Star Wars: Legend Hunters

by Blaack Haat

Twenty years after the Yuuzhan Vong invasion a young adventurer and her family undertake a quest to solve one of the galaxy's greatest mysteries trapped within a lost ship from the past.

1STAR WARS

"LEGEND HUNTERS"

BY: RYAN S. GERSTENBUHLER

"Yeah," Vendra Seron breathed in a manner somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. "I know he's supposed to be here by now. But you know Vek. He always has to make an entrance."

Beside her, Vendra's companion huffed quietly, and she could hear the distinct nervous disapproval in the sound.

"Well, the Caravan is his tavern after all," Vendra said.

Fixing her attractively accentuated face into a neutral expression, Vendra swept the scene with her sterling eyes. The Caravan was one of the better taverns on this part of Ryloth. Privately, though, Vendra admitted that, for all its sophistication, the place did have a lot in common with a dozen other places she and her Jawa partner had been in. Crowded, loud, and dark, the tavern had that air of seedy intrigue all places frequented by starpilots had. Was the tall human at the bar a smuggler looking for a contact? Maybe the Bith sitting at a corner table directly across the tavern was an agent of the Galactic Alliance, waiting to catch the human in some kind of illegal activity. There were dozens of shady possibilities, dark agendas, and dirty little secrets lingering all over the room. The Caravan was crammed with everything that made every hyperspace hop worth the trip, and served up a great Corellian brandy besides.

Her father disapproved of her coming to places like this, and his opposition was completely understandable given his close ties with the Alliance. So Vendra was surprised when she received a message from him that she should get here as soon as possible. The Caravan mirrored the character of its proprietor, and neither were shining examples of honest repute. Still it was good to know that even the smallest handful of the "Old Galaxy's" planets continued to thrive amid the legacy of the Yuzzhan Vong invasion.

It was twenty-three years ago that the first Vong worldship crossed the galactic barrier, bringing the first wave of an invading army that would conquer or destroy well over half the known galaxy within two years. Billions were killed, whole planets destroyed, as the Yuzzhan Vong unleashed their vast array of biological weapons upon a galaxy completely ill-equipped for the challenge.

"You didn't have to come with me, you know," Vendra chided the little hooded creature.

Myrishi chittered a response only vaguely heard over the noise of a dozen voices competing to be heard over that tooth-grating music. Although the Caravan was a generally more pleasant venue than the cantina of Mos Eisley on Tattooine, at least the dive at Mos Eisley had a live band. Which was not to say the entertainment there was any better than the entertainment here. But at least a live band had to take breaks every once in a while.

"Well then don't complain," Vendra admonished, unable to hold back the grin creasing her full lips. Myrishi had been with her since the day she saved him from murder at the hands of an Aqualish.

Vendra had been down in her own docking pit doing some routine maintenance work on her ship's sublight cooling systems when she heard Myrishi's frantic squealing. At first Vendra thought nothing of it, on Tatooine the sound of an excited Jawa was not exactly an uncommon thing. But the next sound she heard, the sound prompting her drop her hydro-spanner for her blaster, was a neck-prickling shriek. Vendra whipped her head around to look up at the edge of the neighboring docking pit and saw two figures perched there. Another terrified scream found her ears, the small helpless cry of a small helpless creature facing imminent demise.

Her reaction was faster than thought. Vendra tossed her hydro-spanner aside and was in a dead run for her rented repulsor-bike before she even realized she was moving. Clearing the distance in just a few heartbeats, Vendra was in the seat with a single leap. The engines howled as the repulsor-bike jumped from the ground. Its exhaust scorched the permacrete as the bike's safety helmet hit the ground with a clatter that might as well have been silent.

Clenching her teeth against the hot air slamming into her face and eyes, Vendra finally saw the would-be killer. The Aqualish was holding the Jawa by the throat and dangling the flailing little desert alien over the edge. But the lanky walrus-faced assailant's hard dark eyes exploded with shock as he watched the high performance repulsor-bike bear down on him.

The acceleration compensators screamed as Vendra brought the bike's nose up, the engines groaning as she kicked the bike into a sideways glide. Coming around in a half rotation Vendra reached out and snagged the Jawa by the back of his brown robe. The Aqualish gave a throaty grunt of surprise as his prey was snatched from his grasp. A surprise equally present in the high-pitched squawk of his intended victim as the Jawa's momentum deposited him on the seat behind Vendra. Giving the controls a hard yank, Vendra swung the bike away and pulled upward as the Aqualish bellowed in rage and brought up a blaster.

Vendra's lip curled in concentration and contempt as she completed the spin, she drew her blaster, and brought the bike around to angle for her own shot. The green skinned Aqualish's outraged ranting instantly became a cry of terror as the ledge supporting his weight suddenly disintegrated. He fired a wild shot as he fell through the open space where the pit's outer ledge had been. It was only by a wonder of luck and reflexes that he was able to grab a solid handhold and save his life. He looked at Vendra, his gaze one of inexplicable horror and pleading.

"Why should the Jawa have all the fun?" Vendra said sweetly with a smile and a wink as she holstered her blaster and pulled away. The Aqualish's handhold was solid enough to hold him until either the authorities got to him, or Vendra went back for him.

All in all, the authorities proved to be his better bet.

Since that day Myrishi had remained by Vendra's side, fulfilling what she could only characterize as a life debt. Vendra was familiar with the concept, of course. Wookiees were well known for such a practice, and the Barabel species had a similar ethic. But in all her experience on Tattooine, and the few dealings she had with the half-sized scavengers, Vendra had never before heard of a Jawa taking such a responsibility on himself. No matter what, Myrishi was always there to help or just to make Vendra feel better. In a galaxy as treacherous as this one, that bond of friendship and loyalty was more extraordinary and valuable then Vendra could have possibly imagined. And the Jawa's presence was always a pleasant and helpful one.

Well, except for the time Myrishi followed her into the

shower . . .

"I would hope," a hissing voice said behind her, "that one of those enchanting smiles is reserved for me."

Vendra settled a three count before turning, but before she even got to two the Twi'Lek was already seating himself at her table.

Speaking of seedy . . .

"Hello, Vek," Vendra said as Myrishi fidgeted in his seat. "How's business?"

"As it should be," Vek smiled back, "profitable. But I'd hazzard not near as exciting for me as your business is for you."

It was a conscious effort for Vendra to keep her eyes from rolling as Vek took her hands gently into his and started with the usual routine. "Would it be too bold of me to say that your eyes are as sterling as a Rylothan sea?"

"Vek, the seas of Ryloth aren't sterling," Vendra replied dryly. "And speaking of business," she prompted, pulling her hands from his caress and putting them around her glass. "My father said you had something for him."

"Indeed," Vek said in the same smooth tone. "A bit of galactic history no less, and an opportunity every starship salvage hunter lusts for."

"Starship salvage hunter" that was an interesting way to describe the hobby Vendra shared with her father. Though she made it a general policy to scrutinize every word the reliably deceitful, but delightfully charming, Vek Rautana said, she had to believe her errand was about something big. There was no way her father would purposely send her here otherwise. The next few seconds were filled only with that irritating blend of noise that apparently passed for music around there. Vendra studied Vek's toothy grin and leering icy blue eyes.

"Well," she finally prompted.

Vek smiled luridly as he reached into his grey gold trimmed robe. Palming something, he leaned forward again and slowly beckoned Vendra closer with a long slow motion of his finger.

Vendra tilted her head to the side, her response to the invitation painted on her face, the jubilant light of the dance floor accentuating her lightly tanned complexion.

"Note the music," Vek said, the smile disappearing under a suddenly sobered expression. For the first time since Vek greeted her, Vendra turned her mind to that loud . . .

That loud music. Typically, when he was running his usual and hopeless seductive routine on her, which was every time Vendra was in the place, Vek would have the sound system tunned down to give her a full appreciation of his charm.

"Indeed," Vek spoke into her thoughts, "this offering that I have is of a vintage best kept private between you and me. For if it were overheard by any of those around us, you might not reach the door. To say nothing of leaving the planet."

Again the invitation was made, and, this time, the invitation was accepted. Vendra's gray jumpsuit strained against her long, toned body as she leaned forward on her forearms.

"Have you ever heard of the ship named New Dawn?" Vek whispered, his breath warm on Vendra's face.

"Hasn't everyone in the starship salvage business?" she replied with the same tone.

"Ah," Vek grinned deviously, "but not everyone has evidence of its whereabouts."

It was Vendra's turn to grin, her long burgundy hair falling back down her shoulders as she leaned away again. "Don't con me, Vek. It's insulting."

"Have I misled you before?" Vek pointed out.

"The galaxy is full of first times," Vendra replied, again mimicking Vek's silky manner.

"For you," Vek said, massaging her hands again as cover for the data chip he slid into her palm.

"And this is?" she asked, tightening her fingers on the item.

"My proof of sincerity," Vek replied, his cool eyes glittering with a polish of greed. "Sensor data collected from an excursion I took into Wild Space. Readings near a point on the very edge of Fate's Bluff."

That glittering polish was contagious.

"You think the New Dawn is in the Wraith's Corridor?" Vendra asked doubtfully, leaning back in.

"I suspect the possibility," Vek replied. "I was on a . . ." the Twi'Lek's serpentine headtails shifted as he paused,

". . . Purchasing trip to Rodia. The negotiations between myself and the other party were short. But the firefight between our ships had been far more brief."

Vek's lips compressed, "Before I knew it, I was in a dead run back to Ryloth with enough gouges in my hull that have cost me a full month's profit to repair. If that was not inconvenience enough, the chase had attracted the attention of Ryloth Security. And, while the assistance would have been well appreciated on other occasions . . ."

Vek let the sentence hang with a simple shrug.

Vendra gave a simple shrug in return, but could not resist attaching a smirk to her gesture. Although Vek was far from the cutthroat ruthlessness that was the hallmark of many who operated the galaxy's Fringe, one did not own a place like this for the love of the hospitality industry. At a guess, Vek's end of the Rodian deal would have landed him in a prison cell next to his pursuers had the authorities boarded him. It was nice to see there was still some measure of law and order left within the Old Galaxy.

Suddenly faced with an increasingly inhospitable galaxy, the Galactic Alliance had spent the past two decades claiming and settling worlds within the Unknown Regions and even Wild Space. Even so, a mass migration and relocation program of a galactic scale could possibly take a generation or more to complete. The tenuous nature of the process resulted in a separation of that which was new from that which was old. Right now Vendra was in the Old Galaxy, and was on Old Ryloth. But Old Ryloth now had a sisterworld within the New Galaxy called New Ryloth. The labels "old" and "new" were attached to most planets now. Even Vendra's homeworld of Bakurra, which had been almost completely ignored during the Vong War, had a sisterworld in the TheraKor Expanse of the New Galaxy. Vendra had been there many times on business for her father. It was nice. But then, that was to be expected considering the population was mostly made up of Bakurra's economic and political elite. Such seemed to be the way of things; the wealthy and powerful were always first in line while everyone else had only hope to sustain them as they waited their turn. The result was as unexpected as the trend. While the New Galaxy was a safe clean realm of order, the Old Galaxy was a dangerous and desperate place that was acknowledged by the New Galaxy, but largely left on its own. The Old Galaxy had become a haven for smugglers, pirates, and others whose enterprises were less than legitimate.

No wonder Vek stayed put.

"Vek," Vendra breathed, feigning shock, "did you charge headlong into Wild Space to get away from the Rodian party and the authorities?"

"A substantial gamble, to be certain," Vek continued through another of those smiles. "But a preferable one to the alternatives. And in case merely entering Wild Space didn't deter the pursuers, I made straight for Fate's Bluff as a full test of their resolve. As it happened, I needn't have bothered. The pursuit broke well before I reached the edge of the Bluff. I pressed on toward it until they pulled off into hyperspace. Just in case they weren't quite convinced I was actually going to cross into the Wraith's gravity well."

"But of course, you didn't," Vendra put in.

"Would I be here charming you if I had?" Vek pointed out.

The comment brought a mock-sweet grin from Vendra, and a contemptuous huff from the Jawa forgotten in the conversation. Myrishi's contribution to the discussion inspired a look of disgust from Vek.

At least Myrishi hadn't tried to bite him like last time, Vendra thought wryly. "This is where you get to the good part of the story. Right, Vek?"

Vek's headtails, or lekku as the appendages were formally called, gave one more twitch of dismay as he again focused his hungry gaze on Vendra. "Indeed. It was a wonder, my dear, all those rays of light streaming into the core of the corridor. Then bending like the tails Gamorrean slash lizards as the individual streams were pulled into whichever black hole was nearest. Yet just as my bravery gave way to the impulse of pulling back, a tiny blip flared on my forward sensors. Barely a blip, actually, and at the time I dismissed the spark as a glitch caused by the gravimetric chaos of the Wraith."

"When did you realize it wasn't?" Vendra asked, taken aback by the passionate expression on Vek's alien face.

"When I returned to Ryloth and had my onboard systems begin a diagnostic. The sensors had not gleaned much from the sensor blip other than a vague location of the anomaly. But based on the position and orientation inside the zero-gee-zone within the center of the Wraith, the computer was able to calculate an estimated size of the anomaly."

His voice again returned to a whisper, "One-point-six kilometers."

"So your ship said," Vendra pointed out. "But you know how reliable sensors are in gravity disruptions. For all you know they could have picked up the event horizon of one of the larger black holes inside the Wraith."

"True," Vek conceded. "But if they didn't . . ."

"If they didn't," Vendra said, her heart beating a little harder, "then what we've got here could be a piece of galactic history. So," she said finally, slipping the data card into her sleeve, leaning back, and raising an eyebrow. "What do you want from me in exchange?"

Vek hissed again, wetting his grinning lips with his tongue as his finger beckoned Vendra closer.

"I can hardly believe I did it either," Vendra admitted to Myrishi's chitter, trying to watch all directions at once as their footsteps echoed loudly around the stone cavern. "But Vek and I have been dancing around each other for a while now. It was going to happen sooner or later."

Myrishi spouted more opinionated chatter.

"You're starting to sound like father," Vendra replied, twisting for a look behind and resting her hand more firmly at her holstered blaster.

Had she heard . . .?

"I'm an adult now. Dad just hasn't figured that out yet," Vendra said, her voice darkening with a concern that had nothing to do with the Jawa's comment. "Looks like you haven't, either."

If Myrishi had a reply, he did not have the chance to voice it. The pair were only a few feet from a bend in the tunnel when four stocky green-scaled aliens came around it, their long

foot-claws scratching the ground as they stepped.

Trandoshans.

Myrishi squealed at the sight, and Vendra had to agree the situation did not look especially friendly. One of the reptilian aliens gestured with his weapon, a rifle similar to the old BlasTech E-33 model, but with a longer muzzle and a butt that rested over top of his shoulder that looked like a kind of

net-casting gun.

"Lekshlo greff call'oosh, Ssseron," the leader spoke, watching Vendra with blood-red eyes that were alert and wild.

"I don't underssstand what you are sssaying," Vendra replied, hissing her words and cursing Vek for not having a better sound system.

"Ssseron call'oosh ekk'la oggor," the leader grated through that perpetual grin all Trandoshans seemed to have. His thick leathery hide glistened under the cavern's dim light, and Vendra could see the subtle lines of darker green patterns that ran through his otherwise bright emerald skin.

"Well that explains it," Vendra replied, strolling toward the leader as casually as possible. She gave Myrishi's shoulder a gentle but assertive squeeze to encourage him to keep up with her. "Look, boys, if you want to . . ."

She never finished the sentence. The leader tried to beat her to the punch as Vendra's hand darted for her blaster. She dove for the ground as the Trandoshan's fibercord line whisked past over her head, yanking Myrishi with her by one hand and trying to line up her own shot with the other. And the shadowy cavern was suddenly ablaze with blinding crimson discharge as Vendra's shot burned into the leader's lower jaw and straight through the back of his head. The starpilot fired several shots into the cavern beyond as she rolled to the side and brought herself up to one knee. Clenching her teeth, she grabbed Myrishi by the arm and half pulled, half threw him into the wall on the near side of the tunnel-bend the Trandoshans had appeared from. The stink of ozone burned her eyes and nose as Vendra pressed her back to the stone wall and eased a bit closer to the corner.

The dead Trandoshan's partners, surprised by the blasterfire, had ducked back behind the bend. Throughout the cavern shouts could be heard, along with the distinct sound of running feet coming her way from what sounded like every direction.

Slowly, her heart thudding like a heavy blaster, Vendra raised both her XelTac-21 blaster, and the backup miniblaster she'd pulled from its boot-sheath, into ready position beside her jaw and flung herself around the corner.

Nothing.

The rest of the group must have indeed been scared off. The Trandoshans were obviously trying to take her and Myrishi quietly, and the screaming-echo of blasterfire in the cavern made too much noise to do that.

"And you thought we weren't going to have any fun on this trip," she admonished wryly, lowering her weapons and glancing at Myrishi.

The cavern instantly filled with a series of indignant jabbers and squawks, and Myrishi's tiny glowing eyes brightened from the depths of the coarse brown hood shrouding the rest of his face as he patted his arm expressively.

"Yes," Vendra said, replacing the backup blaster in its boot-sheath and standing. "I'm sorry I almost ripped your arm out of its socket."

"Yes," she said absently as Myrishi continued jabbering, moving back down the path toward the scuffling Vendra heard in between Myrishi's comments. "I'm sorry for throwing you around like a sack of marjor melons."

Vendra had gone five paces back down the corridor before the Jawa noticed she was not listening and gave up to follow.

Vendra could not help feeling it was more than just luck that the Trandoshan overshot the mark with that snare. She would have expected a better performance from a member of the race infamous for capturing and enslaving Wookiees. It was also funny the way the group let her get too close like that. Either this was the sloppiest kidnaping attempt in galactic history, or the Trandoshans had reason to believe Vendra was going to cooperate. The situation begged a lot of questions, and, if Vendra had bet right, the snare that was meant to hold her now held the answers she sought instead.

In the distance, Vendra could hear the shouting voices and stamping feet getting closer. Although she wanted to be out of the area before the authorities showed up to bog her down with questions, her curiosity would not be denied. The scuffling became clearer and clearer until the sound resolved itself into a long slender shadow writhing on the ground like some black fish on the bow of its catcher's boat.

The long-snouted Kubaz buzzed with frustration as it flailed about, uselessly trying to free himself from the line restraining him. He twisted in Vendra's direction, saw the look on her face and blaster in her hand, and babbled even more urgently in that voice and language that always sounded to her like a malfunctioning comlink.

"You hear those voices and feet coming?" Vendra asked with an icy tone as she squatted beside the frantic alien, leveling the barrel of her blaster between the lenses of his shaded goggles. "I want to be gone by the time they get here. So I'm only going to ask this once: who sent you and your friends after me?"

The Kubaz's long muzzle erupted in a series of short

high-pitched wheezes and chattering exclamations Vendra did not have a hope of following.

"Great," she grimaced.

