping her shoulder to get her attention. “What do those symbols mean?” “What symbols? Oh. Oh,” she said as she finally looked up. Recognition hit her and her face went colorless. She nearly dropped the jewel. “Gimme that,” Rhakis said, reaching for the jewel from Shen’s trembling hands. He tucked it away safely in his jacket. Cal moved closer to her. “What does it say, Shen?” She started backing up. “Oh, this is bad. You see that symbol over there? Loosely translated, it says ‘sacred;’ that one basically says ‘do not touch;’ that one says ‘no escape,’ and that one,” she paused, “That one says ‘death.’” The screeching sound of ice shifting accompanied her dire words. Water started to drip down from the ceiling before starting to pour down in sheets and the altar dissolved almost instantly, leaving a pool of frigid water where it once stood. “This place is melting – fast!” Cal shouted. “We gotta get out of here!” “Good idea,” Rhakis murmured. The walls were already starting to lose their shape when the four treasure hunters ran out of the treasure chamber. The larger cavern of ice was in no better condition, however; already the walls were bowing out and large chunks of ice were falling from the ceiling along with the water. Cal ran as fast as he could on the ice before he slipped, his fall sending him sliding across the slippery surface. Bryce was there to pull him along just as a huge icicle fell, shattering a meterwide section of the floor where he had fallen. Rhakis and Shen were right behind them, barreling at full speed through the quickly flooding chamber and barely maintaining balance as icicles

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continued to rain down upon them. They quickly reached the end of the cavern. “Quick!” Rhakis yelled over the roar of the cavern collapsing. “Up the western corridor – It’s our only chance!” Cal shook his head while he sprinted through half-meter deep freezing water. “It’s too steep – we’ll never make it!” Bryce answered Cal’s undirected challenge by raising his harpoon gun and firing his last projectile into the rock at the very top of the corridor. A thick rope hung from the metal spike and he pulled it taut. “Follow me,” he grunted as he began to climb up. Cal shrugged and grabbed hold of Bryce’s rope; Rhakis and Shen followed suit. The streaming water and falling shards of ice battered them as they climbed, making it all Cal could do to keep his footing. He groaned but held on barely as the mighty Echani pulled them towards safety. Bryce’s gloved hand finally reached solid rock and he scrabbled up onto drier ground. As Cal followed suit and threw his body weight onto the flat summit of the corridor, he felt the ground shudder beneath them, a terrifying growl that transcended even the roars created by large predators; it was alien, a sound achieved only via a planet itself shattering across its exoskeleton. A fissure wider than a Hutt suddenly opened up across the previously safer ground, directly between Bryce’s feet, like a giant maw opening to swallow Bryce. The Echani moved deftly, however; he rolled quickly to his left and avoided a terrible plummet into Rhen Var’s stomach. His fortunate roll proved less of a boon to Kal and the others however, and the ropes tying them together yanked them from their handholds and threw them back down into the pit. They fell for nearly an entire second, a period marked by screaming and profanity, before Cal was able to create enough friction between the rope and his gloved hands, aborting the fall and allowing them to dangle precariously in the darkness. Their descent may have halted, but momentum slammed them violently into the frigid rock wall, further bruising

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body parts that were already dyed purple and black. “Bryce, you fool!” Cal cried out as he hung on to the rope connecting them with gloved hands that were quickly losing the battle against friction and gravity. He looked down for a moment and saw nothing; he could still feel the rock shuddering as molecular bonds gave way and the ground far beneath him disappeared. He looked frantically back up. “Use those muscles you brag about endlessly and pull us up!” The Echani obliged without a word; taking a moment to plant his boots into a small fissure to make sure he too didn’t join his companions, he tugged with all of his might: all two meters of disciplined muscle. After an agonizing ten seconds, Bryce pulled Cal far enough up that the he could grab hold of the rock and aid Bryce in lifting the team out of the precipice. Cal got to his feet, a bit shakily, and looked down into the growing pit of darkness that separated them from the lower levels of the ice temple. The void immediately devoured all light attempting to fill it, leaving only an absence of anything for kilometers. Cal imagined he was staring straight into the frozen heart of the planet and wondered if even the planet’s blood, the magma, was likewise frozen… “I reckon,” he said slowly after a few minutes, his words emerging in between ragged pants. “That if all the Corellian hells froze over, this’d be what they’d look like.” Just then, a massive chunk of the ceiling broke free and slammed into the ground meters ahead of them, knocking the party off their feet with the concussion, before ultimately shattering and raining down into the near-bottomless pit. “Wow,” Rhakis whispered. “That was a close one.” Pulling out the treasure from his jacket and gazing lovingly at it, he continued. “But we got the jewel, so things are still good.” “I’m not so sure ‘things are good’ yet, captain,” Cal said as the ground shook again. “We may be on rock now, but this place is still melting. We should get out of here.”