"Too bad you couldn't get anything out of the Kubaz," Lavan Seron said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his balding head. "Would have been handy to know who got the drop on us."

"XelTac blasters don't come with voice recorders," Vendra replied dryly as she studied the sector map display on the wall of her father's office on Old Bakurra. "It could have been Rodians. Vek said it was a group of Rodians who were chasing him when he went into the Wild Space."

"He said they chased him after a meeting on Rodia," Vendra's father corrected her. "The other party may have come from Rodia, but that doesn't necessarily mean they were actually native Rodians."

"Vek wasn't specific on that point," Vendra conceded with a sigh. "Whoever caught on to our conversation had really good ears, though, I'll tell you that. Vek had that sound system of his pumping pretty hard."

"That fact leaves only one real possibility in my mind," Lavan said, his voice that of someone thinking out loud. "That it was someone who already knows as much as we do, or more. And that 'someone' might have been from Vek's own ship."

Lavan's final words were broken by a spasm of dark humor, and Vendra turned to face her father. He was still sitting like a man lost in a daydream, a distant and unfocused gaze in his brown eyes, but Vendra knew better than that.

One did not build the largest deep space shipping corporation on this side of the Old Galaxy's Corellian Trade Spine by daydreaming.

"That's the most likely possibility in my mind," she said, folding her arms and stepping before his desk. "But if that's the case, why take a run at me for the sensor data?"

Lavan twitched his head to the side, his mouth twisting in a thoughtful expression, "To sell it back to Vek afterwards. Or to make sure they were sent in your place. Or to take Vek out of the deal entirely and go for the find under his nose."

"A dirty trick," Vendra chuckled grimly.

"But," her father prompted.

"Given his associations, probably," she nodded, then paused, a small pang of hesitation welling in her throat. "So, where does that leave us?"

"If Vek could salvage or even verify that what he picked up in the Wraith's Corridor was the New Dawn he would have already done it," Lavan said firmly, leaning forward and looking to the display Vendra had just turned away from. "If someone else with even a hint of genuine ambition or ability had gone after it before you got back here I'd have heard about it by now." Lavan paused for a thoughtful second, "Which still leaves us with a green light."

Vendra punched at the empty air, her eyes blazing with excitement as Lavan took the data card Vek gave her and stepped around the desk. With what remained of his hair dominated by varying shades of gray, deeply set character lines about his mouth and eyes, and clothes tailored to accommodate the belly everyone pretended wasn't there, Vendra knew her father had passed his prime years ago. She still suspected, however, that there was more strength left in those arms and hands than he let on. It was not that he had any need to demonstrate it, of course. Lavan had never been much for physically intense activity, but Vendra always suspected there was more beneath that exterior than was ever shown.

"You get Myrishi started on prepping the Dagger as we discussed, I'll run and get you a copy of the data we have on the Wraith. Study hard, Ace," Lavan said, his voice dropping grimly as he focused on her. "You have to know that area of space like you were born there, or Vek isn't ever going to flirt with you again."

There was something about the way her father said Vek's

name. "You don't think Vek set me up himself, do you?" she asked.

"Vek didn't hire them, no," Lavan replied. His face and voice tensed, as if he were trying to decide something.

"What is it?" Vendra asked quietly.

"He sent you a gift," her father replied, giving her a look Vendra had never seen from him before. "It arrived a couple of days ago."

Slowly, his manner as uncertain as his expression, Lavan stepped to the storage closet beside the office door. The closet opened at his approach, revealing several pairs of leather boots and a matching jacket. The subtle lines of darker green patterns running through the jacket seemed familiar somehow, as did the foot-claws on the toes of each boot.

"That isn't . . .?" Vendra began to say, only to stop as her father pulled something from his tunic.

"Almost forgot about the goggles," he said softly, holding the eye-wear of the Kubaz Vendra knew she would never meet again.

Sitting alone in the Black Dagger's cockpit, Vendra watched the purple-black energy billow outside the viewport as her starrunner-class starship plunged through hyperspace. Vendra's forward scope pinged, registering a mass gravity shadow that was lying directly in the ship's trajectory. Vendra gave the controls a slight tap, adjusting her course heading safely around the obstacle.

She glanced at the ship's counter, rapidly winding down as they approached the first stop on their two-day voyage to Fate's Bluff and the chaotic region of Wild Space known as the Wraith's Corridor.

There were those who did not like space travel, and such beings had Vendra's eternal sympathy. How could one look into the stars in the night sky and not want to go among them? Vendra still remembered the first time her father let her take the helm of a cargo freighter. It was big, slow, and ugly to look at, but for the half hour she guided it under her father's instruction, Vendra felt as though she were at the helm of a Galactic Alliance destroyer.

Even now, nine years after that first flight, driving hard through hyperspace remained just as thrilling as that jaunt she took in the bulk freighter when she was fourteen. Every hyperspace hop was a jewel to be savored. Especially when the ship Vendra piloted was her own. Sleek, jet-black, and fashioned like a knife with wing-fins, the series I starrunner starship was the pride of the GalTech manufacturing line. The Black Dagger was a roomy medium-sized cruiser. The cockpit and main cabin were upholstered completely in lightly-tanned cloned leather. The mid-section of the ship was a cabin that was cozy yet adequately spacious, complete with a full sensor and communications station, a X4-Visitron holoprojector, and a reinforced compartment built under the cabin's steel-gray floor panels where Vendra stowed her "specialized equipment." The third, and final, main compartment housed the ship's power and propulsion systems. Built into the rear of the main cabin, just offside of the engine compartment's door, was a small but functional 'fresher cubicle. Set above the cabin's blast shielded viewports were storage compartments where a one week supply of stores could be stowed. With a Mark VI Stratecom navigation array, sublight engines that pushed fifteen sublight units per standard time part, and a hyperdrive engine that could pull point-two past lightspeed, there were few ships faster than this one.

Outfitted with rapid fire blaster cannons mounted under the Dagger's wings, and a multidirectional proton torpedo launcher under the ship's arrowhead nose, the Black Dagger had a bite that matched her leap. She was a fine ship all right. Now her crew was going to find out just how tough the pride of the GalTech manufacturing line truly was.

Vendra and her father had been theorizing on and off for years about possible ways of breaching the maw of the Wraith and getting out successfully. Vendra always suspected their hours of speculation were cleverly disguised lessons in fundamental starship mechanics and advanced galactic navigation. If that was the case Lavan did not need to bother, as neither of those subjects required disguising for a novice starpilot as driven as Vendra had been. But her father always believed the best way to teach a lesson was to keep it interesting.

A grin tugged at Vendra's lips as she reached across the helm console for the hyperspace control levers. She would have never guessed that her father had, in fact, saved every scrap of paper he and his daughter had scribbled notes, coordinates, or formulas on in the course of their head games. That he had saved, and carefully organized, every computer model they had ever worked on.

The gamble Vendra and her father were about to take was a plan inspired by just such a model. It was model Vendra had come up with on her own and taken to her father when she was twelve-years-old. They talked about it at length for a while. But, eventually, Vendra moved on to something else.

Her father, obviously, saw more promise in that particular theory than she did.

These galactic treasure hunts began when Vendra won the Dagger, in fact. It had been just over eleven years since the last Yuzzhan Vong assault, yet still her father felt the need to keep Vendra away from any warfleet, under any banner.

That was the purpose behind these galactic treasure hunts, to keep Vendra distracted with quests of far smaller risk than many of the alternatives.

The hunts, and her official duties at Ordon, were fine for now. There was no reason to jump into anything. Besides, Vendra loved the time with her father, especially during hunts as audacious as this one.

It was not just Vendra and her father taking the gamble this time, though. And the third crew member did not have the same measure of confidence in the plan, particularly under the circumstances in which he learned of it. It was a fairly nasty trick to pull on a creature already as flighty as Myrishi's nature was. The fact was, however, that since the Jawa had sworn himself to Vendra's side after the incident with the Aqualish, Myrishi had become the authority on everything from the Black Dagger's main computer to her sublight drive nozzles.

In short, Myrishi's help would simply make the job easier, once he calmed down, of course. Vendra grinned widely at the pun she had coined as she thought back to the talk the three of them had a while ago.

They were already in hyperspace, well on the way to the first of their two ports of call, before Vendra and her father sat the Jawa down and explained what they were going to do. Myrishi tore around the Dagger's main cabin like a miniature Tattooine tornado, spouting Jawa curses on humans at a rate Vendra could not begin to translate for her father's benefit. His emotional state deteriorated to the point that Vendra had offered to take him back to Bakurra, or even Tattooine.

Finally, Myrishi just stopped, falling into the nearest chair with an exhausted grunt. He sat there like that, shoulders slumped, head hanging toward the deck, for a long while. Until, with a huff that was part resignation and part exasperation, he raised his twinkling eyes and pledged himself to the job as well.

It was an astounding show of bravery from one whose species was known for everything but heroism. Vendra's swell of admiration was cut short, however, by what he said next. When her father asked for a translation of the series of jabbers that had been sent his way, Vendra lied and said she did not know. But the little rat was ready for that, using a datapad to write her father a detailed report on just how Vendra rewarded Vek for his information. That revelation touched off a verbal war between the two Serons that turned Vendra's ship into a patriarchal hell and satisfied Myrishi's thirst for vengeance.

Vendra had been mad enough to fire Myrishi from the ship via the torpedo launcher. She might have done it to, save that there was no one in the galaxy with either Myrishi's mechanical skill, or his tragically insane sense of loyalty, nuts enough to replace him. So the devious Jawa just sat back, smug as a pint-sized Sith Lord, and watched his revenge play out with unconcealed delight.

Another ping rang from the navcomputer: thirty seconds to hyperspace dropout.

Once they were down and the ship was on standby, Vendra would catch a fast change of clothes and head out to find some quiet civil place where she, her father, and even the treacherous little rat could make peace over a good meal.

Yeah, Vendra thought as she gently pulled the hyperdrive levers toward her. It'll be nice to go somewhere where the air is clear, the drinks aren't watered down, and there's no Devorian drunk slobbering over my shoulder.

Vendra's brow furrowed with concentration as she gazed at the shifting storm of purple-black energy. For an instant it looked as though hyperspace itself was collapsing in on the Dagger. Then, the energy parted like some massive curtain as the cockpit canopy was flooded with countless white starlines. The starlines shrank back into the gleaming points of distant stars as the Black Dagger exited hyperspace.

A warm orange glow blossomed outside the ship's viewport as the Dagger began cutting through the thick clouds surrounding the floating city named after them.

The cockpit's comlink pinged, and Vendra flipped a switch on the helm control board.

"Unidentified ship," the voice of a flight control officer came from the speaker. "Transmit your ship's ID, landing permit number, and crew manifest."

Vendra complied and waited, slowing her speed and studying the graceful abstract forms of the clouds she was passing through.

"Starship Black Dagger," the voice came back with a pleasant tone, "you are cleared for landing pad two-ten. Fix on frequency five-seven-three-point-two and follow the beacon in. Welcome to Cloud City."

"Yep," Vendra said to herself, clicking off the comlink as the pulse of her assigned beacon flashed on her display. "A nice quiet meal. Just what the medic droid ordered."

The breeze wisped through her hair. The buildings and vehicles she raced by shone brilliantly under the cloudless blue sky. The repulsorbike purred like a tamed vorsker as Vendra wended and dodged her way through the streets of Cloud City. Though the day was gorgeous and the machine she rode was top of the line, however, Vendra's mood was almost vicious. Why was it every time she relaxed and had a little fun, someone just had to get in her face?

Vendra did not see the big deal, really. The early afternoon traffic was backed up runner to runner on all the city's main routes, so she simply opted for an alternate one. The patrol officer should have thanked her, if anything. By doing what she did Vendra made the traffic congestion that much better by removing her contribution to the clutter.

Besides, as far as she knew, there was no bylaw or ordinance prohibiting flash jumping over the city's outer wall to travel through the open space under the superstructure.

Apparently she was wrong.

In an act born surely to teach the cocky hotshot a lesson, the officer managed to drag out the citation's data transfer a full twenty-six minutes.

Vendra huffed a breath as the bike jostled slightly. It did not matter how many flight hours you logged, how many competitions you won, or how clean your safety record was. If your name was not Solo or Skywalker, as a pilot you were tauntaun spit as far as the galaxy was concerned.

She had hoped to go back to her father with a dinner invitation to smooth things over. Instead, she would return more than two hours late and with a seventy-five-credit traffic citation they would have to clear before . . .

Leaving?

Vendra frowned, pulling the handle-grips to nudge the bike back onto the proper course. That bump back there must have knocked the bike's directional-alignment out of whack.

"Come on," she growled as the swoop immediately started drifting off course again. With a disgusted snarl Vendra reluctantly throttled down and cooperated with the swoop's stubborn arc. Once off the busy street she could at least stop to investigate. The delay also gave her time to rehearse how she was going to call her father.

Hi, dad, Vendra thought sourly, on your way to settle that traffic fine could you swing down Calrissian Boulevard and give me a tow?

Vendra grimaced hard at the mental picture of her father's likely reaction as she began cycling the engines down for landing. It was a grimace that quickly turned into a frown. The familiar whine her ear expected never came. While the swoop had allowed Vendra to slow her speed for the turn onto Calrissian Boulevard, the machine was now gaining speed again despite her efforts to stop.

"What in Vader's mask is going on?!" she growled, fighting a losing war with controls that refused even the simplest of commands.

Or, rather, the bike was refusing the simplest of Vendra's commands, and she suddenly had a bad feeling about who was and was not driving at the moment.

The buildings and townhouses of the upper class neighborhood raced by faster and faster, and as the cool breeze blowing into her face grew rapidly into an icy wind, Vendra knew the choice had to be made. A few more seconds and the bike would be speeding too fast for her to make a jump she would have even a hope of surviving.

Ahead, five heartbeats away at most, Vendra saw her chance. It was a parked inner-city cruiser with a roof not much lower than the height her swoop was traveling at. Biting her lip, Vendra gathered her feet onto the seat below her. Crouched precariously on the seat like that, Vendra could not help but be reminded of all the sky-surfing she did as a teen as she steadied herself and carefully stood. Then the moment came and there was no more time to think. With a breath meant to inspire courage as much as to fuel the effort, Vendra grit her teeth and jumped.

The sound of the swoop's repulsorlift engines fell silent to her ears as she sailed through the air. But the silence was

short-lived as, not even a second after her jump began, it ended with an impact that hit her chest like a charging bantha. Though her timing was ideal given the circumstances, Vendra still had to fight hard to draw a breath against the shock.

It was an act of will that gave her the strength to shift her body sideways on the cruiser's bubble-arched canopy. Swinging her legs around Vendra rolled onto her side and let herself fall from the side of the cruiser opposite the street. Although she had angled her turn to land feet first, Vendra's throbbing muscles did not rise easily to the challenge.

"Vader's name!" she hissed as her legs collapsed under her. Falling to her knees Vendra planted her hands firmly on the ground to keep from going down completely. Her body craved rest from the physical strain. But if she indulged in the respite her muscles craved, Vendra knew they would seize up completely. If Vendra she went down now, she became an easy target for whatever or whoever was going to come after her when they found the captured speederbike without a rider.

With a furious growl of determination she settled her legs under her again and pushed off like a professional foot racer exploding from the blocks.

If the would-be trappers were caught off-guard by the appearance of the empty bike . . .

Vendra came upon the corner her bike turned. Clenching her teeth and fists she charged around the corner and found herself right on both counts.

Two green-skinned Duros were sprinting in her direction as she came around. One of them gave a throaty grunt of surprise. Vendra took the sound as an invitation and threw herself into him. That the alien outweighed her was a certain fact, but Vendra had surprise and momentum on her side. The Duro gave a winded grunt as Vendra sent her shoulder crashing into his chest. She leaned into him as he toppled over onto his back, falling with him as he went. They stopped falling and she let herself go limp, again allowing momentum to carry her as she rolled away and onto her stomach.

Vendra had just enough time to realize she could not get to her blaster fast enough before the shot from that second Duro took her.

"I bet you're Corellian," Vendra said in as seductive a voice as she could manage given how lousy she felt. "I can spot a Corellian a light year away."

"Oh, come on," she grinned into the sarcastic look her guard gave her. "Where could I go with these binders on, huh? Come on," she said softly, wetting her lips and letting her hips sway slightly as she walked toward him. "Bet there's lots of stuff about Corellia you could teach me. I'm a fast learner." Vendra arched her eyebrows, "Promise."

The guard's expression hardened against the glint in his eye as he backed away in steps equal to hers, and raised his blaster across his chest.

"Hard to get, huh?" Vendra said dryly. "Great."

She saw the motion out of the corner of her eye. "Uh-uh," Vendra said flatly to the drooling three eyed cow-faced Gran who obviously found her offer a bit more tempting.

Wonderful, she thought sourly, nothing to do but wait here for the red eyed Warlord to walk in.

Vendra reconsidered her thought then. Considering the individual and events the joke referred to, it was not all that funny, not even now. A member of the reclusive Chiss species, Grand Admiral Thrawn–the last Imperial Warlord–had come out of nowhere, rallied the Empire, and came within a finger's-length of conquering the galaxy again. The galaxy went crazy again when reports came in claiming Thrawn had returned a decade after his death. That those reports were proven fraudulent had not stopped decades of rumor that Thrawn was indeed still alive, or that his clone was plotting a military campaign in a hidden fortress on some isolated world.

While being shot at and kidnaped was annoying, Vendra conceded that an encounter with Thrawn would have made the experience worth it.

No, Vendra decided, leaning against the wall as post-stun dizziness began returning. I don't rank that high. Maybe Jabba the Hutt might come back from the dead and want to see me, but not an Imperial Warlord.

The image of a bloated slug-like Hutt trying to impersonate Grand Admiral Thrawn flashed to her mind. Even in this situation, the picture demanded a smirk.

"You give up far more quickly than expected for one with your reputation," a female voice echoed from the shadows of the warehouse Vendra had awakened in.

Vendra straightened up as the voice's tall slender form stepped into the warehouse's dim lighting. The two watchdogs took up flanking positions on either side of their black-robed mistress as a long-haired Weequay with a nasty looking vibro-staff stood watch behind her.

"Isn't the black cowl look a bit out of style?" Vendra asked sarcastically, hands working hard at the binders now that they had the chance.

"Given your response to the invitation I sent you on Ryloth," the voice replied in a totally neutral tone, "a more cautious but direct approach seemed appropriate."

"Yeah, well that trap on the boulevard was certainly direct," Vendra agreed.

She almost . . .

"So, you wanted to see me," Vendra shrugged casually, "you're seeing me. What do you want?"

"The access code for the data chip your friend Vek Rautana gave you," the cowled woman replied, moving just out of

arms reach of Vendra. A distance that offered her a first really good look at the face of Vendra's hostess-a blonde human with a face that was young, intelligent, almost innocent in its nature.

Just the sort to knife someone in the back if they so much as . . .

Data chip . . .?!