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ours later, they were all aboard the light freighter Starhawk II, warming up from the

bitter wintry cold, soaring up out of the atmosphere as the freighter’s engines propelled them away from the bleak ball of ice known as Rhen Var. Darkness invaded the transparisteel viewports as they exited the outer atmosphere and encountered the cold, ebony vacuum of space. Faraway stars, mere pinpoints against an infinite black backdrop, were the only sources of light as they cruised silently through the void. The ship was nearing the threshold of the planet’s gravity well and soon the mottled sky of hyperspace would replace even those stars and the slivers of light they provided, leaving only oblivion to keep them company. “Twenty minutes,” Rhakis said as he maneuvered dials on the console. “Then we’re clear of the well and can get to Nar Shadaa – that means payday!” He looked around and then laughed. “We did it – we got the Jewel of Altruza. Ha! That was a close one there! Now, Shen, I hope you remember to look carefully before you touch anything from now on…” Cal smiled along with the older man and he even saw Bryce break from his usual monotonous expression. Shen, of course, was giddy as can be, fawning over the azure jewel like a monkey-lizard over a shiny piece of metal – although Cal reckoned she probably wouldn’t appreciate the comparison. She had been that way for hours – even when they were making the long, sub-zero hike back to the ship after the collapse of the ice temple. Ah, this was good, Cal thought to himself. They had done it – they had actually gotten what they had been looking for, and it had only cost them a few moments of panic. Now they could go back to Nar Shadaa, sell the gem to Verlo the Hutt for more credits than Cal could imagine – and he could imagine quite a lot – and then they would– Warning sirens suddenly shrieked from inside the cockpit and the ship shuddered violently. “Proximity alert!” Rhakis bellowed as he raced to his pilot’s chair. “Tractor beam, too – we’re being pulled in!”

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Cal jumped into the co-pilot’s chair next to him. “Who is it?” Rhakis’ face hardened and his previously joyous expression vanished. “Imperials,” he hissed beneath clenched teeth. “It’s the blasted Imperial Navy – one of the big Corellian cruisers.” “Can we run and try to make a jump?” “No, the tractor beam has us pretty good, and even if we could break free – we’d probably blow out the engines if we tried – she’d have a whole squadron of TIEs on us before we could blink. No, we’re gonna be pulled in… blast!” Cal sighed to himself. He just knew he had celebrated too soon.

G

rey was the color of choice in the Imperial cruiser and the monotone color scheme

permeated the ship from aft to bow. The Empire must have gotten a great deal on the shade, Cal thought. The dour color was on everything – including the military-cut uniform worn by the officer watching as white-armored stormtroopers escorted the group out of their ship. His rank insignia – the only color on his dreary uniform – identified him as a commander. “Well, well,” he said with condescension dripping from his voice. “What do we have here? You know, we heard a report that there was supposedly some illegal reclamation of historical artifacts taking place on Rhen Var. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Rhakis was silent. “May I remind you,” the Commander continued, “That treasure reclamation without a valid permit is a felony, punishable by two years in Kessel?” Rhakis finally responded. “A Commander, eh?” he said, looking at the officer’s rank insignia. “How did you wind up out here in orbit around this backwater planet light-years from Coruscant – er, I mean Imperial Center? See, that’s the trouble with military regimes. Eventually

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they run out of things to fight and decorated officers like yourself are left with running errands out in the boonies–” “The jewel, Captain,” the Commander said slowly and with a tone that was wintrier than the surface of Rhen Var had been. “Oh, you mean this?” Rhakis said, pulling the cerulean gem from the parcel on his waste. “It’s really nothing – probably a fake…” The Commander reached out and yanked the jewel away. He studied it keenly for a while and then returned his gaze back at Rhakis. “Well, then,” he said with a broad smile of superlative teeth. “I’ll have my men search your ship and then you can be on your way.” “What, no fine or charges?” Rhakis queried sarcastically. The Commander merely smiled incredibly thinly and walked away, treasure grasped in white-gloved hand. Cal snorted – the Commander obviously meant to keep it for himself and didn’t plan to file any of the necessary paperwork. “There’s your government at work,” Cal muttered under his breath. In a few hours, they would be on their way, cruising once again through the silence of space, back to Nar Shadaa and Verlo the Hutt. Empty handed. Again.

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Chapter 3 I

mperial Center, the planet once known as Coruscant, hung aloof in the blackness of the

void, its distant sun’s light only barely reaching its mottled surface with the aid of thousands of artificial reflector satellites flying high above the towering cities of the Capital. Natural features were scarce in the crowded planet and the few ridges of mountains and the even fewer lakes of genuine water that still existed were secluded around the poles. Millions of gold, copper, and silver trimmed buildings scraped the monotone skies of polluted air, traversing the heavens without ever looking back at the forgotten ground kilometers below. The mirrored sun rendered these skyscrapers as wonders of precious metal and mountains of the durasteel and ferrocrete, all centering around the grandest structure of them all: the Senate Rotunda. Towering in the middle of Imperial City, the lustrous fungi-shaped architecture was the coronal adornment of the Capital planet, the diadem of power in a dark Empire, the very abode of evil itself. It was here in this central throne – the former seat of democracy for the entire galaxy – that yellowed, reptilian eyes watched. They flicked back and forth, veiled behind raven sackcloth, studying and hunting the populace of Imperial Center, constantly calculating and

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plotting. These eyes saw all and knew all; nothing passed their scrutinizing gaze nor escaped their prying grip – even that which wished to remain hidden. High up above in the artificial mountains of the Empire, a lone figura of the dark side with furrowed, scarred, and pallid skin, concealed behind a sable cloak, watched everything.

F

ar below the glorious cityscape of Imperial Center, beneath the towering marble

statues and silken durasteel architecture, a second city lived – one hidden from the reflected sunlight but not from the Emperor’s vision. Darkness pervaded the walkways even during the hours of daylight and luminous neon signs advertising various cantinas, Pazaak and Sabaac dens, and other less-respectable establishments provided the only light for the lower city. The entire atmosphere reeked with alien smells and pulsed with an exotic rhythm – mostly because the fall of the Republic some ten years ago meant the sequestering of the billions of nonhumans living in the Capital planet from the glamorous upper city. In one of the dirtiest and grimiest cantinas and Pazaak dens, one even considered abysmal in this lower city, Cal sat and stirred his drink, occasionally glancing at his cards. He stroked his chin and felt the rough stubble of new hair growth against his calloused fingers. Here he was, buried beneath kilotons of durasteel and ferrocrete, kilometers below the illustrious upper city of Imperial Center, seething beneath a sweaty, formerly-white tunic, waiting for whatever was supposed to happen here… “Pazaak!” one of the leather-skinned aliens to his right yelled out. As the nonhuman reached for the small pile of credits in the middle of the stained table, Cal threw his cards in with a sigh and took another long sip of his drink. He winced as his tongue tasted the lomin ale but continued drinking until there was only a pair of synthetic ice cubes remaining. The dealer passed Cal another card, a ripped, stained, and torn piece of flexpaper with a

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barely readably numeric symbol on its face. Cal slammed his palm on the table and the dealer passed a second card to him. He rapped his fingers against the green felt as he looked at the cards for a while, took another sip of his drink, and then signaled for another card. His face soured at the sum it made. “Blast,” he whispered and stood up. He was all out of credits. “I’m out,” he said to the group – a statement that received an anti-eclectic mix of grunts and hisses. “Color me scarlet, I’m out too,” an older man seated across from him said. “Time for another Corellian detonator.” The man’s reference to the notorious drink brought about a few laughs and alien gurgles, but it made Cal’s ears perk up. He recognized the line. Moving over to a nearby empty table, he sat down. The older man quickly joined him. “You must be Cal,” the man softly whispered. “I am Arien.” Cal nodded. After the incident of Rhen Var, he had gone with Rhakis and the others to Nar Shadaa to explain the reason why they hadn’t gotten the jewel to the local crime lord, Verlo the Hutt. The gluttonous slug was not too pleased about their mishap and had almost ordered his porcine Gamorrean guards to rip them all to shreds with their vibroaxes right there and then – only a bit of quick smooth-talking by Rhakis had been able to save their collective necks. Verlo decided that they were more useful to him alive – that is, as long as they accomplished their mission the next time. Their next mission was handed down right then. The Hutt told them about a group of clients on Imperial Center who had contacted the crime lord. The whole thing was very secretive – something Cal didn’t much like – and even Verlo didn’t know their names. The Hutt gave them a location: Torval’s Pazaak Den and Cantina in the bowels of Imperial City, and a code phrase that would identify the client.

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Cal studied the older man. He didn’t look very mysterious. He was maybe a bit older than Rhakis, his black hair losing the battle against the grey. His dark eyes seemed hardened, however, and they looked like they had seen many more years than they should have– “Great. My contact is a mute,” the older man named Arien said dryly. Cal broke out of his reverie and sniffed the near-poisonous air. “Sorry, must be the lomin ale. Terrible stuff. Anyways, I was told that you wanted something found?” Arien looked around and his eyes darted at the various denizens in the cantina. Satisfied that no one was listening, he continued, his voice incredibly low. “Have you ever heard of the Treasure of the Dread Pirate Tagar?” “Oh man. You have to be kidding me.” “I take it you have heard?” Cal stifled a laugh and took another swallow of lomin ale. “You mean the legendary pirate who lived some two centuries ago and preyed upon the Trade Federation? The guy who supposedly had a storehouse filled with enough aurodium ingots to buy half the galaxy and still have enough the put a palace on each and every rock? Yeah, I’ve heard of him.” “You should keep your voice down–” “Listen,” Cal said slowly before continuing in a methodical tone. “The Lost Treasure of Tagar is probably the most sought after thing in the entire galaxy. Every last blasted treasure hunter has wasted at least a few blasted years in search of it. There’s the making of a trail but then bam! The trail grows colder than Hoth. It can’t be found. Just about everyone knows this. Personally, I don’t believe it even exists. So don’t worry about someone overhearing you – they’ll probably just laugh at you. And even if they actually do believe in it and run off to find it first, they’re far too stupid to even find the Upper City.” Arien took the tell-down with an unchanging expression. “I’m not that naïve, you know,”