"If you hurt . . ." Vendra began.

"Your father and Jawa friend are fine," that gentle face said mildly. "As is Rautana."

"Then how . . ." Vendra began.

"His head code-slicer is a human," the woman interrupted again. "There is not a more innately corruptible species in the galaxy. Excluding the Hutts, of course."

"Of course," Vendra agreed, feeling a small ripple tingling down her spine. Something about this woman just was not right. Her face was animated enough, but it seemed far too rigid. Her violet eyes were vacant though she was most certainly aware.

It was almost as if she were a . . .

"You are welcome to the ship itself," the woman said. "My interest is in an item I believe to be somewhere inside."

Vendra held back a grimace as the fingers of her right hand grappled with a particularly difficult . . .

"There's no guarantee that much of the story is true," she said.

Just about got it . . .

"Yet you and your father have put Ordon Corporation business on standby to investigate," the blonde pointed out. "An investigation you have pursued despite the dubious nature of information which originates from a less than credible source."

"A source, credible or not, that we have an existing arrangement with," Vendra said, feeling the tension around her left wrist vanish. "I'm afraid I have to say . . ."

The motion was so fast Vendra's last word was mangled by shock and an impossibly sudden lack of air.

The loosed bonds hung from her left wrist as she tried desperately to pull herself free from the grasp of a woman who did not look strong enough to fire a heavy blaster.

"But you haven't heard my offer yet," the other woman said, lifting Vendra above her head without a hint of strain.

"What?" Vendra wheezed as spots of blaring color flashed before her eyes. "You think you are a Jedi or something?"

"Or something," the woman agreed, gazing up at Vendra with those still glassy eyes. "I was defeated in combat by a Jedi once. In the end, after losing my weapon, I actually advised him to terminate me. He refused, saying there had already been too much death with the fall of my former master and released me."

The woman tilted her head to the side with an unnatural twitch. "His mercy allowed me to eventually find the means of creating a destiny other than the one my Maker intended for me. Allowed me to evolve into the person I am. I honor his charity now by sparring you."

"I see our conversation is ending," the woman said mildly, her face rapidly being consumed by darkness as Vendra slipped into unconsciousness. "When you awaken and return to your father, show him this data card," the woman's voice echoed, and Vendra had the impression of something being placed into her shoulder-pocket. "And remember as you consider my offer that I could have chosen to extract the information by much less civil means and left you all dead. Goodbye, Vendra Seron."

"Never trust a smiling Twi'lek," Vendra groaned as she awoke to find herself alone and wondering where she was. Her boots scraped along the permacrete floor as she got her feet under her and carefully stood up. Vendra rubbed her badly aching head as she squeezed her eyes shut and immediately opened them to clear her vision. A procedure that had to be repeated several times before those wickedly formless blots cleared to a manageable degree.

When she was finally able to see straight, Vendra looked around. It appeared to be the same warehouse that she had

been . . . Instantly, her hand darted to her left sleeve. A gentle pat confirmed her sketchy recollection and inspired haste despite her condition. Padding her slightly clumsy way across the floor Vendra tapped the door release, squinting as the blazing sunset stung her eyes. Turning her face out of the light, she looked to the side and found her rented speederbike parked to the warehouse's side.

It could still be rigged, she knew, in a manner similar to the trick that got her into this in the first place. But there was the matter of what the blonde said just before Vendra passed out, something about her being able to take what she wanted after killing them all.

If the blonde was who Vendra suspected, avoiding the bike was the smarter move. On the other hand, paying a penalty on a speederbike returned late was usually far easier than paying for a bike not returned at all.

With a deep breath, Vendra got on the bike and started away, mentally trying on several versions of the explanation she was going to have to offer her potentially surly crew. An explanation to cover everything from her traffic citation, to her abduction.

Thanks, Vek.

"There you are," her father rumbled from the top of the Dagger's landing ramp as Vendra entered their docking bay. "Where in the blasted . . .?!"

"We ready to fly?" Vendra cut him off, taking another look behind her as she marched up the ramp.

"Sure," Lavan answered, his frustration drowned by a wave of concern as he studied her face. "We can blast out anytime."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Vendra murmured as she moved for the cockpit.

Lavan sealed the hatch, resting his palm on the grip of the blaster holstered at his hip. The last time he saw his daughter like this was just before that fire-fight they had with a Brubb mercenary group at the Aberegado-Rae spaceport. "Everything all right?" he asked.

"I want to pass up Sluis Van and go to Sulust instead," she said suddenly, turning to face him.

"It's about a day's difference to our flight schedule," Lavan pointed out. "But we can manage. What's going on?"

"As soon as we've jumped to lightspeed," Vendra said, already making for the cockpit again.

There was a huff of air at Lavan's elbow, a huff of air so quiet it was hardly a sound.

"Just be thankful it's not us," he said to Myrishi. The Jawa nodded in sober agreement as they followed the pilot.

"Considering the shipping contracts guaranteed by this agreement alone, Mister Seron," the blonde woman said as the recording came to an end a second time, "you should find my proposal more than lucrative. If you agree go to the Stellar Diamond Lounge of the Sluis Van shipyards. It is located on the fifth level of staging habitat complex thirty-seven. Our representative will meet you there and assist you in insuring your journey to Fate's Bluff will be as safe as possible. Farewell."

"Well," Lavan said as the monitor blanked out, "it's lucrative all right. If her offer is anywhere near genuine it would give us unrestricted access to the Trade Spine, Rimma, and the Run for a flat rate annual fee. Losing the brokerage and transit fees Ordon pays now," Lavan shook his head.

"Thinking maybe we should go to Sluis Van after all?" Vendra asked grimly.

"Kind of leaning that way," Lavan admitted, matching her tone. "There's no concrete proof that she was who or what you think she was. But her means of communication so far have been a bit more than direct. Wouldn't you say?"

"I don't like it," Vendra said, folding her arms and sitting back on the couch with a foot resting against the corner of the low holotable.

Lavan favored Vendra with an expression of understanding. "No one likes blackmail, or bowing to it. If it were just me, I'd be a bit more resistant. But her means of communication is a message all its own, isn't it?"

"Step up to the sabacc table and play the hand she deals you or she'll kill your daughter," Vendra growled.

"That's only the half of the message, you know," her father quietly pointed out.

"The other half is that something can happen to Myrishi and you to, I know," Vendra conceded miserably.

"Among others," Lavan murmured in spite of himself.

Vendra chuckled bitterly. "What, Vek? Got news for you, Dad, Vek's in this thing up to his lekku. He better hope we do pass on the offer," she said, her voice becoming acid. "Because if we do get out alive, whatever happens, he's dead."

"I still don't think he set you up," Lavan offered, bewildered that he was actually defending Vek Rauntana.

"Maybe not willingly or even directly," Vendra conceded through her tone was still venomous, "but he's got a bigger part of this than only a potential death mark. The little proposal, brought to us by every man's automated fantasy-crimeboss by the way, listed twelve corporations and business alliances, six of which Vek has interests in."

"Yet you still want to pass up Sluis Van?" Lavan asked. "Even with those suspicions?"

"Do you really want to take a deal with a face like this?" Vendra countered. "Even with those suspicions?"

"Really, Vendra," Lavan replied patiently, "I think you might be chasing Wraiths here."

"Good pun," Vendra grinned.

"The Black Sun crime syndicate has been defunct for at least thirty years," her father said firmly. "There's been

no . . ."

"You own one of the galaxy's biggest corporations, Dad," Vendra said, turning a wry look on her father. "And you know better than that. Let's say I inherit Ordon . . ."

"Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?" Lavan asked blandly.

"There's nothing stopping me from changing the corporation's name whenever I do, is there?" Vendra asked.

"Just a mountain of red tape topped by my will," Lavan replied. "But you're probably right," he conceded grimly.

"You didn't see the kind of muscle she had watching me either," Vendra went on. "It was classic Fringe. Trust me, whatever the organization's name-it's big, it's Fringe, it's not something someone as close to the Alliance as you are wants to have anything to do with," she said with a shake of her head.

"You remember the Fey'lya Administration," Vendra offered with a small wave. "Do you really want a circus like that for yourself?"

For a couple of heartbeats the silence of the cabin was filled only by the purring of the Dagger's engines as it cruised on autopilot. Lavan said nothing, but Vendra saw concession in her father's face. True, former Chief of State Borsk Fey'lya was a Bothan, and any government with a Bothan at its head was about as treacherous as a Hutt at a buffet table. But, even so, the potential for scandal under any administration made Lavan feel sicker than being shoved inside a gutted tauntaun carcass for warmth.

"So," Lavan said finally, pressing his palms together, "I guess I know why we're heading for Sluis instead."

Vendra's burgundy hair rose and fell with the shrug. "Like I said, play our hand with her dealer and deck and we'll have it easy. Now that we're saying no . . ."

"Release the rancors," her father said with a breath. "Treek Sev?"

"Yup," Vendra replied. "He still owes me for all that namana wine I had shipped by emergency courier after he got caught trying to slip it by Bakura Customs. He's been on my back for a while now to hurry up and collect the debt. Now is as good a time as any."

"We don't have the time for a lot of serious upgrades, you know." Lavan reminded her.

"I know," Vendra agreed. "But he's been doing shields and weapons upgrading for the Alliance nonstop for quite a while. He's got to have a few goodies I can get pretty easily." She looked her father in the eye, "Because whatever trouble we have on the way in . . ."

"It's going to be worse on the way out," Lavan said. "Right. You get some rest, Ace," he said, starting for the cockpit. "I'll do the course-correction."

Vendra was just drawing a breath to thank him when her father turned back her way. "How did you know about Vek?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You were sure of Vek's interests in at least half the names listed in that offer," Lavan reminded her. "I'm a little surprised he would be that forthcoming, even with you."

"Are you kidding?" Vendra replied wryly. "Vek loves bragging to me about his wealth an influence. Thinks if he impresses me enough maybe I'll strut around in lingerie for him sometime."

"Be in the cockpit," Lavan exclaimed, already off at a stiff walk.

"Could be fun," his little girl called after him. "These jumpsuits get a little stuffy."

"Don't even . . .!" but the tirade her father began was cut short as the cockpit door closed behind him.

"Myrishi," Vendra's voice called over the comlink static, "we're ready to lift as soon as you are."

Flicking the switch on the wall beside him, Myrishi jabbered into his speaker.

"Are you sure you don't want to run a diagnostic on the sublight cooling systems first?" Vendra asked. "This trip is the worst possible time for a glitch anywhere."

Myrishi chattered a reply.

"Well, if you're sure," the pilot's voice returned. "Take another inventory of any spare parts or equipment we're carrying though, just in case. Okay?"

Myrishi squawked an answer and Vendra clicked out of the frequency, jabbering a sarcastic addition to his last response when he knew she would not hear. Myrishi was the last crew member who needed a reminder of what this trip was the worst possible time for.

The sublight flux stabilizer was still a little unbalanced. Myrishi tapped two switches on the control board, giving the dialer the slightest adjustment. Abruptly, the purple lines spiking across his display straightened into a perfect green line. With a satisfied grunt Myrishi patched the ship's sublight engine control systems back into the main in-flight systems, strapped in for liftoff, and prepared for the last minute diagnostic on the Dagger's hyperdrive.

Come what may, if this errand was destined to be the final gambit Myrishi was to follow his unlikely mistress into, it would not be because of faulty maintenance on his part.

Vendra Seron was an unlikely mistress at that, Myrishi decided yet again, shaking his head as the remarkable image of the dark-haired human female storming to his rescue hovered before his mind once more.

Of all the beings and species who might have come to his aid that day at the Tatooine spaceport, he never expected his savior would be a human.

Few species knew of the human disdain for other races better than Jawas. It was a characteristic Myrishi had seen borne out time and again in varying degrees throughout his career as a desert trader. Humans dealt with Jawas out of convenience or necessity, but never out of genuine desire. They were rude, treacherous, sometimes dangerous in their treatment of a people who wanted nothing more than to conduct fair and mutually beneficial business. Decades of galactic domination by a human Empire had left a considerable degree of wealth and economic sway in the hands of that species, however. With the result that maintaining profitable business almost always meant dealing with humans.

So Myrishi, like all Jawas he had known, endured and indulged the human temperament as the cost of doing business. He merely accepted ignorance as basic to the nature of humans and left it at that. Myrishi ran his sparkling eyes down their list of the ship's supplies, reflecting that he probably would have still felt that way about humans today, if it were not for his human savior.

Most creatures shared at least one fundamental characteristic: the instinct to avoid and escape danger. Jawas did it, Krayt dragons did it, even the mindless Sand People did it.

Most humans, Myrishi had found, did the exact opposite.

They seemed to gravitate toward risk as if that were their instinct. They seemed easily seduced by danger; not because they welcomed harm or death, but because they thrived on the gamble.

And few humans fit that stereotype better than the one to whom Myrishi had pledged his service and life.

Vendra Seron was impulsive, unpredictable, and, at times, volatile. Characteristics which all too often led her to make choices which, as much as Myrishi admired her, he could not approve of. The greater the stakes, the more enjoyment she seemed to take from the gamble. Though her father had been much slower to accept Myrishi's presence then Vendra, the Jawa had always seen him as the more rational of the pair.

It was a perception proven false by his active, and willing, participation in the most insane of gambles Myrishi had ever followed Vendra into. Still, despite that insanity, Myrishi was also going along, was he not?

The Jawa sat a moment, considering the implications of that fact. After all, Vendra and her father could be forgiven for their ignorance. They were humans. Myrishi, on the other hand, was a Jawa. Taking risks like this went against every instinct of his own species' nature.

So what did the fact that he had agreed to share this terrible danger despite being excused from it say for his sanity?

The Elders of his brood certainly had their own opinions as to Myrishi's state of mind. More than that, they saw Myrishi's self-imposed "life-debt," and the relationship between him and Vendra that would eventually come of it, as a humiliation of Jawa culture. While they had agreed the favor done by the human demanded reparation, they did not expect Myrishi to go to such extremes in his effort.

And when Myrishi began traveling off world with

Vendra . . .

"She will betray you!" his father shouted. "All humans are greedy brutal savages! You should know that by now!"

His father's view of humans may have applied to most members of the species, but it was not so with either Vendra, or Lavan Seron.

All her human qualities aside, there was one characteristic that made Vendra Seron unique among most other humans Myrishi had encountered. She lacked the prejudice and contempt most humans held for beings of other races.

A ping from his console stirred the Jawa from his reflections. The ship's diagnostic was complete: all systems were nominal and the redundant backup systems were primed.

He flicked a switch on his board and the monitor blinked as a schematic of the main sublight drive instantly filled the monitor's borders.

The reinforced casing he'd stalled around the power transfer circuits and transfer lines should hold the multiphased charge that was going to be fed through them to the ship's hyperdrive system.

The hyperdrive . . .

A cold chill ran through his robe as he called up the schematic for a visual of the thread of bantha wool by which all their lives would soon be hanging.

Vendra and Lavan Seron were both competent and capable as far as human beings went, but this business of riding hyperspace through the event horizons of over a dozen black holes . . .

All it would take is the rupture of one fuel line, or the failure of one subsystem, and the Black Dagger would be torn apart like the wrapper of a ration bar.

Coloring images of disaster had become an obsession for Myrishi's mind since he volunteered to follow the Serons on their foolish crusade, and each new disaster Myrishi imagined was more terrible than the one before.

Whatever their distinctions, though, all the fantasies ended in a spectacular destruction for the Black Dagger, and an agonizingly gory death for her crew. Speculations about what it would feel like as his lungs were burst by the massive gee forces of a hull breach were why Myrishi's bedroll remained cold.

But, in the end, despite disapproval of his family and the innate terror that he constantly fought against at times like these, it all came back to one undeniable fact.

Vendra Seron saved Myrishi's life. A life the majority of her species would not have spent a single blastershot to spare.

If the Elder's were wise to acknowledge that there was indeed a debt to be repaid, it was clear to Myrishi they didn't acknowledge or accept the gravity of the debt he owed.

No one, not the Elder's, not Myrishi's father, not even Vendra herself fully understood just what this debt meant to him.

The hood and shoulders of his robe rose and fell with a heavy regretful sigh as Myrishi sat back in his seat and contemplated his endlessly frustrating situation.

When he had first found his savior, at a docking pit not far from where that Aqualish tried to murder him, Myrishi began with anonymous offerings of food and trinkets he scavenged. He knew as he went about his enigmatic service that such small platitudes were hardly appropriate for the measure of Vendra's favor. So, when finally his courage allowed him, Myrishi approached her on the street and openly pledged his service to her.

Vendra's first reaction Myrishi easily interpreted as puzzlement. When he revealed himself as the Jawa she had rescued a month earlier by way of a data pad, her reaction became one of surprised understanding.

She made clear that his thanks and past service were appreciated but unnecessary, and attempted vehemently to distance herself from the Jawa.

Myrishi had no illusions that the human businesswoman did not want to be seen around the spaceport with a Jawa in tow, but the debt was owed and he was determined to honor it. His tenacity became clear during an altercation she had with a man in a Mos Esisly cantina.

Myrishi had been at a respectfully distant but nearby table when the incident occurred. The man, a bulky human named Georek Arkane, was a client of Ordon Shipping Corporation and had contracted for some refined ore to be transported from his processor on the frontier world Nkklon, to a storage facility on Corellia. Myrishi was not close enough to overhear most of the conversation save its abrupt end as Arkane hammered a fist on the table and bellowed an accusation of fraud straight into Vendra's face.

It was an accusation she answered with a blurted laugh as she stood to walk away. Not willing to let the argument go, the thick enraged man jumped to his feet and grabbed Vendra by the arm.

Even as her assailant spun her back with a vicious yank, Myrishi leaped to his mistress' defense. With a shriek of primal fury the Jawa launched himself at the man, putting his full weight behind the attack.

Myrishi would have bounced off Arkane's hip completely had the Jawa not gotten the sleeve of his robe caught in the man's belt somehow.

Arkane, who was much bigger than Myrishi thought, had just enough time to grunt and glance down at the Jawa suddenly hanging from his waist before Vendra drilled her right fist straight into the center of his chest.

Arkane's eyes bulged like a choking Hutt as he crashed to the floor with a desperate gasp, pulling Myrishi with him.

"Come on!" Vendra snapped, grabbing Myrishi by the back of his collar as he disentangled himself and hauling him away from the scene.

They were a good half a block from the cantina, Vendra dragging him along with one hand and holding her blaster with the other, before she stopped, pulled him more or less on his feet, and shifted the blaster to her other hand.

Myrishi was dead, of that the Jawa was certain.

Vendra's burgundy hair flung over her shoulder as she raised the weapon into ready position beside her ear and looked back the way they had come.

"No, you stay here," she said brusquely, snagging the Jawa by the usual handhold as he tried to make a run for it. An eternity of terrifying silence passed as she pushed him against the wall of the closest building, standing by the corner and peering around it.