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he said very slowly and with an edge to his voice that matched his eyes. “I have seen quite a bit of the galaxy in all my years. And I do know that people have searched for it countless times with no success. But I also do know that it does indeed exist." “Now, how would you know that?” “Because I have something that all the other fools didn’t have,” he said with a crooked smile. He reached with one gnarled hand into the inside pocket of his burnt orange coat and produced a small book full of worn pieces of flexpaper that looked like they had seen the same abuse as the cantina’s Pazaak cards. “I have a map.”

I

n the sunless depths of Imperial Center, predacious eyes hidden in the shadows

watched the conversation unfold inside Torval’s Pazaak Den and Cantina. Neris Caine held macrobinoculars to his eyes that depicted the grimy scene with a hazy ruby overlay, allowing him to see details otherwise obscured by the darkness. The words of the two men speaking were, of course, suffocated by the distance and were lost to his ears. Caine did not need audio, however; the mere movement of their lips sufficed to grant him all the information he required. Ironic, he mused – the younger man was so against secreting their words away from prying strangers and was so sure that no one would care enough to listen that he didn’t even attempt to conceal their dialogue. Then again, even if the two had tried to hold their conversation in a more clandestine manner, Caine would still have been able to find out what they were discussing with little effort. Nothing escaped Caine. He was the Emperor’s Hand – and not just one of the many Force-trained agents in his master’s service but the Emperor’s Hand – arguably the third most powerful person in the entire galaxy, second only to the moronic Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Vader, in the eyes of their mutual master. Wherever the Emperor’s insidious gaze fell, Caine was

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there, the aptly named Hand, to complete his master’s wishes. Such was the reason he was down here in the belly of the Capital, wading through heaps of trash and sub-humans and allowing his normally immaculate black cloak to become stained with the stench of this lower city. He pressed a dial on the macrobinoculars and the image enlarged four-fold, filling his grey irises with the red-hued face of the older man. Caine looked at the man’s features for a brief second, mentally recording them, and then pressed a second button – a button that caused time to freeze as far as the image went, preserving the man’s visage within the digital memory of the device. Out of instinct, Caine also captured the profile of the second man, the younger one with the beginnings of a beard and the dark hair unpolluted with grey. A final key sent both images through a secure and private channel of the Holonet, encrypting the data into a burst that would soar high overhead through kilometers of ferrocrete and nearly instantly reform itself in front of the cloaked eyes of his master. Soon, his master would contact him, willing him onto the rest of his mission. For now he would wait, hidden in the shadows of the lower city like the nocturnal kath hound camouflages itself behind the brush fields of Dantooine. Soon I shall taste victory, he whispered to himself. The darkness seemed to echo his unspoken words back to him, whispering a single silent word carried upon the hissing wind’s back. Soon.

H

ours later, Cal slammed his fist into the unforgiving durasteel bulkhead of his

quarters aboard the Starhawk II. The metal surface didn’t flinch and only made a dull thud; Cal’s hand on the, however, produced an audible crack that corresponded to a sharp stab of fiery pain that spread up his wrist. Cal cursed under his breath and rubbed his hand, massaging the tendons and bruised bones in an almost nonchalant way, his attention diverted away from the pain and towards some other random point in the room. His vision blurred as his eyes remained unfocused, turning the small cabin into fluctuating double scenery.

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He was about ready to have another bout with the wall when, instead, he opted to take a long swig from an open bottle of hard alcohol. His lips met only a drop of stinging liquid, however, and he belatedly realized that he had emptied the last of it into his gut minutes earlier. Disappointed with fate’s cruel turn, he threw the glass bottle into the wall, watched it shatter, and then slumped down on to the rest cot opposite of the wall attracting his drunken-fury. He sat there for several long moments, miming curses with his lips, his head held in his bruised hands. His face contorted into a stony visage, hardened as if it had been literally calloused from both external and internal pain. His emotions buried, both from the casual onlooker and from himself, he dug into his pack sitting idly next to him and retrieved a cylindrical chrome hilt that resembled a common hydrospanner – the long dead Jedi’s saber recovered on Rhen Var. He let his fingers run over the surface, feeling the ancient grooves and the innate power the seemed to course from inside of it, even though it had long been as lifelessly cold as its former frozen tomb. The weapon seemed to whisper to him, but its possibly imagined words were lost against the hurricane of his own thoughts. He rummaged through the drawer beside his cot and produced an unopened bottle of liquor. Unscrewing the sealed cap, he tried to extinguish his mind’s rants with the numbing acid.