Finally, satisfied that there was no pursuit from the cantina, Vendra dropped her blaster back into its holster.

"Okay, time for a talk," she sighed casually, her tone was pleasantly calm as she steered Myrishi around the back of the building.

The substance of the conversation consisted of the pair mutually acknowledging that a situation existed, though the communication was very one-sided given that Vendra didn't understand the Jawa tongue. Myrishi, however, was content to pace his mistress and listen closely as she gave him a detailed list of reasons why his action in the cantina was the most foolish thing he could have done.

Bantha-headed, was the term she used to describe it.

It was a list which, by Myrishi's count, took almost forty paces to complete before the topic of discussion changed, and the pair reached another mutual agreement about the probability of the Jawa's continued presence. That agreement led Vendra into another even longer list as she addressed all the reasons that Myrishi's debt had already been settled.

"Well, it just makes sense, doesn't it?" she finally asked.

Myrishi nodded in agreement and kept walking.

"I mean, you can see where I'm coming from, can't you?" she prompted.

The Jawa nodded again, adding an emphatic grunt to the gesture.

"You're going to keep following me, aren't you?" she groaned through an exasperated sigh.

To that Myrishi just shrugged and clucked matter-of-factly.

"Dad's gonna kill me," Vendra moaned as she stepped up to the familiar door that had suddenly appeared. Caught up in the conversation, Myrishi had not even noticed where they were headed.

"Welcome aboard, Myrishi," she announced as though he had just won the betting-pool of a pod race and unlocking her docking pit's security door. "Come on in."

That day Myrishi would see the status of his presence rise from one of dreaded annoyance, to one of budding acceptance. An acceptance that gradually increased over time as Myrishi demonstrated his full worth and abilities to his uncertain mistress.

Vendra started Myrishi's employment conservatively, of course. Which was not surprising considering the Jawa stereotypes and misconceptions she was obviously fighting to put aside.

Eventually, she began entrusting Myrishi with basic maintenance chores concerning her ship, and learning an understanding of the Jawa dialect in the process. Over time, in fact, his skills and experience earned Myrishi maintenance duties of increasing complexity. Vendra Seron's confidence reached the point that she would leave the Black Dagger to the Jawa's unsupervised efforts as she went about her business at the spaceport.

Soon, the off world hops in the blade-shaped starship began and, although his first foray into space was harrowing, little by little Myrishi began understanding the fire that burned in Vendra's eyes when she talked of "spacing."

For all his life the yellow/white sands of the Tattooine deserts had been Myrishi's entire universe. The day of the Jawa's first flight would show him just how small the world of his birth really was.

Myrishi shook his head and huffed with quiet but tangible amazement. Two years . . . it had already been two years since that first flight. Two years since his consciousness had been awakened to the terrible wonder of the universe beyond the twin suns that blazed in the Tattooine sky day after day. Two years . . . and still Myrishi had not been able to pay the debt he owed.

Myrishi chuckled humorlessly. It certainly could never be said that his failure was due to the lack of opportunity. There seemed to be no planet or port where they could go without constantly having to look over their shoulders for a band of pirates, mercenaries, or slavers who saw the beautiful human female, whose sole companion was a Jawa, as easy targets for the taking.

Perceptions Vendra shattered quickly, often viciously, and always without Myrishi's assistance.

From the Brubb mercenaries at Abregado Rae, to the Weequay slavers of Sriluur, Myrishi's repeated attempts to repay his debt in the appropriate fashion had been one futile embarrassment after another.

Myrishi looked down at his small gloved hands. Hands that could hot-wire any locking mechanism, or optimize any computer system, or overhaul any hyperdrive or sublight engine, but could not wring the life from a half-dead womprat.

It would be a dishonor on Vendra to even think she had not come to genuinely value Myrishi's service over the years. She had been under no obligation to allow the Jawa access to her ship, to say nothing of advocating on his behalf before her father's thunderous objections to having a Jawa on the payroll as a full-time employee of Ordon Corporation.

The truly maddening part of it all was that Myrishi was fully aware of his value to Vendra. He was good at the jobs he had earned. Vendra liked a clean and tidy ship, so her ship was flawless inside and out. Whenever a malfunction arose in one of the Dagger's systems, it would typically be fixed the same day it registered. Often, in fact, such glitches were corrected before the ship's captain knew they were there.

Myrishi was rather fanatic with the Dagger's diagnostic systems and schedules, after all.

Although the Black Dagger was far from the fastest ship in the galaxy–that distinction was still held by the now mostly retired but still famous Millennium Falcon, Vendra Seron was able to boast that her ship possessed a top rating in the speed and power categories.

No, the contributions of Myrishi toward his mistress were not to be dismissed, and yet . . .

The Jawa looked back to his tiny weak hands. It didn't matter how good he was at what he did, how faithful he was in his service, or how brave he tried to be while performing it. Because the only act worthy of the one who had saved his life was an act a Jawa simply was not suited to perform.

And the help Myrishi so passionately tried to provide, was the kind of help Vendra Seron would simply never need.

And all the Jawa could do was bear his shame in silence.

"He gave you two I-44 rated ion cannons," Lavan exclaimed, giddy with disbelief.

"Double barreled and rapid recharged to," Vendra replied, her own spirits soaring like a Bimm on ryell spice. "Mounted them under the port and starboard fins."

"Startech multi-amplitude delector shields," Lavan went on, supporting his head in his hand as Vendra kept her eyes steady on her displays. "Anti-plasmic hull surfacing . . . Vendra," he finally prompted, "all this in two days?"

"The hull was resurfaced right after he installed that last little item on the list," Vendra prompted, feigning total disinterest though she felt as if the ship could make it all the way to Wild Space by the power of her heartbeat alone.

In the corner of her eye she saw her father's mystified stare as he slowly turned his dark eyes back the data pad in his hand. A data pad that gave up muted blurts as he scrolled to the bottom of the list.

"Witches of Dathomir," Lavan muttered.

"Yep," Vendra sighed, releasing a chuckle that refused to be held. "A Series V Star Track navcomputer."

She tilted her head to the side and favored her father with a smile, "Nice, huh?"

"Way too nice for this ship," Lavan said flatly, turning a sober look on his daughter. "Vendra, the Series V is strictly military issue."

"Like I said," Vendra replied with a simple shrug, "Treek's been working for the Alliance."

"Yes, I know, Lavan said, keying the copilot displays for the navcomputer's specs. "But Star Track Vs aren't even common in the rank and file of the Alliance fleet. You've got to be

pretty high on the . . ." he turned back to Vendra with a stern expression. "Do you know what will happen if the wrong people find out about this?!"

"Well, the Star Track is just on loan," Vendra admitted regretfully. "But I get to keep everything else."

"The ion cannons to?" her father asked doubtfully.

"Especially the ion cannons," Vendra replied emphatically.

"The Alliance might clamp down on those as well," Lavan cautioned.

"I didn't ask for them," Vendra pointed out. "Myrishi was already having a wompa over the instillation before I found out about it."

"What about that talk we had?" Lavan asked wryly. "You know, the one where you talked me out of a deal that would have made Ordon Corporation the richest enterprise since the Corporate Sector for the sake of appearances."

"Treek Sev isn't Fringe, Dad," Vendra chuckled. "He works for the Alliance, remember?"

"I hope the Alliance remembers that when it catches up with you," Lavan mumbled.

"Assuming we're not all reduced to subatomic particles inside the Wraith's Corridor," Vendra pointed out.

Lavan grinned sarcastically. "Thanks. I feel better now."

Vendra shrugged back, her face and tone betraying no hint of a joke. "You should. Death kind of takes away your liability risk, doesn't it"

"Kind of, yeah," Lavan agreed absently, studying his daughter's profile as she focused on her flying. There was no tension in her face, no trace of apprehension or stress about what she was about to face.

Other pilots, some even more reckless than Vendra, would be biting their lips and chewing the insides of their cheeks in nervousness. Running sweep after sweep of their systems before entering what was considered to be one of the most dangerous areas to fly in the galaxy.

This was where she belonged. At the helm of a ship traveling through lightspeed on a course to chance odds most wouldn't dare to bait. That drive for adventure, that unquenchable thirst for excitement and achievement, was the endless passion that underscored Vendra's every action.

A thirst Vendra had undoubtedly inherited from her mother.

Ranelie . . . Lavan casually swiveled to the console opposite the pilot's chair as a familiar burn stung his eyes. It had been twenty years since his wife's death, and still the loss remained an open wound.

If great marriages were founded upon contrasts between spouses, the union of Lavan and Ranelie Seron had to have been one of history's greatest. Lavan was most comfortable in a boardroom or office with a big desk and chair surrounded by banks of computers constantly tabulating and reporting the accounting numbers and hard market data. Ranelie, on the other hand, had little patience for reviewing budget reports, shipping schedules, or profit figures, and even less patience for boardroom meetings that ran longer than twenty minutes. There was an entire galaxy out there, and Ranelie seemed determined to see, hear, and taste it all. Public relations, that was always her department, and she was very good at it. So, when a conflict arose in an agreement with one of Ordon's bigger clients, Ranelie would not be denied the job of seeing to the matter.

Vendra had been three and a half years old then, and her father hadn't nicknamed his daughter "turbolaser" for nothing. Every cabinet, crawlspace, computer terminal, and power outlet had to be locked down and guarded against Vendra's frequently destructive curiosity.

A fact which only added to Lavan's motivation to make a family affair of Ranelie's departure. Lavan stood at the transparasteel window, holding Vendra at his hip with one arm as he and his daughter waved and cheered exuberantly.

The day was bright. The sky without a single cloud to dim the rays of shimmering white sunlight that shone against Ranelie's short but flowing raven hair as she flashed a sparkling goodbye to her family before boarding for her

trip . . .

To Dubrillion.

It would be the last goodbye they would ever share.

Lavan closed his eyes and swallowed hard as he remembered what it felt like to stand at that comm-terminal and receive the news. News that his wife had been killed in what had been one of the first open assaults of the Yuzzhan Vong invasion. The instant he read that his wife was dead was an instant of agony worse than any man should have to endure. He just stood there, replaying the message over and over but not quite hearing or seeing the words. Not even when the Bakuran ambassador to Coruscant verified the news did it seem real. It couldn't be real, it just couldn't. Lavan had witnessed Ranelie's departure just two weeks prior. Had received a message from her only a day before saying everything was fine, the client was happy, and that she would coming home soon . . .

It was just Vendra and him from then on. She moved on, of course. It had been hard at first, but Vendra had been young enough that time retained mercy for her loss. And for that Lavan was grateful. Her innocence was what numbed her pain and mended the wound of the loss.

There would be no such shield for her father.

Grief would follow him everywhere, permeate every aspect of his life. The nightmares would haunt him for months. Nightmares of that day at the spaceport. In the nightmare Lavan would see himself standing at the window of the departure terminal, holding his daughter close and waving goodbye as Ranalie boarded her ship.

In the nightmare Ranalie looked just as she had that day–her hair shining under the sun and flowing in the breeze. Her eyes and smile beaming with an irrepressible passion as she turned with a final goodbye to the family she was leaving only

briefly . . . and vanishing in a blinding flash of plasma-energy that incinerated every trace of the face Lavan held so dear.

That horrifying nightmare had been one of dozens that would have Lavan lunge from his bed or chair in a rage of helpless anguish. Outbursts that, even now, he was not completely free of.

Theirs had been a far better goodbye among the millions of tragedies that would come in the Vong War. Yet Lavan Seron resented even the notion of gratitude. By what right did the universe presume to take from Lavan the only woman he ever loved? The woman whose fire and spirit had helped him create one of the biggest corporations in the galaxy? How dare the galaxy deprive Vendra of her mother?

Vendra would never know, could never know, of her profound importance in her father's life after Ranalie's death. For the only times more tormenting than those nightmares were the moments of painful reflection that would pounce on him so suddenly. He could be in his office, pouring over shipping orders and expense reports, when he would hear a noise or smell a scent and turn, expecting to see his wife.

Only to be reminded that Ranalie would never be there again.

And the grief would rage inside him. The anger, guilt, and pain consuming all that he was.

Though he had to swipe his face quickly to keep the tear running down his face from spilling onto his console, Lavan couldn't help but to smile as he again regarded the pilot sitting beside him.

It would have been so easy, so tantalizingly simple, to just give up and surrender to the pain he wore like a tunic. Yet, if there was one mercy afforded by so cruel a circumstance, it was the wide-eyed nexus of chaos that was his daughter. She was his family, all the family he had. Sure, there had been friends and business associates over the years, but only a handful ever got close. And the tide of war made certain that even those closest to Lavan and Vendra stayed only so long before they were swept away by the dark tide swallowing the galaxy.

Somehow though, through all the devastation and loss, Lavan managed to hold the line against fate and keep what he had left. His corporation, his home, and, most importantly, his daughter.

The blood raced to Lavan's face as he felt his expression fix itself into a scowl as hard as Tatooine rock, his gut wrenching with the renewal of a familiar vow.

The universe got his wife, it wouldn't get his daughter.

The entire galaxy would burn first . . .

A sudden lurch broke the dreadful spell he had grown so accustomed to, and Lavan twitched as the proximity alarm exploded in his head.

"I don't even want to ask, do I?" Lavan said, his restraints digging into his armpits as he instantly swung back to the main viewport.

"Unidentified starship," a heavily accented voice hissed over the comlink before Vendra could speak, "on the authority of the Ryloth planetary security force, you are ordered to

power-down your engines and prepare for boarding."

"Answer your question?" Vendra asked dryly.

"Fills in a few blanks," Lavan replied casually, his eyes surveying the five Raptor-class assault shuttles coming in hard on the Black Dagger's vector. "Got a fix on their silent partner yet?"

"Point five off our left flank," Vendra answered.

Lavan glanced at Vendra's scopes, adjusted his own instruments accordingly, and all-too-soon found the Interdictor-cruiser that had yanked the Dagger from hyperspace.

"They've got us," Lavan said grimly. "Somebody was really on the tauntaun. The interdiction field was set up to pull us out of hyperspace at a point where we drifted right into the center of the gravity well before we knew what was happening."

"So it's a safe bet that we're not going anywhere?" Vendra asked tightly.

"About right," Lavan replied.

"Then why are those Raptors out there getting ready to swarm us like rabid mynocks?" Vendra asked, locking in the Dagger's auxiliary power and opening the communications channel.

Lavan looked up at the viewport in time to see the midsized arrowshaped starfighters shifting formation. The Raptors had begun to break up their head-to-head approach, with the lead ship pulling ahead of the pack and dropping to a slightly lower pitch. The other ships had paired off into what appeared to be a dual-flanking maneuver. It was an admirable display of precision, but it was also strange. The maneuver seemed intended to be more than a show, with all the appearances of an attack. Yet none of the heavily armed combat ships had even targeted the Dagger so far.

And what was the "low-flyer" doing?

"Ryloth security force," Vendra called into the comlink, "this is the starship Black Dagger. Galactic Alliance registry number RR-2876-Delta. What are you 'Huttspawns' doing just hauling me out of hyperspace like this?!"

Releasing the comm-switch, Vendra ignored the look of reproach from her father and watched the four raptors sweep into pursuit formation behind her as she waited for a response.

She didn't have to wait long.

"I repeat," the hissing voice returned, sounding even more alien that the first time, "on the authority of the Ryloth planetary security force, you are ordered to power-down your engines and prepare for boarding."

"Ryloth security," Lavan put in before Vendra could release whatever comment was obviously burning to get out, "if this is about our ship's modifications, I'm sure we can . . ."

"This is about the ship's owner, pilot," the voice came back. "We have identified 'RR-2876-Delta' as the registered starship of a Bakuran female named Vendra Seron."

"Yes," Lavan said carefully, raising his eyebrows to Vendra as he spoke.

"Vendra Seron has been implicated in a quadruple murder on Ryloth," the voice said. "She is to be detained without delay."

"The Trandoshan group that attacked you," Lavan muttered, his face pale with rigid disbelief.

"It was self-defense," Vendra replied. "I had no choice!"

"I believe you, Vendra," Lavan said heavily, reaching to give his daughter's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "We'll get this straightened out. But we better do as we're told."

A flicker almost too fast to see caught the corner of Lavan's eye, and he glanced down at his console before he could stop himself. Keeping his hand on Vendra's shoulder, the gesture now one meant to steady himself against the sudden wave of surprise, he punched two keys on his board.

That low-flyer . . .

He gave his daughter's arm a slightly firmer squeeze and she gave him a flustered grimace. "What . . ." she began to say, only to stop as her father put his index finger to his lips. One silent gesture followed instantly by another, and Vendra turned her eyes as Lavan directed. She saw what was on the copilot's display console, and leaned back into the comlink even as her father cleared the screen and went to work.

"Black Dagger to Ryloth security force," she called, trying to put the right mixture of shock, disbelief, and conciliation into her voice as she cut speed and began dropping power from weapons and shields. "I don't know what family of spice inspired all this, but we are standing down and preparing for boarding. I repeat," she added quickly in response to her father's silent prompt for more time. "We are standing down and preparing to receive boarders. Do you copy?"

"I can't get much more than that," Vendra said quickly, talking over whatever reply was coming through. "Tell me it's enough."

It's enough," Lavan said, his display highlighting the farthest edge of the interdiction field. "But I don't know if we'll make it."

"We'll make it," Vendra replied sourly as her ship rocked with the tractor-lock. "Tried to pull Vek's data file right out of the Dagger's computer, huh?"

"Used the initial surrender order as the distraction and the Raptors as cement for our attention while they sliced into our computer," Lavan said dryly. "Unfortunately for our friends, that only works if you know exactly where the file is and don't have to try searching for it. Uh, Vendra," he added casually as their course began curving, "please tell me

you've . . ."

Lavan's sentence was cut as short as his breath as his brain and stomach tried to trade places. His entire galaxy flipped upside down and spun around as, in a single sickening instant of perfect terror, the Black Dagger spun fore to aft. There was no time for nausea, however, for he was soon much too busy hyperventilating to vomit. Suddenly, the Dagger was screaming back the way she'd come. The Raptors that were behind her were now in front and sheering off for all they were worth to avoid collision with the Black Dagger as she slashed straight down the middle of their formation.

"Shields!" Lavan gasped, his back pressing into his seat, his fingers drilling into his armrests as he watched the bulk of the interdictor cruiser flooding the forward viewport like a tidal wave of white water rushing ashore. "SHIELDS!"

"Don't need them," Vendra replied coolly.

"What galaxy are you from?!" Lavan bellowed. "Blast it, Vendra! Shields now! NOW!"

"Here we go," Vendra said, her tone distant with concentration.

"You're telling me!" Lavan yelled as the cruiser flooded the viewport save for the tiny sliver of galactic darkness just visible at the bottom.

"Get ready," Vendra called, biting her lip and nudging the controls, a subtle adjustment that instantly became a hard yank. Vendra's warning was clearly a rhetorical platitude as, not even a second after she gave it, Lavan's head was again where his feet used to be as the Dagger flipped ventral side up.