A

s a new day filled the horizon, a young woman clad in a flowing cerulean

cloak that flowered out with gold-embroidered tassels glided elegantly toward the Starhawk II; she was short of stature and the cloak’s cowl added to her air of diminutiveness by compressing her auburn hair and nearly eclipsing her large, dark eyes. She looked like a famous holodrama actress, her complexion snowy and her gaze seemingly removed from non-digitized life. A tall man with dour features and long black hair forged into a ponytail trailed her. He seemed her opposite; her guise broadcasted a signal of innocence, a message of helplessness that most males

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of any species found irresistible; his was intimidating, as if his broad shoulders that were framed in a long, black cape threatened anyone who looked too closely, much less managed close enough to breath on him… “I don’t know, Bryce,” Cal whispered to the large man standing next to him on the freighter’s boarding ramp. Cal seemed cheerful, unworried as they approached, with only the faintest redness to his eyes to evidence his night of self-medication. “I think he could take you.” “Unlikely.” Cal snorted and watched as a shorter – and older – man joined them, a human with graying hair and hard, intelligent eyes. He recognized him as the person he had originally spoken to – and the man who would be paying for this excursion – and sauntered closer to greet the coming passengers. Cal wore his best cream-colored tunic and his grayish-blue pants that sported the infamous Corellian Blood Stripes: two vertical lines of crimson traversing the fabric that seemed to say, Yeah, I fought in the war. Think you can take me? I’ll snap your neck. Closer inspection of the decoration awarded only to fearless warriors of Corellia would reveal it as a fake; Cal figured, however, that impressions were worth more than honesty. He stepped forward, gave his best Corellian crooked smile, and performed a sweeping half-bow. “Welcome to the Starhawk II,” he said with a cocky grin that masked the bile rising in his throat. “The Captain is waiting.” The glamorous lady followed the Corellian and the Echani up the boarding ramp, but she slowed her pace so that she fell slightly behind the two crewmen and into step with her two fellow passengers. Her wide eyes studied the grey-and-red freighter and focused in on the rust patches that adorned the ship’s hull like freckles on an adolescent. Carbon scoring accented these unsightly signs of age, evidence of the crew’s encounters with both pirates and the law, and aided the spots of rusted-out durasteel in creating a mottled surface. The ship’s lines didn’t help

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matters, either. They were quite boring: four large engine nacelles that seemed disproportionately too huge for the rest of the ship; a squat very Corellian disc-shaped fuselage designed for cargo and not beauty; a recessed front end that made the ship look like a “U” from above; and a topmounted cockpit with a cropped wrap-around viewport that was not quite vertical. Hyphenated wings on either side of the fuselage attempted to salvage a measure of originality, but they were far too stubby to do much good. “Are you sure this ship doesn’t belong in some Outer Rim junkyard?” she said, her voice barely audible and directed away from the crew’s ears just slightly enough so that her word’s failed to reach their ears, while refraining from being an obvious movement. “Now, now, Nela,” Arien chided, his voice also a whisper. “We must not be quick to judge; appearance only matters to the eyes, which can easily deceive you.” “Professor Onlis speaks words of wisdom, little Nela,” the taller man whispered back with an unfriendly chuckle. “Perhaps you should listen and not just hear.” “And perhaps you should follow you own advice, young Darian,” Arien said, his quiet words lashing out like a scourging whip. “Come now, my students; today we leave behind this exchange of words and soar with destiny to places far, far away.” A smile fastened to his aged face, Professor Arien Onlis walked hurriedly towards the doors of the ship; Nela and Darian followed him up to the ramp’s zenith and then inside the belly of the ship. As the doors hissed shut behind them, Nela distantly wondered if the Professor’s words about destiny were true – perhaps their fate, like the doors behind them, had been sealed.

T

he Corellian-built light freighter Starhawk II left it’s birth in one of Imperial

Center’s millions of mass landing platforms with a grumble of sound, its oversized engines belching obnoxiously as they propelled the nearly derelict craft into the stratosphere and, finally,

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into the hard vacuum of space. There it joined the billions of ships, both small and large, and slipped into the anonymity of the void… or, rather, it would have had cruel, intelligent eyes not been watching with pristine interest. “Launch attack fighters, Captain,” Neris Caine with a tone that was so calm, so nonchalant, that it sent shivers down the intended officer’s back. Caine eyed the man for a moment, as if silently threatening to decapitate him if he didn’t oblige within the next few seconds. Catching on to the warning very quickly, Captain Raneth gulped once and then proceeded to issue the command to his subordinates. Caine, satisfied, returned his gaze to the massive primary viewport on the flag deck of the Victory-class Star Destroyer Massacre and watched the unwitting light freighter’s last few seconds. He casually straightened his crisp, black tunic and took a sip of steaming caf. “Lieutenant Pellaeon,” Captain Raneth said. “Launch a flight of TIEs and increase to flank speed. They are not getting away.” The junior tactical officer standing to his right saluted smartly and left to carry out his orders. Moments later, four oddly shaped starfighters that resembled bowties streaked across the black sky, peeling away from the sanctuary of the mighty warship’s hangar. A few more moments passed before Caine could feel the slightest shudder run through the ship’s spine, a signal that the ship’s speed had increased to the maximum possible. Raneth offered Caine an apologetic look. “They’re getting slow,” he said, gesturing to the helm in front of him. “If we were at war, anything less than perfection, like this, would never be tolerated.” Caine didn’t face the older man and instead pointed to their quarry, tiny in the unadulterated picture seen through the viewport. “We are still at war, Captain,” he methodically, “Until every last one of them is dead.”