"Dial . . .! Dial up . . .! Dial up the . . .!" Lavan was stammering hysterically. Vendra heard his haggard voice, knew he was right there beside her, and yet it sounded as though he were calling to her from a thousand lightyears away as she sent her ship streaking belly to belly with the cruiser.

Lavan's body tightened as he grabbed the final threads of his composure to form a single sentence. "Dial up the acceleration compensator!"

But they were close. Open space was right there in front of them. Open space . . . with a million courses they could hit. The cruiser's underbelly raced just below Vendra's line of sight, but for now all that concerned her were the enormous sublight engine thrusters she knew they would be upon in seconds. The Dagger's entire powergrid was devoted to her engines. Vendra couldn't raise the shields now even if she needed to. She squared her shoulders, clenched her teeth, tightened her grip on the controls, and, just as the Dagger cut between the cruiser's main ventral reactors, shoved the controls away from her chest. The Black Dagger peeled away from the larger ship. Space became an open field all around her, with a million courses she could hit . . .

But only one that she wanted.

Vendra pulled the Dagger into a wide arc, loaded her proton torpedoes, and set her original course. Ahead, her could see the silhouettes of at least two Raptors and fired one salvo at each in a blind strike. Then, not waiting to see what happened, Vendra grabbed the hyperdrive levers and pulled. The cockpit was filled with the white light of starlines, starlines which were replaced almost immediately be the purple/black torrent of hyperspace as, with a roar from her hyperdrive engines, the Black Dagger plunged into lightspeed.

"OH, YES!" Vendra yelled through a war-whoop. "Let's see one of Rogue Squadron do that! Huh, Dad?!"

"Dad," Vendra repeated, looking to her left.

Lavan was slumped back in his seat, arms hanging at his sides, his unconscious face as gray as Vendra's eyes. Reaching out, Vendra pressed her fingers gently to her father's neck.

"Just checking," she giggled to herself.

On the bridge of the interdictor cruiser Void, the ship's Twi'Lek captain watched as his quarry vanished from his tactical displays. "The target has gone into hyperspace," he said, his voice soft and respectful as he turned and looked up to the slender figure seated at the bridge's command station.

"Excellent," a female voice answered, her violet eyes and gentle face a mirror of dispassion. "Signal the scout-ships that the Black Dagger is on her way. I will tolerate no mistakes."

"Yes, Mistress," the captain answered, bowing his head and turning back to his console. It was not a new strategy she had employed in an attempt to remove the Serons from the equation. What the scenario lacked in originality, however, it more than made up in certainty. For if the code slicers had been able to pull the data file from the Black Dagger, she would have succeeded. If the Serons had been duped into surrender, she would have succeeded. If the Serons were able to breach the Wraith's Corridor, retrieve the item, and bring it out successfully, her people would be there to seize it, and she will have succeeded. All the variables demanded she succeed.

If her completely analytical nature allowed for emotional experience, then it was a logical assumption that she might look upon the current situation with a sense of irony.

If Vendra Seron and her father were able to beat all the calculated odds of success and free the trophy from its trove, theirs would be the moral and legal claim. Although to call the potential contestants to their claim formidable would be an obscene understatement.

But the Serons were going to lose their prize long before anyone heard whispers of it. There was no remorse to be found within those violet eyes for the unfairness of the ruse they had conceived. Those eyes, like the face they were set in, were only an illusion created to hide the truth of the "woman" whom the Captain called "mistress" a moment ago. There were few left alive even today whom could speak the truth and expose her secret. Most were in permanent employ of the organization she had formed from the remnants of Black Sun. The criminal syndicate that, in its day, ruled the galaxy's underworld with an influence as vast, and a fist as iron, as the galactic Empire.

Indeed, Guri, the name she had been known by back then, had once served as enforcer, confident, and first lieutenant to the master of the Black Sun Empire. It was he, Dark Prince Xisor, who had commissioned her design and creation as the most advanced human-replica-droid ever constructed. Guri remained his ever-faithful right hand until the day the fist of Black Sun corroded, its influence withering, with Xisor's death. In fact, Guri's own end would have come about on the day of Xisor's demise as well, were it not for the charity and insight of the Jedi that had defeated her. It had been a most foolish act of kindness that Guri would not have bestowed had their positions been reversed. Nevertheless, that single act of mercy had allowed a future for the droid that had been created as only an assassin and pawn to the whim of a criminal.

The years to come would be filled with more dangerous intrigue for the self-aware machine that was free for the first time. As her first act with her newfound autonomy Guri embarked a very personal mission–to rid herself of the programming and memories of her subjugated life. With the assistance of the man who had built her, and a very special medical droid that was still in her service even now, Guri succeeded. The memories of Xsior and her life at his side vanished, and her life began anew.

Although the programming that made her a slave had been successfully purged, however, the same would not be so for the rudimentary algorithms and subroutines making up her basic programming. Those, she would be told, were irremovable and inalterable. That programming contained the advanced combat and infiltration techniques which made Guri so perfect an assassin. It was programming Guri accessed as innately as the human "flight or fight" response to danger. It was her nature, a part of what and who she was. Even so, or a time Guri was content. She was "happy," if the human standard were applied.

Then, one day, with a suddenness that confounded even her analytical subroutines, the machine-hating Yuzzhan Vong fell upon the galaxy, and droid-prejudice reached a boil. Guri still had her impeccable human facade, but she soon realized that even that flawless deception was not protection enough. The Yuzzhan Vong were known to be enraged by mechanicals possessing even the smallest shred of equality among organic species. If they learned of even the rumor about a droid pretending to be an organic . . .

No, the stakes became too high to rely solely upon deception. Even her vast knowledge of tactical combat techniques and strategies would carry her only so far. Guri did have a tremendous financial resource to draw upon and, thanks to Prince Xisor's inalterable base-programming, extensive knowledge of how to use it.

And so, the human-impersonating droid hid in what was strategically the safest, and most potentially dangerous, place she could calculate.

Guri became Sade Indari–a small-time spice dealer and smuggler who became a key member of the Peace Brigade, a rogue group of criminals, spice addicts, and other scum that collaborated fully with the Yuzzhan Vong's campaign.

Guri was always aware of the advantages mechanicals possessed over organics. In Guri's case, as she lived her role as Sade Indari, her largest advantage might very well have been that her cold analytical nature did not allow for remorse.

Sade Indari sent tens of thousands of organics and droids into Yuzzhan Vong hands as slaves or sacrifices for their perverse and brutal rituals. She had, through intermediaries and third-parties, assisted in Yuzzhan Vong conquests over dozens of worlds. Had Guri actually possessed the emotions she simulated, had she been able to empathize with the suffering caused by her many betrayals, she might not have been able to do what was necessary to survive.

Ultimately, the Yuzzhan Vong invasion would be stalled not through the efforts of a by then badly splintered New Republic, but by the Yuzzhan Vong ambition. The Vong were so aggressive in their campaign that their holdings exceeded their depleted military and naval resources. Over time they lost the ability to defend and control their gains. The more territory the Vong conquered, the more they began losing. That attrition, coupled with infighting between social castes, proved to be their undoing. Finally, with the death of their Overlord by the hands of Jedi Knight Jacen Solo and Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, the Yuzzhan Vong's invasion came to a swift end.

After the defeat of the Yuzzhan Vong, the Galactic Alliance was free to shift its attention to completing the settlement of worlds meant to replace planets too damaged over the course of the invasion and war. But among the echoes of celebration and relief came cries for justice upon the organization that had betrayed the galaxy to the Yuzzhan Vong.

The galaxy wanted the blood of the Peace Brigade.

Sade Indari had served her purpose. Now it was time for her to die.

By using intermediaries at every turn Guri had managed to maintain considerable anonymity. By keeping the group of intermediaries as small as possible meant it was a relatively simple matter to summon them all aboard her ship at once for a secret meeting to discuss a plan for evading capture. It was months before Indari's ship–Dash's Foley–was found derelict in space. It was determined that Sade Indari had been killed in a shootout aboard the ship. During the melee the crew had apparently lost control, and the Dash's Foley collided with a rogue comet. The collision set off a cataclysmic failure of the ship's structural integrity. Those not killed by the massive decompression died in the multiple explosions that ripped through the hulled vessel.

Guri, the blonde haired, lavender eyed, human female would resurface one year after the confirmation of Sade Indari's "death." Commanding a personal fortune now augmented by the considerable rewards gained for her service in the defunct Peace Brigade, Guri founded a new organization. This one devoted to her own goals. The galaxy, though victorious over its invaders, was in turmoil. Various factions and syndicates were vying for control of the new territories created in the invasion's aftermath. It was a mercenary's market. And a well-equipped, capable, and savvy mercenary could virtually name her price. By slowly cultivating her resources, Guri had been able to build up her fledgling organization into a syndicate whose scope now rivaled Prince Xisor's Black Sun.

It was a most unexpected turn Guri's existence had taken. She never anticipated returning to a life within the shadows of the galaxy's underworld. Indeed, Guri had never even computed the odds of it before the invasion of the Yuzzhan Vong.

Whatever had become Guri's life over the last twelve years, one fact was beyond question. None of it–good, bad, or indifferent–would have come about without the merciful but misguided act of the Jedi who did not destroy Guri when he had the chance.

No, the Serons did not know the importance of the trophy they sought. To them the item was merely the rarest of galactic antiquities. The currency with which the Serons intended to buy a place in history. But to Guri . . . To Guri that antiquity was a symbol. A very personal memento of the day her service to another ended, and her ongoing journey toward true sentience began thanks to a Jedi's fool-hearted compassion. Not that the Serons could know any of that history, of course. The details of those events were lost amidst the decades between the height of the Imperial Era and the end of the Yuzzhan Vong invasion.

But the ignorance of Lavan and Vendra Seron did not matter. Ancient customs and laws regarding salvage-rights and proprietary claims were of no consequence. The crew of the Black Dagger may retrieve the trophy.

But Guri would be the one to claim it.

"I was real impressed with that trick you pulled back there," Vendra said, speaking casually to her father's back as he hunched over a damaged power terminal in the Dagger's main cabin.

"I mean it," she responded to Lavan's grunted acknowledgment. "It was really impressive how you rerouted the Dagger's navcom for a calculation of the interdiction field without letting them know you were wise. But then," Vendra added through a beaming smile, "that's my Dad. Really impressive!"

To that Lavan grunted again. It would have been the same exact noise as before were the rumbling sound not punctuated with a quiet snort as he tossed a scorched power cell aside and palmed a replacement.

"Still mad, huh?" Vendra grimaced.

She only half-heard her father's mumbled retort. It was something about a . . . Shaved bantha?

"Okay," Vendra nodded, "yeah, it was a little extreme. But I had to do something, didn't I?"

"A little extreme," Lavan chuckled, finally shifting to face her. "A little extreme?! Vendra, you could have killed all of us!"

"Well what would you have done?" Vendra challenged.

Lavan motioned to himself, his mouth starting to move. "You don't do that to people," he said adamantly the instant his eyes started to cloud.

Vendra held back her smirk that time, but it was a close one. "I knew what I was doing," she amplified confidently.

"I didn't," Lavan replied, "and neither did Myrishi."

"Oh, he always acts that way after we do something like that," Vendra shrugged. "He was fine."

"What do you mean '. . . He always acts that way . . .'?" Lavan demanded. "You've done that before?"

"That exact thing?" Vendra said, folding her arms as she puckered her lips and twitched her head in conciliation. "No. But we've done 'Dagger Rolls' before." For a few seconds Vendra just looked into her father's startled expression. "I don't believe it!" she suddenly blurted, raising her hand to her mouth to cover her surprised laugh. "You mean I've had the Black Dagger all this time, and you never knew?!"

She saw the puzzled look her father wore become even more lost and laughed even louder. "That's why she's named the Black Dagger, Daddy. Because she pinwheels like a thrown dagger when we pull the zero-g flip."

For a moment her father just looked at her with that priceless speechless look of his. "You don't do that to people," he said finally, abruptly turning back to the power terminal.

"I'll try and give you more warning next time," Vendra promised as she headed for the Dagger's rear compartment to check in with Myrishi.

"No, you won't," Lavan answered, his voice raising with every word. "Because you're not doin' it!"

And Vendra silently mimicked those last four famous words as she stepped into the engine compartment.

It was a part of space as ordinary and unremarkable as the sun bleached rocks that littered the floor of Tattooine's Beggar's Canyon. It was a point of space without a single star shining within fifteen thousand kilometers in any direction. Yet this most ordinary patch of universal shadow was one of the most eerily famous parts of space within the known galaxy.

This was Fate's Bluff.

It was the last step to disaster. The last chance for a pilot to decide that there was too much to live for–too many better ways to die–then to shake the hand of chance by venturing any further beyond this threshold of safety.

A threshold at whose very edge the Black Dagger drifted on now.

"This is not going to work," Lavan muttered glumly as the sensor-data collected by the galaxy's most advanced navicomputer spun to an endless scroll of digits. Filling his screen with a foreboding glare of angry scarlet before blinking out completely for the fifth time.

"I said so before you started," Vendra pointed out, adjusting the chin-strap of her silver helmet for what had to have been the fiftieth time. "You're losing the sensory carrier-wave about a second after you send it out. You need the echo from that wave to come back to get the information you want. Problem is, nothing escapes."

"It's like sending a speeder down the wrong side of a one-way street," Lavan sighed, and then grimaced. "Sorry. Bad choice of words."

"What do you suppose were Gavin Darklighter's first words when he found this place?" Vendra murmured, gazing intently out the forward viewport at the great streams of light flowing into the white nexus of oblivion that was the Wraith's Corridor.

"You mean what did Darklighter say when he fell into this place," Lavan replied. "And his first words were probably 'Emperor's black bones!' followed by a resounding 'Force be with me!'"

Vendra chuckled as she continued play with her chin-strap. She wasn't particularly nervous about any of this, the chin-strap activity was merely a distraction as she waited for Myrishi's final status report. Vendra was, in fact, chewing like a rabid katarn to punch the hyperdrive and get in there to put the universe in its place. What was there to be nervous about? Either they would get in and out of the Corridor with what was probably going to be massive damage to the Dagger, or they would all die. It was as simple as that. Besides, at the velocity the ship would be traveling at, a collision with a hyperspace gravity-mass would mean instant disintegration. No one would have any time to see or realize it was happening. Let alone to feel the hit when it came.

No problem.

No problem for Vendra, anyway. But her father wasn't even close to her level as an adventurer. In fact, when you came right down to it, her father wasn't cut out for these kinds of risks at all. Yes, Lavan Seron was a risk-taker. But he was a corporate risk-taker. And there was a big difference between risking one's money and risking his life. There was usually no profit in these excursions they took, and very little profit when there was. Yet still, her father, the consummate and appropriately frugal businessman, never hesitated to leave his comfortable office and finance these costly ventures at his own expense.

Vendra felt her lips tighten as a giant wave of helpless sympathy overshadowed her excitement. The situation with her father would be far sweeter if his motivations were bourne out of emotions other than grief and fear.

Even after all this time, even as close as they were, Vendra's father still tried to hide his feelings from her. There was no way he could hide it, though. The loss was there every time she looked at him, as plain as the flare of an imploding star. Though Vendra remembered virtually nothing of her mother, she believed she knew pretty well what traits they had in common. Every once in a while Vendra would do or say something, and her father would immediately look away or leave the room. Growing up, Vendra often mistook the behavior as disapproval, and was quite angered by it. After all, Vendra always seemed to be getting into trouble somewhere. She had been expelled from three academies before her father finally opted for a private home-schooling program. So, she merely lumped him in with everyone else who made her childhood and adolescence miserable.

The mind-set of persecution was hardly an uncommon state for a fifteen-year-old girl struggling to figure out where she fit in the galaxy. Yet even today, Vendra couldn't help being a bit embarrassed and ashamed of the false perception she had of her father. He didn't leave the room because he was angry. He left because he was in pain and didn't want his daughter to see him cry.

There were times when Vendra regretted having no memory of her mother, there was no denying the void present in her life to. Twenty-one years ago an important piece of Vendra's life had been taken. But she moved on. She became the first Bakurran pilot every to qualify for the Starburn Finals. An annual event held in the New Corellian Territories, the Starburn competition was the premier pilots' challenge of the New Galaxy. Vendra had been within a gaffi stick's throw of taking last year's championship. Before a late entry swooped in and took the pot.

Yes, Vendra had been beaten. But it took the commander of Rogue Squadron to beat her. Though she would be lying if she said losing the Starburn competition, and losing it to that particular competitor, didn't fry her gut more than a little, Vendra had to admit that the Black Dagger was one Rancor of a consolation prize. So, all in all, Vendra had managed to do very well by herself, and her family. Her father, however, remained trapped in a miserable time-warp that always took him back to the day her mother died. She wished her father would find someone, remarry, and start a new life. That wish could only happen when he was ready, though. And his readiness was something no one could realize but himself. Until then, her father would always be welcome to travel with her. The Black Dagger's crew may have been an unlikely one, but the ship's captain was going to keep her crew safe.

Whether her crew knew it or not.

The cockpit's intership-comlink pinged, and Lavan flipped the switch that opened the frequency.

"Go ahead, Myrishi," Vendra called into the mike. Lavan frowned silently as the comlink blurted with the squaks, squeaks, and jabbers of the Jawa language. Vendra understood it all fine, Lavan couldn't follow the alien's gibberish at all. A pang of guilt nibbled at Lavan for that. Though he liked to think he had put aside his initial mistrust and dislike of the desert scavenger Vendra brought home one day, Lavan didn't spend as much time with Myrishi as he should.

"Oh, cheer up," Vendra admonished the Jawa playfully. "What could go wrong with you back there watching things? Just concentrate on what you're doing and it will all be over before you know it." Vendra flinched and looked quickly at her father. "Sorry," she said to everyone at once, "bad choice of words."

"Let's just hope they are not prophetic," Lavan sighed, adjusting his restraints and squaring his shoulders as he set the Star Track V navicomputer to the task of setting the coordinates for their jump into insanity.

"Ready?" Vendra asked as he cut out the comlink.

"No," Lavan answered flatly. "But since we're here and the Star Track's confirmed the coordinates anyway . . ."

Then those distant stars flared into starlines, the hyperdrive engines roared to life, and the ship leapt into lightspeed.

It was the last step to disaster. The last chance for a pilot to decide that there was too much to live for–too many better ways to die–then to shake the hand of chance by venturing any further beyond this threshold of safety. It was Fate's Bluff. And the crew of the Black Dagger just called it.

"We're coming up on another mass gravity shadow, Vendra!" Lavan called. "Point two nine!"

"Confirmed!" the pilot replied, her body quaking helplessly with her trembling chair. Lights blinked before her eyes. But were they flashes from the ship's navigation displays? Or were they aftereffects of the rattling her brain was getting? Vendra couldn't tell which. "Throttling down and adjusting pitch to point three two!" she called back. Yet even as she cut the Dagger hard on her port side to avoid one collision, the Star Track V was screaming again.