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“Of course, my lord.” Caine watched the TIE fighters grow smaller as they moved much faster than the monstrous Kuat Drive Yards-built destroyer could. “Aren’t they wonderful?” Raneth suddenly said. “The latest from Sienier Systems. Twin Ion Engine fighters – the crew calls them TIE’s for short, which is ironic since they look like–” Caine raised a single black-gloved hand and cut him off. “I know, Captain – I have read the reports. Decidedly fast, twin heavy laser cannons that can fire linked or independently, solar power-absorbing panels that provide some protection from laser fire, and minimal armor for maximum maneuverability and lowest overall cost. The disposable starfigher for the disposable pilot,” he said as if he were reading from that very report. “I know, and I don’t care.” The Captain’s aged face turned ashen. “My apologies–” “Enough, Captain. I don’t require, nor desire, your words. Trinkets, such as these,” he said, gesturing to the fighters, “may serve their purpose, but, when compared to the power of the Force, they are not deserving of my concern. “What I am concerned with,” he continued, “is the destruction of that freighter. Progress report, Lieutenant?” Pellaeon looked up sharply from his datapad. “ETA to firing distance approximately fifteen seconds. Ten. Five. Lead TIE fighter is firing… now.” Two momentary flashes of viridian lit up the darkness of space.

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Chapter 4 T

he blasts of coherent energy shook the cockpit of the Starhawk II with such

violence that both Rhakis and Cal were hurled from their seats as if they were stringed puppets under the direction of a drunken Gamorrean bore. Cal’s forehead met the plasteel of the control panel, causing his skin to erupt with crimson fissures. He grunted, dropped to his knees, and the let loose an undecipherable string of various curses that were melded together via slurred speech. Rhakis was not in much better shape; his bottom lip was torn open and where had once been a golden tooth was now an absence. “Sithspit, my tooth! Oh, uh, shields up!” Another salvo of energy broadsided them before the deflector shields could be raised, and caused alarm klaxons to shriek as if they felt the ship’s pain. Cal hauled himself up to his chair and deftly maneuvered controls on the instrument panel. “Hull integrity failing – we’re venting out into space across the cargo bay.” The seeming calmness in his words felt unnatural and lead to a quizzical look on his face over his own tone. Rhakis, now in his chair despite blood streaming from his mangled mouth, grabbed hold of the pilot’s yoke with both hands and sent the freighter into an accelerated sharp spin. The

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evasive move yielded instant results: the next shot of linked lasers went wide by a mere meter. “Who do we have following us?” Rhakis asked through clenched teeth as he instinctively dodged another incredibly close shot. “Four short-range starfighters.” “There must be a cruiser nearby… although, that would only make sense considering it’s the blasted Imperial Center! Bryce, get your self up into the top turret!” Rhakis roared, his latter exclamation patched through the ship’s internal com. “I volunteer myself for the lower turret,” another voice responded that was clipped and all too proper. Both Cal and Rhakis swiveled around toward the newcomer, and then back to concentrate on the field of stars ahead of them once they realized it was Darian Tol, the tallest of the three passengers. His features were brooding as always, his eyes dark and his hair pulled back severely; his expression was one that challenged anyone who would disagree with him. Rhakis ignored the expression’s silent message, and, without looking at him, denied his request. “Sorry, kid, but I’d rather have Cal here cover my belly than some snot-nosed teenager with a desire to shoot stuff with big guns.” Darian looked shocked, an expression that seemed unnatural for him, and began to speak; Rhakis, however, cut him off before he could begin. “Listen. Your professor is paying us to ferry you around the galaxy, not to listen to his whiny student argue. So, unless you want to open your own credit purse, then you best skedaddle.” A blaster suddenly appeared in his hand, even as he wove the ship through space with the other. Without looking, he pointed the blaster’s business end at Darian. “Before I get really annoyed, forget about the money, and just shoot you.” Darian backed away, but he held his gaze at Rhakis’ back, his eyes smoldering. Then he left without a word, turning sharply around, his cape whirling with his movement.