"Got another!" Lavan hollered as the cockpit rumbled like the stomach of a hungry Kimagola. "Make that two more!" Her father corrected, his voice ragged with urgency. "Point four twelve and four fifteen. Vendra! Those masses are practically side by side! Sheer off to coordinates . . ."

But Vendra wasn't listening. Her teeth were clenched so hard her head felt like a boulder rolling down a hill. And the squealing of the navicomputer along with the violence of the ride wasn't helping. Not being a pilot, there was no way for her father to fully appreciate the situation. The reality was that by the time the Star Track sounded the collision alarm, the mass gravity shadow had already shown up on the Dagger's conventional heads-up displays. Stamping her foot on the left rudder, Vendra wrenched on the controls and sent the Dagger on a hard right angle, cutting a path through the minuscule space between the two masses. The ship groaned and the skin on the back of Vendra' neck grew deathly cold as she realized how close they had come to being ripped from hyperspace by one of the two black holes they had just left behind.

"Myrishi! What's our hyperdrive status?!" Vendra yelled into her headset.

"We're coming up fast on our next light-stream, Vendra!" she heard her father call. "Set course six-two-nine-point-one and decelerate!"

"Acknowledged!" Vendra replied, wishing she could see something out the viewport other than the hyperspace energy currents. As it was, the only way they would know when the Dagger had entered the zero-g-zone at the center of the Wraith was when the shaking stopped and the ship's main computer automatically cut out the hyperdrive engines.

It was definitely not the recommended means of navigation.

But that was a gripe for another time as she set course and strained to hear Myrishi's reply.

"I think we're almost through," Vendra called to the Jawa. "Just hold things together and prepare for hyperspace dropout!"

"Okay," Lavan said, his face almost contacting with his viewscreen as he tried desperately to follow the data-stream pouring across it. "We're in light-stream gamma. We make it through this and we should reach the center . . . VENDRA! GRAVITY MASS AT ZERO-POINT-ZERO-FIVE!"

Which meant the Dagger was already about nose to nose with oblivion, and Vendra hadn't known until just now.

Without even two seconds to think, Vendra yanked ruthlessly at the helm, flipping the Dagger ventral-side-up and angling her course to drop below the gravity mass of the black hole. Dropping the ship into a gut wrenching barrel-roll, Vendra righted her ship once more.

No sooner had she performed that miracle than the navicomputer began wailing again. Vendra veered to starboard, and then to port. Her head was throbbing now, and if there was any blood going to her brain anymore it sure wasn't doing her sight any good. Her vision was swimming. There was so much light against so much contrast. She had no sense of direction other than the guidance of instrumentation that had little more foresight than the ship's human pilot. Vendra was flying almost totally on instinct. Yes, the magnificent navicomputer had proven useful for mapping the Dagger's course as the ship skipped and surfed from point to point along its crazy flight. But the will and physics of the universe would find ways of besting even the most advanced technology the Galactic Alliance had to throw at it.

The computer screamed again. Without waiting for even a word from her father, Vendra juked the Dagger up over the gravity mass and threw her ship into a full ninety-degree rotation. Backtracking wasn't an option. Even in hyperspace the massive gravitational pull of a black hole was a force nothing could escape. The Dagger's incredible velocity had virtually nothing to do with her wonderful hyperdrive engines that could propel the ship across the New Galaxy in under two days. The hyperdrive was giving the Dagger breathing room, nothing more. If they had been in realspace, the ship would have been reduced to subatomic particles long before now.

It occurred to Vendra that she had cracked a joke about subatomic particles to her father a while back.

The joke wasn't quite so cute anymore.

Under ordinary circumstances, a ship in hyperspace would more or less fly herself. Though it was certainly a good idea for the pilot or crew to monitor the progress of their course, hyperspace transit-time was normally the most idle part of any trip. It was time that could be spent doing in flight repairs or even engaging in a leisurely game of Dejarik. Hyperspace travel was so sure, in fact, that Jedi were known for setting their ships on-course and then slipping into meditation trances for the duration. There was simply nothing to do but wait until your ship indicated that something was wrong, in your way, or that you were coming up on your destination. There was never any need for barrel-rolls, dives, or jukes, and so there were no real tried and true techniques for pulling the types of hyperspace maneuvers the Dagger had been doing for the

past . . .

How long had it been?

And Vendra's heart jumped in alarm at her inability to answer that question. If her sense of time had become that confused, who was to say her flight skills had not become similarly flawed? Was she still on course? How would she know if she weren't? What if . . .

"Mass gravity shadow at point three-oh-five!" her father called.

"Right!" Vendra yelled back, swallowing an exhausted grunt as the cockpit was flipped onto its right side. The weight of helmet felt like a space station as she strained to keep her head straight. That harsh contrast of light and pitch continued swirling, the afterimages burning behind her eyes as her ears buzzed with the squealing of alarms. Her father yelled again, but Vendra couldn't hear the words over the angry rumble of the cockpit. A spark flared in the corner of her left eye and suddenly Vendra was breathing ozone as something above her head blew out and died.

The Black Dagger was being shaken to pieces. And if the interior of the ship was beginning to give, it meant the hull was already much further gone. More sparks flared. More afterimages erupted behind Vendra's eyes. Then one final jolt slammed Vendra's head against her headrest like the fist of an enraged Gamorrean . . .

And the universe became silent and still as Vendra lost consciousness.

The crew of the starship Black Dagger had called fate's bluff. Now fate had made the ship and her crew fold.

At first, Vendra thought she was dead. Vendra thought she, her ship, and her family had been destroyed with that final terrible jolt. Then her head started throbbing as though her skull were being squeezed between the walls of an industrial-trash compactor. Her stomach started churning at lightspeed. And, fighting what amounted to an epic battle to straighten in her seat and remove her helmet, Vendra knew she was alive.

She was alive, but what about . . .

"I feel terrible," her father murmured beside her.

Vendra looked over at him. He looked very much like he had in the aftermath of that hyperspace escape back at Ryloth. Slumped low in his seat, arms hanging limply over the armrests. But a dramatic difference between his appearance then and now was the free-flowing stream of blood running down the side of Lavan's ashen face from the cut on his head.

"So do I," Vendra muttered in return, groping unsteadily to release her restraint harness. "Guess that means we're alive, huh?"

"I'd say so," Lavan replied, stirring against his own restraints.

"Blast," Vendra grunted, steadying herself against the helm control panel with her head resting against her forearm. "That means I'm going to have to fly us out of here. No," she said as her father tried to stand, "you stay put and rest while I get a medkit to take care of that cut."

"The cut will keep for a minute," Lavan said, a hand on Vendra's shoulder to stop her. "We better check in with Myrishi first."

Her throbbing muscles and churning stomach were instantly forgotten as Vendra flipped the com switch. "Myrishi," she called, "Myrishi, are you there? Are you all right?"

Lavan and Vendra looked at each other with the same expression as the comlink yielded nothing but static.

"Myrishi," Vendra tried again, an edge of terror cutting into her voice. "Respond. Are you all right?"

Again, the only reply was the screech of nonfunctional electronics.

"You'd better get back there," Lavan said urgently, but any action was cut short by a subtle yet insistent beeping noise from Vendra's belt.

She snapped it up and thumbed it on. "Myrishi, are you okay?!"

The handheld comlink instantly exploded with a series of familiar static-filled squawks and jabbers.

"That was rude," Vendra replied with a disapproving scowl. It was a comment which instantly triggered another shelling of Jawa language.

"Yes, we did almost all get killed," Vendra conceded. "But it was still rude." She covered the comlink with her hand, grimacing at Lavan. "There's nothing worse than a Jawa with an attitude."

"Dad," she prompted, her expression turning puzzled as she studied her father's frozen profile. That crimson stream continued running down his face, his skin was still pale and damp from sweat and blood. Yet he was just sitting there, straight up in his seat now, gaping out the viewport as though he had just been stung and paralyzed by the whiptail of a vorsker.

"Look at that," he said, pointing out the viewport as slowly and awfully as he spoke.

Vendra's eyes followed his finger, and when they saw what sat suspended before them, she too succumbed to her father's condition as the now forgotten comlink fell from her hand.

Whatever damage had been inflicted upon the Black Dagger during her grueling voyage, the main computer still performed to expectations. It had located the Wraith's zero-g-zone, powered down the hyperdrive engines, and dropped the ship within the safety of the Wraith's exact center.

A center that was amazingly perfect in its calm despite being surrounded by what was the galaxy's most profound natural force. Vendra looked around, barely aware of her own breathing as she stared blankly at the massive streams of blinding light flowing gracefully into oblivion. There were thousands, millions of light-streams all moving lazily toward the event horizons of the black holes surrounding the gravity well in the Wraith's center where the Black Dagger drifted. Vendra was amazed to see the black holes themselves. Great surreal shapes of darkness that seemed to swallow the light-streams with an insatiable hunger. Though she knew the perceived shapes of the black holes were nothing more than illusions created by the effects of light and matter being manipulated by gravity, the illusion was made no less impressive by scientific fact.

But it was not the awful magnificence nor the terrible wonder of the light-streams and black holes that had enthralled their attention. It was the hulking form into whose vast encompassing shadow the Black Dagger was listing.

A shadow that dimmed even the cosmic brilliance of those endless light-streams themselves.

The shadow of an Imperial-class Mark II Star Destroyer.

By the time Vendra was born the period of Imperial domination, and the campaign of the Rebel Alliance that opposed it, was history. It was history that was taught in classrooms, debated about by scholars, and reminisced about by those old enough to remember. Yet if the exact circumstances surrounding the fall of the Empire and the transformation of the Rebel Alliance into what was now the Galactic Alliance had been clouded by the passing of time, the names of the key figures of that period were as well remembered today as they were known then. Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Leia Organa . . . Names which still fired the imaginations and spirits of many in the New Galaxy. Names which inspired partly due to acts of courage history remembered, but also because those heroes and their acts were so woven into legend they had become modern myth.

If there were names that inspired pride and courage, so to were there names and symbols that inspired dread. And there were fewer a more dramatic symbol of the Empire's domination over the galaxy than the Imperial Star Destroyer.

At one-point-six kilometers end to end, armed with sixty turbolaser emplacements, an equal number of ion cannon batteries, and a hyperspace field generator capable of producing enough energy to sustain Bukurra for the duration of the planet's existence, there were once an estimated two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand of those monsters preying about the Old Galaxy. Monsters that served the goals of equally legendary and mythical figures the likes of Grand Moff Tarkin, Grand Admiral Thrawn, and Darth Vader himself.

Goals which ultimately served the ambitions of Emperor Palpatine.

Vendra had seen holospecs of the Empire's capital ships, but holospecs didn't hold a Coreillian candle to the real thing. And of all the Imperial Star Destroyers that roamed the galaxy past or present, few were as legendary as the one Vendra and her father were starring at now. A ship made famous by the circumstances under-which it was said the ship disappeared fifteen years ago, and whom was believed had disappeared with it.

This was the Star Destroyer New Dawn, the most mythical and sought-after ship since the Star Of Alderaan . . .

And the crew of the Black Dagger had found it.

"Look at all the plasma-scoring," Lavan said, his voice awed beyond emotion as he starred at the massive pits that had burned though the shields and heavy armor plating. The destroyer's hull had been so deeply breached in some areas that Lavan could actually glimpse the ravaged lower decks as the Dagger continued drifting beneath the behemoth that had completely shrouded the smaller ship with its incredible bulk. "This ship really took a pounding, didn't it?" Lavan muttered as the massive warship's scorched belly expanded like the cloud of a world-ending storm outside the Dagger's viewport.

"Yeah well, so did this one," Vendra replied tightly, having torn her attention from the legendary ship to concentrate on the one that was going to get them out of the Wraith.

She hoped.

"Primary sensors are off-line," she reported, scowling at the computer screen that flicked on the verge of blacking out completely. "Life-support is hanging between forty-five and fifty percent. Hyperdrive motivator is not responding. Sublight engines are at seventy percent . . ."

"We've got coralskippers!" Lavan snapped.

Vendra looked up, her blood freezing like a Hoth-night. There were fifteen of them: coralskippers–the unrelenting starfighters of the Yuhzzhan Vong invasion fleet. Armed with organic plasma weapons capable of nullifying conventional deflector shields and burning through even the most durable hull armor-plating, the Vong starfighters were made even more lethal by the dorvin basals that protected them. Creatures that acted as sort of living antigrav engines, the dorvin basals could also manipulate gravitational forces to create miniature black holes that would intercept, and effectively obliterate, laser blasts, proton torpedoes, and any other variety of conventional artillery fired at them. Early in the Vong invasion, a squadron of those relentless ships had even destroyed a Super Star Destroyer within minutes of the engagement. It was a feat virtually unheard of since the destruction of the Super Star Destroyer Executor, the flagship of the Imperial Fleet, at the Battle Of Endor. Although not a single coralskipper had been encountered in two decades, one could still hear fear come to the voices of many Vong War veterans as they recalled engagements with the lethally effective alien craft. A conditioned and primed starship would be hard-pressed against a pair of them . . .

"And weapon-systems are nonfunctional," Vendra said, her tone totally flat.

"Myrishi!" Lavan all-but yelled into his handheld comlink, "we need the guns and proton torpedo launcher back now!"

Privately, Vendra was decidedly pessimistic about the odds of Myrishi being able to pull that miracle off. But whatever the Dagger had lost, she still had antiplasmic hull-surfacing, maneuvering thrusters, and seventy percent sublight engine power. All this besides the ship's greatest asset.

Her captain was still alive and at the helm.

The sublights gave an anguished groan as Vendra powered them up. If she could just keep the coralskippers off balance long enough, maybe . . .

"What in the name of Vader's mother?" Lavan said, and Vendra hesitated at the surprise in his voice. She looked out the forward viewport, and instantly came to share her father's puzzlement. The debates persisted among contemporary war historians and military analysts regarding whether the ferocity of the coralskippers was the result of breeding, the fanatical single-mindedness of their Vong pilots, or a combination of both factors. Whatever scientific mysteries persisted regarding Vong technology in general, and coralskippers in particular, there was at least one fact all the experts agreed upon: to encounter a squadron of coralskippers was to fall under attack. They would fall upon a ship like a meteor shower, swarm the ship like a great flock of starving rabid mynocks, and assault the unfortunate vessel until they destroyed it.

So why was the Black Dagger not already besieged by plasma bolts? The Dagger was certainly well within their range of detection and attack and yet, there seemed to be no indication of a response to the Dagger's arrival, aggressive or otherwise. The coralskippers just floated listlessly about the gravity well, meandering about the underbelly of the mammoth dominating the Wraith's zero-g-zone.

"They're dead," Vendra said, nervously eying the closest of the rocklike corpses. Despite her nervousness Vendra couldn't help but be fascinated as she studied the coralskippers. This was her first look at one. Not a model or a three dimensional holo, but a real coralskipper. Although they did truly resemble rock formations, each with crags and ridges that gave them features distinct from the others, for the first time Vendra could see an inherent order to the coralskippers "design." Whatever their unique characteristic, each had a roughly slim oval shape. With a cavity at the nose from which plasma would be released, and an outcropping at the dorsal side which Vendra guessed served as the cockpit. The Dagger floated past the last coralskipper, and she craned her neck to see its back quarter. The dead creature had something clinging to it, hanging there like a great shadowy tail. It had to be the coralskipper's dorvin basal.

"I wonder what killed them?" she wondered aloud.

"Well," Lavan offered, his voice noticeably more uneasy, "this is just a guess, but I'd say starvation. The Vong used organic technology. All that they used: their weapons, their ships, even their clothing, was alive. And all things that live have certain requirements in order to stay that way. Even coralskippers."

"Well, that's something anyway," Vendra said as she powered down the sublights and used the maneuvering thrusters to retrace the Dagger's path. "Means we'll have less to worry about inside the New Dawn."

"I wouldn't count your womprats on that one, Ace," Lavan said grimly. "I'm getting some massive lifeform readings from inside that wreck."

"But the primary sensor grid is down," Vendra said, looking at her father.

"I'm using the secondaries, Vendra," Lavan replied, looking at his daughter. "Like I said," Lavan spoke into the dreadful silence, "massive lifeform readings."

"Vong warriors?" Vendra whispered.

"I don't know," Lavan replied grimly. "Maybe."

"The primary sensors might give us a better idea once they are back up," Vendra said, decisively turning back to her rapidly failing displays.

"And if there are Vong warriors over there?" her father prompted.

"We'll know when we know," Vendra replied simply, adjusting their course to put a reasonably safe distance between the Black Dagger and the New Dawn before coming to a full stop. "In the meantime, we've got a ship to repair," she looked back to her father, "and wounds to treat. Those bloodstains you're leaving all over my copilot's seat are going to be hard enough to get out. And besides," she added with a sarcastic grin, "I think your leak is shorting out my control board."

Being the owner and board chairman of one of the galaxies' biggest corporations gave a man a certain respect for efficiency. Overall, the employees and board members of Ordon Corporation saw Lavan as a fair employer. But he also had a reputation for something of a temper when tasks were not performed and results were not reached according to his standards. In fact, Lavan was the first to admit that he could be a bit demanding and dictatorial around the office and boardroom. Though certain employees went to great lengths to conceal what was said about his sometimes intense managerial style, he knew most of the comparisons between himself and Emperor Palpatine that quietly floated about the office. He would never have admitted it, of course, but Lavan found the limrics of Arra Corr, Ordon's Chief Shipping Overseer, to be especially creative and entertaining. Though his sense professionalism and authority did not allow him openly join the fun, Lavan had once been where his employees were now. Jabs at the boss were a means of relieving tension and boosting company morale. Good morale in turn made for happier more productive workers. Lavan understood that. But he had been the boss so long that he had lost full appreciation of answering to demanding employers. And Lavan privately regretted that loss.

Eight hours of working on ship repairs at a schedule and pace set by his daughter had sucked that regret from him as surely as one of those black holes out there sucked light from the galaxy. The flight into the Wraith had drained Vendra. The impact of dropping out of hyperspace knocking her completely unconscious. Despite her fatigue and understandable disorientation, she had been going nonstop since assessing the damage to her ship. Lavan dragged out the treatment of his wounds as long as he could in an effort to get her to slow down. That ploy worked for only so long, however, and then Vendra proceeded to work at a stunning pace. Taking no time for herself though insisting otherwise for her crew.

"These repairs are going to need the attention of a rested crew," Vendra said. "So get some rest, because I need you."

So after about an hour's respite, Myrishi and Lavan reported to the captain for assignments, and were quickly learning what tauntauns, banthas, and other beasts of burden felt like.

Vendra was truly his daughter, and Lavan didn't know whether give her a big proud hug, or stage a full-blown mutiny.

"Dad," the voice of the ship's captain called suddenly from the intercom speaker behind him. "How are you doing with that negative power coupling?"

Lavan started and bit back a curse. "Almost there," he replied as cheerfully as possible. "Just a couple more minutes."

"Good," Vendra's voice came back over the intercom, and Lavan scowled at her just slightly impatient tone. "After that's done we can replace the reverse power flux coupling. Make sure you disconnect the power transfer circuits before you do that or the entire grid will short out."

Lavan had just enough time to turn to the speaker and open his mouth to protest before Vendra cut out the frequency.

"Aye, aye, Captain Isard," Lavan grumbled as he got back to work.

"The ship's in great shape," Vendra commented, striding into the Dagger's main cabin and finding her exhausted father sprawled limply on the cabin's soft couch. Myrishi was slumped in the chair beside the cabin's sensor and communications console, looking like one of the rag dolls Vendra used to shoot blow darts at when she was a kid.

"Great," Lavan muttered, his arm draped over his forehead. "I can die now. Ordon Corporation is all your's, Vendra. Congratulations."

"You can't quit now," Vendra giggled, moving briskly for the console Myrishi was slouched against. "This is where things get interesting."

"Vendra," Lavan muttered through a deep sigh, "there isn't anyone else in the galaxies nuts enough to do what we did. The Dawn has been here for two decades and isn't going anywhere. I think we can afford a timeout."

Myrishi chittered in agreement and Vendra waved her hands in exasperation. "Sure," she huffed, "fine. Out there is the most sought after find in galactic history. But let's just sit here and stare at it for a few hours."

"Let's soak in the moment, absolutely," Lavan agreed absently. "And we all thought you had too much ambition as a kid. Shame on all of us for having misjudged you so."

"Well, primary sensors are back on line away," Vendra conceded, swiveling the seat Myrishi had just vacated and sitting down at the sensor console. "I can at least do a survey scan of the ship while you two are . . ." her words stopped as she stared at the data that instantly flooded the screen. Her eyes expanded like the silvery flares of imploding stars as her blood once again became an icy stream coursing through her veins and freezing her heart.

"What?" Lavan prompted in response to Vendra's breath.

"Vader's name," Vendra murmured, as though she had not heard her father.

"What, Vendra?" Lavan repeated, sitting up and frowning across the cabin at the back of her chair. The seconds ticked by in silence, and Lavan's frown became a grimace as he finally got up and crossed the cabin to see what the big deal was now.

"Witches of Dathomir," he said, his voice a deathly sound as he peered over Vendra's shoulder at the lifeform algorithms flooding the displays.

"That's no ship," Vendra said, her tone quiet and her face dreadful. "It's a jungle."

"It doesn't make sense," Vendra said again, gesturing at the hologram display that had held the attention of the Black Dagger's crew for the past hour.

"I agree," Lavan nodded vehemently, "it makes no sense to take this any further. Let's get out of here."

Myrishi, whose terror held him suspended in silence the entire time, nodded in full agreement.

"The Vong hated artificial intelligence and technology," Vendra said, oblivious to everything but the holo-schematic of the Imperial Star Destroyer hovering above the main cabin's center table. The areas of the ship the Dagger's sensors registered as inhabited were marked in red, and, fore to aft, that one-point-six-kilometer warship was painted in an ominous crimson. "The Vong's hatred of our technology was one of their principal reasons for the violence of their invasion. A Vong warrior wouldn't be caught dead inside an 'infidel abomination.' What's going on here?"

"One of the galaxies many mysteries," her father shrugged. "Come on," he added enthusiastically, "let's get going!"

"I'm serious, Dad," Vendra said emphatically as Myrishi again nodded his assent.

"So am I, Vendra," Lavan replied, his face and voice becoming testy. "Look, I just barely lived through the trip in here. There is no way I'm going to lose my life over there! Let's just back away from this one, get out of here, and then you and Myrishi can star burn through an asteroid field, or something safe like that."

At first, Myrishi remained in full agreement with Lavan Seron. Then his mind registered the part about the asteroid field, and, abruptly, his approving nod became an equally vehement shake of resounding negativity. But, somewhere between the transformation of gestures, his twinkling eye caught something in the holo the others had missed.

At least, he thought he had seen it.

"Vendra, no!" Lavan said loudly to some comment Myrishi had missed. "The bar is way too high on this one! Even for you!"

They were still talking, Lavan on the verge of shouting and Vendra still responding as if only half-hearing his voice, as Myrishi quietly moved back to the neglected sensor console. His hands moved swiftly, his hood twitching rapidly between the monitor and keyboard, as Myrishi recalibrated the primary sensors to ignore organic data and search for what it was he believed he saw.

The profile of the Star Destroyer's mighty wedged superstructure crawled across the monitor screen as the sensors swept over it. The navigational deflector generator came into view, and disappeared at the end of the screen as the schematic moved slowly from left to right. The primary and secondary launch and maintenance bays came and went. The solar ionization reactor and cooling systems passed Myrishi's eyes, and there it was!

Myrishi bounced in his seat as he released an excited yelp.

"What?!" both Serons demanded at once.

The Jawa continued his excited jabbering, his twinkling eyes blinking like console alert lights from under his hood as he tapped frantically at the monitor screen.

"It's a power signature," Vendra said as she as her father looked over the little alien's shoulders. "And it's coming from the bridge-section," she added, pointing to the structure jutting out from the bulk of the destroyer's aft-quarter. "The main computer wouldn't still be online," Vendra declared, her burgundy hair shimmering against the glow of the screen as she shook her head. "Not after all this time. Would it?"

Myrishi gave a decidedly negative grunt, and then launched into a series of high-pitched squeaks and jabbers. Almost as if to qualify his conclusion.

"That's a good point," Vendra said, her tone suddenly determined and final as she stood straight up and folded to arms, frowning hard at the display. "Dad, you and Myrishi stay and watch over the Dagger. I'm going over there."

For a long moment Lavan took a hard look into his daughter's face, and an even harder look into himself. "You mean we're going over there," he said at last.

"A minute ago you couldn't wait to set course for the New Galaxy to get away from all this," Vendra replied in disbelief. "Now you want to go marching over there with me?"

"A minute ago I thought there might be Vong warriors over there," Lavan pointed out, grabbing at the most convenient justification he had to explain his sudden about-face. "There aren't. And besides," he motioned back to the monitor display, "I'm curious now too."

"How can you be so sure there are no Vong on the Dawn?" Vendra demanded. "Even primed at maximum range and power, the primary sensors can't pin down anything even remotely specific in all that."

"If there were any Vong on board there wouldn't be a power signature," Lavan said firmly. "You said it yourself, the Vong hated our technology. And they would have done all they could to destroy as much of it as possible." Lavan took a long pause, looking back at the scarlet hologram. "Which makes the fact that there is even a ship here at all even more curious."

"I don't know, Dad," Vendra cautioned, "Vong warriors or not, there is still a lot of terrain to cover in there. And the sensors did confirm that those lifeforms are consistent with the plant, animal, and insect species the Vong brought with them when they came. You sure you're up for it?"

"Afraid the old man might slow you down, huh?" Lavan asked wryly.

"I just want to make sure the old man knows what he is getting himself into," Vendra replied.

"Vendra," Lavan said, suddenly gravely serious, "all my earlier arguments for leaving aside, from the second we saw the New Dawn out there I knew you were going in. And I knew there wasn't much I could do to stop you. It's what you do. It's what your," he stopped, the lines in his face rigid, his throat tensing as his brown eyes moistened visibly. It seemed as though her father had forgotten how to breathe, and Vendra thought he might leave the cabin without another word. "It was what your mother would have done," he said in a clear calm voice fueled with a breath that lifted his broad shoulders from their slump and raised him to his full height. "And that was a big reason why I loved her, and it's a big reason why I love you. Now, I'm a member of this crew, and if it's all the same to you, I would like to see this through." He stopped and smiled, "Is that a good rhyme, or what?"

"Works for me, yeah," Vendra said mildly. "You're sure about this?"

"Yeah," Lavan replied, "yeah, I'm sure. Besides, I'll be bantha poodoo before I let you take all the credit and get all the glory."

"Nice," Vendra smirked, turning her attention the Dagger's third crew member. "What do you say, Myrishi; is this a party of three?"

The Jawa looked at the hologram, then at the monitor, and then back at the hologram. Vong wildlife, that was not good. But Myrishi had seen enough holovids in his time to know that the being who stayed behind at times like these was always the being who died first. Which meant that the safest place for him to be was . . . Probably not behind Vendra Seron. And although Myrishi would rather barter a gaffi stick from a Tusken Raider that go strolling about a Yuzzhan Vong jungle, a debt was a debt.

Myrishi gave quiet huff, and nodded.

"Okay then," Vendra said, sighing quietly and regarding the holoschematic of the Star Destroyer once more. "I think our first objective is getting up to the bridge and finding out what's up with that power signature reading."

"It's going to be quite the hike," Lavan said, thoughtfully frowning at the display. "And we will have no idea what condition the interior of the ship is in until we're inside."

"Well, considering that a full-blown ecology seems to have developed in there," Vendra said, taking a seat in the cabin's single, contoured chair and flexing her shoulders. "I think it's a safe bet the interior has deviated extensively from anything we are used to."

"We are definitely going to want a point of entry as close to the bridge as possible," Lavan offered, chewing at the inside of his cheek and folding his arms as he leaned against a bulkhead. "Through the communications tower, maybe?"

"Would be nice," Vendra replied with a concentrated frown as she fought back a stubborn yawn, "but from all the techspecs I've seen, there aren't any service tunnels, access ports, or escape pod modules up there to get in through. We would have to burn or cut our way in, and I don't want to do that."

"What about the turbolift shafts?" Lavan suggested as Myrishi padded Vendra's arm and chittered quietly, pointing to the rear of the destroyer. "There has to be a way to get access above those. Even if we had to cut our way into the shafts themselves, there may be an escape hatch or service port we can open, go through, and then repressurize after us."

"You might be on to something," Vendra said to Myrishi, and Lavan moved closer as she began manipulating the holoschematic for a tight focus on the destroyer's waste dump.

"What's he got?" Lavan asked.

"Myrishi thinks we might get reliable access through the waste dump section," Vendra answered, her voice growing more and more sluggish. "We can anchor the Dagger to the hull directly over the waste dump using the landing-claw and use that area as a staging ground for unloading."

"Assuming the waste dump isn't full of waste," Lavan said dryly.

"Depressurization should take care of any contents," Vendra said as the cabin became more and more dim and the voices increasingly distant.

Lavan's eyes focused on the holoschematic as his thoughts began assembling. "And since the waste dump was designed to serve a crew of about thirty-seven-thousand it will be completely self-contained. If the inner hatch is closed and locked, it will withstand depressurization."

Lavan felt the scratch of stubble against his hand as he rubbed his chin, "Once we're past inner dumping hatch, there's bound to be access tubes, hatches, and crawlspaces everywhere. But that's probably also when we're going to starting running into the local wildlife," he warned grimly. "Any thoughts about that?"

Lavan felt a subtle pat on his forearm and looked down to his left. "What's that?" he asked Myrishi. The Jawa huffed softly and pointed to the chair in front of the glowing holoschematic. From where he stood Lavan could only see the very top of Vendra's head, but he didn't need to see her, nor understand the Jawa language, to know what Myrishi was trying to tell him. Lavan approached the chair and peered around it.

Vendra's face was bathed in the hologram's crimson light as she lay back in the chair, eyes closed tight, breathing even and deep.

Lavan carefully swiveled the chair to the side and lowered the back, watching as the chair's leg rest extended to support her. "Thanks," he said quietly, taking the blanket Myrishi had fetched and tucking it gently around his little girl.

"The wildlife will wait," Vendra's father whispered through a broad smile.

"Morning, Ace," Lavan called gently, luring his daughter from a deep sleep with the sweet scent of kyan tea.

"Wow," Vendra sighed, stretching in her chair with a huge yawn. "How long was I out?"

"Just inside ten hours," Lavan answered as she took the mug.

"What?!" Vendra exclaimed, springing up in her chair like a shocked dewback.

"Careful, careful!" Lavan said, starting backwards. "That tea is hot! Look out the viewport before you start jumping around," he added, jerking a thumb to the cabin's starboard viewport. "See," he said as Vendra looked to her left, her disarranged burgundy hair flinging over her right shoulder with the motion. "The find of two decades is still out there, safe and sound. Complete with a Vong jungle just waiting to kill us."

"Then let's get going," Vendra said, getting to her feet.

"Drink your tea and wake up first," Lavan advised, sitting back on the couch and grinning across the cabin at his daughter.

"I do not," Vendra answered that grin firmly, peering over the rim of the mug.

"You do so . . . You do so," Lavan amplified before Vendra could protest. "You were snoring so loud I spent my sleep-time up in the cockpit. Door sealed."

"Well, I was tired," Vendra conceded with a quick sip. "Love the adventure outfit, by the way," she added with a grin of her own.

"What?" Lavan asked, looking himself over. "You didn't expect me to go marching through a Vong jungle in a Faleen business suit, did you?"

"It's you," Vendra chuckled, taking in her father's appearance as she continued sipping her tea. The heavy navy blue weather-wear jacket sat loosely on his shoulders, a hint of the black tunic beneath it visible just above the two unfastened clasps. The equally loose fitting gray cargo-pants were fastened snugly by a sturdy utility belt equipped with blaster packs, power cells, glow rods, and just about every other kind of tool he might need. The ensemble rounded out by the knee high durasteel-toed boots and a blaster holstered on his right hip. All that, and a shave to.

"Thank you," Lavan said, standing up and starting for the cockpit. "Your turn. Get cleaned up and grab a ration bar. Myrishi and I will be up in the cockpit when you are ready."

The cockpit door hissed open at his approach, then closed behind him. Vendra sipped at her mug again, turning her eyes back to the starboard viewport before going to the 'fresher.

The modified KR5 recon-assault-ship hung in stealth-mode just inside the Wraith's gravity well where it was masked to the Dagger's sensors and targeting scanners. The awful brilliance of those mighty light-streams cast the silver disk-shaped craft's seamlessly flat silver hull in a sheen of blinding light, making the assault-ship invisible to the unassisted eye. It was an enigma. An enigma equipped with two quad-barreled rapid recharged A-37 rated laser guns extending from the ship's bow like the claws of some exotic crab. Guns that could rip through the hull of an Alpha-class Corellian frigate-killer like a knife through freshly roasted brualki. Guns that were primed and locked on the Black Dagger. But the assault-ship's mission was not to destroy the Dagger. Not yet, anyway. The KR5's assignment was to watch and wait. When the Dagger's crew made its move, the KR5's crew would move as well. The parameters of the mission were rudimentary: the Black Dagger and her crew were never to leave the Wraith's Corridor. But the Dagger's crew had a task to complete first. Until then, the assault-ship would wait and watch.

There were, after all, fewer places in the galaxy more patient than the Wraith's Corridor . . . And even fewer more convenient locations for a single starship and crew to disappear.

"Captain on deck!" Lavan Seron called theatrically as Vendra stepped into the cockpit, coming with a hair of rapping his head on the ceiling as he sprang to attention at his daughter's appearance.

"At ease," Vendra replied, her mouth twisting around her tongue as she took another swallow from her water-bottle and swept the displays with her sterling eyes. Dressed in a black blastback vest, a thick green tunic, and pants to match, Vendra had followed her father's lead and prepared for the task at hand. Her hair was tucked under a sturdy green hat which was ringed above the brim by an armored plate. Her black insulated gloves extended just below her elbows and she wore boots identical to her father's.

"And did the captain enjoy her breakfast?" Lavan asked, keeping his tone as casual as possible though a chuckle refused to be quelled.

"The captain should have her copilot 'coldshirt' his way home," Vendra grumbled, the comment not entirely sarcastic in nature. "Barabel field-rations, Dad?" she prompted, her eyebrow twitching with disapproval.

"Robust rations for a hard job," her father said innocently.

"Revenge, right?" Vendra demanded. "For that thing with Vek?"

"Precisely," Lavan replied, his tone dropping like a rock. "But let's not get into that now," he said grudgingly, resettling the weather-wear jacket over his shoulders and using the adjustment of his holster to distract from the way he had to pull his pants a bit higher on his waist as he sat back down in the copilot's chair. "We've got a wreck to inspect."

The distraction was a wasted effort, and Vendra briefly considered taking the opportunity for a verbal jab at Lavan's waistline.

"Right," she said instead, sidling into the pilot's seat and strapping into her own restraints. There was a stirring of movement behind Lavan's chair as Myrishi settled into the cockpit's comm station seat.

"Ready, 'Mysh'?" Vendra asked as Lavan heard the distinct clacking sound of restraint-straps being fastened, followed by an equally distinct cluck of affirmation.

"Okay, crew," Vendra said with a beaming smile, "get ready for a good look at galactic history." With that, the Black Dagger's fully restored and functional engine's roared to life as the ship's captain kicked in the main sublight drive.

Vendra's hands manipulated the helm controls deftly, her foot pressing against the right rudder. The exuberant roar of the engines climaxed as the Dagger pivoted on her port fin and swept up and to the left in a wide arc. The maneuver carried the ship around and over the Star Destroyer's dorsal side. Rolling her ship in a full three-sixty degree rotation, Vendra cut out the sublights and used the Dagger's maneuvering thrusters to kill her inertia. Bringing the ship to a dead stop just forward of the destroyer's main launch bay.

"Wow," Vendra spoke into the long silence that fell upon the cockpit as the crew looked out at the massive ridges of armor plating that looked more akin to the white waves of an ocean surf than the outer hull of a warship. "They really knew how to build them, didn't they?" she murmured.

"They still do," Lavan said, the dorsal side of the destroyer had taken an even worse beating that what had been done below. "The Galactic Alliance has been building its own fleet of Star Destroyers ever since ratifying the peace accords with the Empire. Myrishi, run a ship-wide analysis of the ship's interior pressurization. Let's see what kind of atmosphere is in there and if we can breathe it."

The Jawa returned an answer almost immediately, and Lavan looked to Vendra.

"He says there is more than enough air in the areas along our route," she translated. "We're still going to have to establish a new pocket in the waste dump after we repressurize, though."

"What about gravity, Myrishi," Lavan asked grimly, he just knew they were having too much good fortune here. "What can you tell us about gravity?"

That answer took a bit longer for Myrishi to reach, and the length of time that passed was an answer in and of itself, but Lavan let Myrishi give it to him anyway. If only to be polite.

"That could be interesting," Vendra offered enthusiastically.

Lavan just closed his eyes. "What did he say?"

"Well, the Dawn's artificial gravity grid is down," Vendra offered with an offhanded shrug.

"But," Lavan prompted, frowning at her quizzically.

"But Myrishi is picking up gravitation signatures throughout the ship," Vendra said.

"Dorvin basals?" Lavan suggested glumly.

"More than likely," Vendra answered, staring out the viewport at the Star Destroyer's huge rectangular bridgesection hovering before them as though the Dawn might disappear if she looked away. "Artificial gravity requires power, and except for those anomalous power readings Myrishi picked up from the bridge, there aren't any. But we know Vong used dorvin basals to create artificial gravity on their ships. Add to that those massive Vong-type lifeform readings we got from inside, and I think the influence of dorvin basals is the only plausible explanation for the existence of gravity."