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As soon as he was gone, Cal leaned over and whispered into Rhakis’ ear. “Would you have actually shot him?” “Possibly. He was getting pretty annoying, and my trigger finger was itching.” Rhakis hazarded a glance at his co-pilot. “Uh, Cal?” “What?” Rhakis just glared at him until understanding slammed into Cal like a wild, overweight bantha on steroids. “Oh right, the turret.”

C

al could feel the moisture develop between the surface of his skin and the

leather-coated gunnery yolk. He took a quick second to wipe his sweaty palms on his pants and then grabbed hold of the double-handed control yolk, swiveled it towards a point in space, and brought his targeting reticule to bear on the incoming fighters. The lead oddly shaped craft danced around his brackets, allowing his HUD to light up for only nanoseconds at a time. Two can play that game, Cal whispered to himself. He joined the deadly dance, shifting his crosshairs and tracking the weaving fighter he was targeting. The HUD went red and he fired, sending a staccato of red energy darts at the enemy starfighter. The pilot easily dodged with his maneuverable craft, spinning harmlessly out of the way– The ship blossomed into a fiery flower of orange and scarlet gasses as it flew straight into a stream of Bryce’s lasers. “Wow! Nice shot there, buddy!” Call whooped; his headset’s com unit instantly picked up his congratulations and broadcast it over Bryce’s speakers. The Echani didn’t respond, but Cal could picture him smiling slightly, perhaps nodding almost invisibly… A sudden bank by a frantically fleeing Rhakis slammed Cal into his crash webbing, the inertial dampeners, overloaded by the maneuver, failing to eliminate all of the gravitational

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forces. “Sithspawn!” Cal swore, his next shot going several meters wide of the next fighter under his crosshairs. “Sorry ‘bout that, crew,” Rhakis bellowed over the com. Static filled the next few seconds before he continued. “Okay, maybe I’m not.” Cal shook his head and brought his reticule back on target, tracking the strafing fighter, but the pilot was just a bit too good, and Cal’s skills just a bit too rusty. The fighter easily steered away from any of Cal’s shots and kept the HUD from glowing red for even a nanosecond. “Got another one,” Bryce said calmly. “Two left.” Gritting his teeth, Cal set to work on bagging his target. He was not going to let that arrogant brute get all the kills. “Come here, you stupid nerfherder,” Cal whispered to his prey before realizing, belatedly, that he was still broadcasting to Bryce. “Uh, not you, Bryce,” he added with a wince. Suddenly, the fighter appeared out of nowhere, having performed an incredibly tight flip, and raced towards Cal on a deadly vector. His wingman formed up behind him, and mimicked his daring run. Propelled by twin-ion drives, the lead fighter covered the distance so fast that only milliseconds elapsed before Cal could practically see the faceless pilot inside. With all his speed and skill, Cal brought his crosshairs to bear on the rapidly incoming starfighter– The pilot fired first, before Cal could even line up his shot. A sudden explosion of green energy filled the space almost directly in front of him, causing the deflector shield to turn suddenly visible as energy splashed across it and, nanoseconds later, darkening the phototrophic transparisteel viewport to the point of opaqueness. “Oh, blast!” The viewport was designed to darken like so as a safety measure for the user’s eyes. Cal’s eyes may not have been blinded, but the result was much the same: Cal couldn’t see anything outside the formerly transparent durasteel. Fractions of a second felt like

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hours as he stared out at the slowly lightening viewport. Anger and frustration blossomed into instant anger; anger became rage; the rage blasted out from his heart and through his mouth, turning into an incoherent scream. He twitched the yolk and fired blind.

R

hakis pulled hard on the controls, yanking the freighter from its current vector

and into a direction nearly opposite. He expected to see his pursuer’s lasers scream narrowly past, but, when nothing appeared across the port side of the viewport, fear crept into his chest like a frozen hand clenching his heart. He waiting for the impact; the shudder that would be felt prior to explosive decompression as coherent energy blasted through the failing dorsal deflector shield and straight into the hull. Seconds ticked by as beads of sweat glazed his forehead. A beeping alert suddenly broke his terrified silence. He quickly checked the controls for a damage report, but found nothing. In fact, the two fighters on their tail were suspiciously off the sensor display panel. “What?” he queried the distant stars ahead. Curiosity overwhelming his sense of dread, he banked the ship around and studied his trail, expecting to see the silhouettes of two starfighters screaming towards him, their laser cannons cycling with deadly accuracy. Instead, he saw nothing – save for a slowly rotating piece of durasteel passing about twenty meters from the forward viewport. Rhakis strained his eyes to see and could just barely make out the octagonal portion of transparisteel native to the Empire’s fighter craft. Realization dawned on him, but one word still escaped his lips: “What?”

T

he viewport regained transparency and Cal held his breath, assuming to see

both enemy fighters rounding for another pass. His heart leapt beneath his jacket as he saw an inferno of superheated gas ahead of him; for a split second, he feared the explosion was from the

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Starhawk II. Then he saw the second fireball against the black, and a remnant of one of the starfighter’s solar panels drift by. No way, he whispered silently, even as a scream, this time of delight, breached his clenched teeth.

M

inutes later, a very nervous Nela, still wearing her flowing robe and cowl,

stumbled across the common lounge, nearly running into the dejarik table and into an even-more ashen Shen, before snaking her way into the cockpit. As her feet met the doorway, a quick turn by the ship and a mishap with the tassels of her robe caused her to stumble. Strong arms aborted her fall and she wrapped into their safety; she looked up to the Corellian’s face – Cal was his name – and offered him a small smile. He returned with one of those notorious crooked grins. She looked up at him for a second, seemingly lost… then she got her senses, got to her feet, and pushed herself away from him. “Get you greasy hands off of me, you, you big Wookie!” she stammered. Cal merely smirked as if he’d known her response. Nela flushed, straightened her dress, and the regained her composure. “Are we safe yet? Are they still following us?” she asked as she turned to look out the viewport. Rhakis, still intently focused on his piloting, didn’t dare a look back. “For now – thanks to Cal, we lost our pursuit,” he said tersely. “But we’re still in the gundark’s nest and we still have a big cruiser on our tails. I’m spooling up the nav coordinates, but the computer, well, she ain’t in her prime.” Nela watched as the tall white-haired Echani grabbed hold of Cal’s hand and offered him a salute. “Excellent shooting, Arlon,” he said. From her prospective, it didn’t look like Cal brightened from the complement; instead, he looked… distant. He quickly sobered up from what looked like a reverie and took his chair next to Rhakis.

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Curious, she thought to herself. She had to admit the Corellian had her intrigued. He wasn’t fitting the mold of her original conceptions. Well, not exactly, but it was still most curious indeed.

L

ieutenant Gilad Pellaeon did something he hadn’t done in the majority of his

adult naval career: he sprinted across the flag deck. He had no concern for etiquette, nor for safety; his information was more far more crucial. That mysterious Intelligence agent name Neris Caine saw him running and nearly dropped his jaw on the grated durasteel floor. “Lieutenant,” he asked slowly. Captain Raneth turned and saw Pellaeon too; his voice echoed Caine’s less than a second later. “My Lord; Captain. The TIEs – they’ve… been destroyed.” Raneth nearly exploded into shock, his face beat red. Caine was as seemingly calm as the edge of a vibroblade, but Pellaeon knew that his anger was probably just as sharp and easily as lethal. Without waiting for them to ask why, he continued. “The freighter had two unknown black market heavy laser turret’s installed. The ship took significant damage, but Wing Commander Stellen was taken by surprise and vaped – excuse me, I mean, of course, destroyed – along with the rest of his flight. The ship is now vectoring away out of Imperial Center’s gravity well. Estimated time of departure: forty-five seconds.” Caine watched the fleeing craft with the interest of a predator, his eyes narrowing to slits before he closed them all together. I can feel you, he whispered to the depths. I will crush you. He reached towards them with his mind, as if with a gloved hand, and then began to squeeze… A sudden spasm racked his body and he stiffened, his eyes open, a look of disbelief upon his face. No, that is impossible, he whispered, this time to himself. “No!” Captain Raneth bellowed. “They will not escape. Gun batteries, fire at will! Blast

STAR WARS: KNIGHTS OF THE OLD REPUBLIC: THE HUNTED

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that rusted boat out of the black!” Caine, once again collected and all too calm, stepped forward and grasped Raneth’s arm before whispering in his ear. “Think, Captain: from this distance, we will only be wasting Tibanna gas. The Force is with them; your gunners will undoubtedly fail. Patience, my good Captain. Is the homing beacon still broadcasting?” Raneth, subdued, directed the inquiry to his Pellaeon with the slightest flick of his eyes. Catching on nearly instantly, Pellaeon pulled out his tactical datapad and studied it for several seconds. “Yes, sir,” he said after a few moments. “Homing beacon is activated and broadcasting along a secure Holonet channel.” “Excellent. You see, Captain? They can run, be they most assuredly cannot hide – not from the Empire, least of all from me. Wherever they go, we will be right there – and this time, we will not fail. Soon, they will be ours.” As Raneth nodded and Pellaeon saluted, Caine mimicked his own words silently, albeit with a slight twist. Yes, he whispered. Soon you shall be mine. His anger brewing beneath expressionless features, Neris Caine prepared to deliver his report of failure to his master, the Emperor.

T

hey were all gathered in the small confines of the Starhawk II’s cockpit,

watching as the nav computer’s counter, slowly it seemed, ran down to zero. Finally, pulling the silver double-pronged levers with a grin, Rhakis said: “Here we go!” All of them watched as the stars around seemingly elongated into streaks of light; Nela, her eyes wider than ever, was awed as those streaks became a current of cyan that rippled like the oceans of Naboo on a twilight evening as they entered hyperspace.