"Great," Lavan mumbled. "So our fates depend on Vong technology once we're in there."

"I really don't think you have as much to fear as you think you do, dad," Vendra offered.

"Really," Lavan replied with just a hint of sarcasm. "How do you figure that?"

"True, Vong were extremely brutal," Vendra conceded, "but the lower nonsentient Vong species like dorvin basals were tools and weapons. They're just animals and plants. If we leave them alone, maybe they will leave us alone."

Lavan thought about continuing the discussion, but found himself without grounds to do so besides unproven speculation. Besides, arguing with Vendra would only lead her to suggest he stay behind, and Vendra was not going to go on that ship without him.

She wasn't.

"Okay," he said with an uncertain nod. "If we're doing it, let's do it."

"Right," Vendra said, eyes dancing across her displays. "Dad, set course two-eight-Mark-three."

"Roger! Roger!" Lavan replied, playfully giving his voice a raspy pitch to bury the bad feeling he had. It was something he had done since Vendra was a kid. All she knew was that it was a private joke about a class of battle droid that had been in service about a hundred years ago, or so.

And it was irritating!

"Everybody hang on," Vendra announced as she threw power to the sublight engines. The New Dawn's hull became a nearly featureless mirage of sparkling white against random streaks of shadow as the Black Dagger skimmed the surface. Vendra cut her ship in a swooping veer, leaning hard on the left rudder and tilting the Dagger on a virtual ninety degree angle as the starship streaked through the space where the destroyer's crew quarters and command section rose from the warship's mighty wedged hull. The Dagger cleared the destroyer's hull and raced away from the New Dawn and toward the great light-streams marking the perimeter of the Wraith's Corridor's zero-g-zone.

"Made a full recovery I see," Lavan commented as he pulled himself upright in his seat.

"Absolutely," Vendra grinned, glancing at her displays and bringing the Dagger's nose up into a climb to bring the ship level with the waste dump. "Tell me when we're just inside of weapons'-range."

"Okay," Lavan replied, giving the pilot a quizzical glance. "We will be at minimum firing range in five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . ."

"One," Vendra said, finishing the count for him and suddenly killing the Dagger's forward velocity and firing the ship's maneuvering thrusters. The universe outside the viewport spun upside-down as the Dagger flipped in a textbook "Dagger Roll" and rotated on her axis three-hundred-and-sixty-degrees. Vendra's brow furrowed as she gave a measured burst to the forward maneuvering thrusters to bring the Dagger into the very edge of minimum firing range.

"Myrishi, set our sensors on maximum and give us a tight focus on the waste dump," Vendra instructed as she set up her target.

"Distance shot, huh," Lavan inquired.

"Yup," Vendra answered, resting her thumb on the trigger and looking out the viewport at the Star Destroyer's stern, glittering two hundred meters away. "When the waste dump's hatch blows whatever is behind it is going to come flooding out into vacuum. I don't know if there is necessarily anything in there to worry about, but there's no reason to take chances."

On both the pilot and copilot control board viewscreens a close view of the waste dump hatch appeared. Vendra's thumb twitched on the fire-control, and twin beams of scarlet pierced the darkness. Out the viewport, the lasers' effect was little more than an almost inconsequential burst of light as the bolts impacted with their target.

The waste dump's durasteel hatch, deprived of deflector shields and weakened by decades old battle stress, buckled easily to the lasers' searing strength. There was a bright multicolored explosion as the hatch melted and folded in on itself. Then the contorted metal expanded, ballooning outward against the force of depressurization. The waste dump's contents were vented into the void as a twisting inferno came roiling furiously from the Star Destroyer's aft section.

"So much for any question of atmosphere," Vendra said, wondering if the angry tide of fire would actually threaten her ship from even this range as the flames unfurled lazily toward the Dagger's bow. "Myrishi, try and catalogue as much of what is being incinerated over there as possible."

An acknowledging warble came from the rear right-hand side of the cockpit. But as Myrishi began analyzing the inferno, the raging tongues of flame began to shrink and recoil. Finally, the searing torrent disappeared completely as the last of the decompressed atmosphere feeding it was consumed.

"Just under forty-five seconds," Lavan said, consulting the ship's chronometer. "Quite a show."

"Yeah," Vendra replied, her tone distracted. "Myrishi, how about that analysis."

"Here it is," Lavan said about a second after the Jawa's jabbered response. "On the menu today: baked dorvin basal, boiled glow lichen, a ton of roasted yorik coral . . ."

Her father suddenly stopped, and Vendra saw him stiffen visibly in his seat, ". . . And about six Yuzzhan Vong warriors with assorted accessories. Vendra," he prompted darkly, giving her that look again.

She called up Myrishi's findings on her own display. "Well, the sensors show a lot of decomposition. Judging from this, it looks like the Vong warriors have been dead for years."

Vendra's statement was punctuated by a questioning grunt from Myrishi, and he tightened the view of the breached waste dump on his display.

"You're putting a lot of faith in maxed out sensor readings, aren't you?" Lavan asked, ignoring a second louder grunt from the Jawa. "The Wraith is murder on sensor reliability."

"I'm going over there," Vendra said, feeling an exuberant pat on her shoulder, but maintaining focus on the developing debate with her father. "The option of staying with the Dagger is still yours."

"I'm just saying we should consider the implications of this analysis," Lavan said, leaning forward to look past the small brown hood that was suddenly between him and his daughter. Myrishi was starring out the forward viewport, patting the armrests of both the pilot and copilot now. Still, his efforts for recognition went unnoticed.

"The implications are the same now as when we did the full sensor-sweep," Vendra said firmly. "And if we keep stopping for these discussions we're going to be older than Yoda before we get anything accomplished in here."

Lavan had just drawn a breath and opened his mouth to respond when Myrishi's frustrated shriek split the air.

"What?!" both Serons demanded at once. It was a demand that was answered with a decisive grunt as the Jawa jabbed a black gloved finger at Vendra's viewscreen.

"Um, what is that?" Lavan asked casually, frowning at his own display. Out from behind the extinguished firestorm, something had appeared. A winged spidery-looking something that was crawling steadily up the destroyer's sloping stern on eight multi-jointed legs. Something that was tearing at the durasteel hull with insectile pincher-like fangs as it made its way toward the derelict warship's command section.

"It's a grutchin," Vendra said, already bringing the Dagger's targeting scanners to bear on the black hide of the creature that was quickly consuming her boarding-plan.

"A grutchin!" Lavan exclaimed as Vendra opened fire, turning a glare on Myrishi. "Why didn't you say so before?!"

Myrishi threw his hands into the air, babbled something in total exasperation which Lavan could not understand, and then dropped back into his seat with an indignant grunt.

"Uh, oh," Vendra said to no one particularly, and Lavan froze at his daughter's totally neutral tone.

"I don't even want to turn around, do I," he asked, the lines tracing his dark features rigid and deep as he kept his eyes fixed on Myrishi, if only because the possible alternatives made his skin crawl.

"It dodged," Vendra chuckled, giddy in her amazed terror. "It waited until the beams were practically heating its hide and it dodged my blast!"

"Now what?!" Lavan demanded, his stomach twisting with horror as he watched the multi-segmented beast swooping straight for the Dagger's bow. His question was answered only by silence as Vendra grit her teeth, retasked the targeting scanners, and squeezed the trigger with far more than the required measure of force. The void was once again a manic kaleidoscope of raging light as the Dagger's blaster cannons hurled volley after volley at the predator that was pouncing on her. The grutchin's gruesome form twisted and rolled, managing to elude and evade every blast with a nimble grace of a nature Vendra had never seen from a space-living lifeform. Setting the fire-controls to single shot, she glanced at her heads up tactical display, and discovered that the grutchin had closed the two hundred meter distance to a one hundred and ten meter range in less than a minute.

"Now we run!" Vendra announced, throwing her ship into a gut wrenching "Dagger roll" and burning the sublight engines for all they were worth. She heard a shrill scream behind her; a scream cut off almost instantly by a dull thud as Myrishi sailed out of his seat and impacted face-first with the cockpit's ceiling. "Put your harness on, Myrishi! Now!" Vendra yelled back to him even as the Jawa rebounded from the ceiling and fell hard into the small space between the comm station and copilot chairs.

"Myrishi!" Lavan yelled, twisting around in his seat as far as his own restraints allowed. "Myrishi, are you all right?!"

"Dad!" Vendra called over the roar of the Dagger's sublight engines. "Reroute power from the weapons! Balance the power between engines and shields!"

"Check!" Lavan acknowledged, watching the awesome glare of those cosmic lightstreams grow brighter and brighter in the Dagger's viewport as his hands fumbled clumsily about the helm control board. "What are we doing?!"

"Angle and stabilize the rear deflectors!" Vendra ordered. "And kick in auxiliary power. Give the engines and shields everything there is!"

"Check!" Lavan repeated, struggling to keep up with the captain's orders and squinting into the increasing glare of the lightstreams. "What are we doing?!"

"Watch our range with the lightstreams," Vendra instructed. "Tell me when we're within five hundred meters of the Wraith's gravity well perimeter.

"Check!" Lavan repeated yet again. "Come on, Vendra, let your dear old dad in on the secret. What's the plan?"

"You'll see," Vendra replied, grunting as she was jostled against her restraints with the sudden lurch rattling the Dagger's hull. "Just keep an eye on the range and give me a running count of the distance," she said, hoping the task would keep her father busy as she flipped a switch on her

control board. The black bio-engineered monster running the Dagger down appeared on her viewscreen. With all possible power diverted to the sublight engines, the ship was on the brink of pushing past her maximum velocity of fifteen sublight units per standard time part, yet still the grutchin was gaining on the Dagger even as Vendra watched it. The creature's wings were fanning so rapidly the targeting scanners were confounded by the speed. The beast had arranged its long multi-jointed legs down at its sides, making the already small target all but invisible to the Dagger's targeting scanners. Even when the computer achieved a target lock, the grutchin saw the lasers coming and had plenty of opportunity to evade them.

Though scanners couldn't help Vendra kill the thing, they did let her see the grutchin open its mouth so wide it seemed as though the beast was turning itself inside out. Vendra was about to wonder aloud whether grutchins could spit plasma balls like coralskippers when she saw a long tendril of white saliva spew from the monster's mouth. The thick line of phlegm began hardening the instant it hit the extreme cold of the void. But the grutchin was able to produce a steady stream of fresh phlegm to keep the line spiral toward its prey. Vendra saw the monster snap its fangs shut, spewing the solid projectile from its mouth.

The crystalized mucus missile impacted with the Dagger's hull, the ship lurched, and Vendra glanced at her control board.

The deflectors still at full strength.

"Fifty kilometers to perimeter," her father reported, and Vendra rechecked her course before looking at again at her viewscreen. The grutchin had closed the distance to just over fifteen meters from the Dagger's back quarter. Its shadowy hide gleaming brilliantly in the Wraith's darkness as its fangs parted to produce another saliva projectile. It was then that she understood why the shields were intact. The grutchin was using its saliva projectiles to break down the Dagger's antiplasmic hull surfacing, softening the ship up for a coralskipper attack.

Antiplasmic hull surfacing had been a defense developed by the New Republic in the middle of the Vong War. Never long to adapt to any countermeasure or strategy brought forth by the "infidels," the Vong were quick in finding a countermeasure of their own. The grutchin snapped its jaws again, and again the Dagger lurched as more hull surfacing was lost.

"Ten kilometers to Wraith's perimeter," her father reported, his voice becoming increasingly urgent with each update. "Eight kilometers," he announced, and the glare of the lightstreams was blinding even though the viewport's blast tinting had already been maxed out.

"Stand by," Vendra announced through clenched teeth. The Dagger rumbled again as she took another hit.

"Six kilometers," Lavan called, his voice almost pained as Vendra looked back to the image of the grutchin framed in her viewscreen and began a second count in her head. She could almost see the creature's throat muscles working to bring up more phlegm, and all ready the grunchin's jagged jaws were parting to create another hull-weakening projectile. Its jaws gapped, a white line of phlegm spewing forth to harden within the void's extreme cold, and then those powerful jaws snapped shut with the speed of a blink. Three heartbeats later, the Dagger trembled again.

The entire process took about twenty seconds. Just as Vendra thought.

"Four kilometers," Lavan updated. Vendra heard the anxiety in his voice, but her father's nervousness was not her most pressing concern. Even the creature ravenously trying to destroy her ship ranked a close second on Vendra's list of worries.

Myrishi hadn't made a sound since taking those two crushing hits against the cockpit's ceiling and deckplates, and Vendra did not know how badly Myrishi had been hurt.

"One-point-nine-kilometers, Vendra!" her father all but shrieked.

"Hang on!" Vendra called, stomping down on the right rudder and pulling hard at the helm controls. The ship cut sideways into a hard right bank, coming around in a graceful arc that took her on a course back toward the Wraith's center. The grutchin matched the maneuver easily and almost exactly, unfolding its wings to follow its prey through the Dagger's wide turn and staying right on her tail.

Lavan felt the ship tremble again, but the shudder was not consistent with the effect of a projectile impact. Then the ship groaned and the cockpit's lights began to dim. Hanging suspended as it was in zero gravity two hundred kilometers away, the massive Star Destroyer appeared to be an insignificant sliver of metallic flotsam before a universe eternal in its opulence. It was a moment to inspire a man to reflect on the course of his life. An instant for him to realize and fully appreciate how truly insignificant he, and even the mightiest of his creations, were before the distance between two of the galaxy's stars. Indeed, Lavan would be lost in such a line of contemplation right then, if the Black Dagger had been flying forward rather than drifting back.

"Okay," he sighed casually as Vendra revved the Dagger's engines like a pod racer, "what do we do now?"

"Come on, Myrishi," Vendra called, eyes steady on her viewscreen as the grutchin flailed against the gravity current pulling it to its doom, "give us a squawk or something. Don't disappoint me," she said, riding the engines even harder. "You know how I handle disappointment."

Lavan felt a subtle bump against his seat back, followed by some breathless jabbering. Even as Vendra continued what looked like a losing battle to save her ship, she could not help but grin at the Jawa's terse response.

Vendra had never before found an insult upon her race so relieving. "Good one," she replied as the cockpit shook again. Though it faced annihilation, the grutchin still managed to take a parting shot at the Dagger and hit the mark.

Despite everything, Vendra found herself respecting the creature's determination. On her viewscreen, the grutchin faded to the smallest of shadows, and disappeared completely.

"The grutchin's gone," Vendra announced.

"Well, we will be seeing him again, I'm sure," her father offered grimly. "Unless there are any other insane maneuvers you would like to pull without telling me first."

"Now that you mention it," Vendra replied flatly, revving the sublight engines to full power and gripping the hyperdrive levers.

The hyperdrive engines roared, the sound akin to the howl of a charging bantha, as the lightstreams contorted in a flaring blaze. Lavan had just enough time to scream before his exclamation was cut short by a violent jolt that slammed him against his restraints. His eyelids burned with abstract globes of color dancing in time with the throbbing of his head and heart as the cockpit fell all too silent. Then his nose burned with the profound stench of ozone, and Lavan opened his eyes to look around. The cockpit was almost surreal in the haze of smoke drifting lazily about the compartment. The eerie feeling made complete by the dim emergency lights that were the cockpit's only illumination save for the lightstreams surrounding the still intact ship, and the manic flashing of malfunction lights too numerous to count.

Though far from a mechanic of the caliber of his two shipmates, the message conveyed to Lavan by those malfunction indicators was as glaring as the lightstreams themselves.

The Black Dagger was now marooned inside the Wraith's Corridor.

Vendra's lip twisted as she tapped the keys on the replacement console she had installed at the communications and sensor station. Her anger was as hot as Vader's blade as she ran a final diagnostic to verify the quality of her work. Barely satisfied with the "system ready" message that flashed on the display screen, Vendra shut down the station to conserve power.

The shadows of the cockpit mirrored Vendra's emotions perfectly as the vestige of her Cammassi flight instructor seemed to hover before her eyes. Yelega K'sha was more than her flight instructor. The cultured humanoid held the distinction of being the only tutor who saw the duty of instructing Vendra to a successful end.

A worthy pilot and captain never puts her pride before the welfare of her ship and crew.

Those words were at the foundation of all Yelega's instructions over the months he spent preparing Vendra to take the flight certification exams. They were words he offered again as he accompanied an ecstatic Vendra Seron, and her misty eyed father, to file her newly earned pilot's license with the Alliance Transit Authority. Though Vendra admitted that her "spirited" nature still led her into trouble even now, she was secure in the knowledge that never had she violated K'sha's most fundamental and uncompromising lesson.

Yet here, within the maw of the Wraith's Corridor, the Black Dagger languished with virtually no hope of rescue or escape.

What had she been thinking?! But the answer came as fast as the question. Yes, her desperate maneuver had saved her ship from that grutchin. But she still had one other option she could have tried before resorting to such an extreme.

The proton torpedoes. Vendra could have tried to take the grutchin out with the proton torpedoes. The tactic might well have proven as useless as her attempts with the lasers, but it remained an option nonetheless. Vendra could not even claim battle stress as an excuse, either, because using the torpedoes had occurred to her. Still, she had opted for the more dangerous and desperate option. Why? Did she avoid using the torpedoes to conserve them? Yes. But there was another reason for choosing the course of action she had. A reason that had nothing to do with the reckless hunger for danger Myrishi constantly nagged her about. No, the real reason Vendra made the choice she did was much more inexcusable. It was a motive that made her unfit to captain a garbage-scow.

The real motive for Vendra's probably fatal decision was pride. Stupid, selfish, pride. Multiple torpedo hits against the New Dawn's already fragile hull might have compromised the find of two decades. And Vendra so wanted the credit for finding and salvaging the Wraith's legendary treasure. She wanted to be the captain of the ship that would be forever tied to the lore surrounding the disappearance of the famous Star Destroyer. But it was more than that. Her father had no idea how close to home his comment about not allowing Vendra to take all the glory really hit. "Glory" was what the Dagger's excursion into the Wraith was all about. At least it was for Vendra, and that private admission was the most shameful part of it all. The motives of her father and Myrishi were as pure H'keg spring water. Motives borne out of love, courage, and loyalty. Vendra's motives were little more than the seeds of petty ambition. All her life Vendra had dreamed of her name being as immortalized and celebrated as that of any Skywalker or Solo. It was the ambition that drove Vendra to do virtually everything she did in her life. Those risks she took were not taken out of some thrill-seeking recklessness. They were stunts designed to build Vendra's reputation as a "fearless adventure," or something stupid like that. One hundred years down the hyperspace lane, and the Skywalker and Solo names would still be spoken and speculated about. Vendra wanted her name to be that legendary too.

No, her motives were not pure and, as captain of the ship, Vendra's motives should have been the most pure of all.

A dull hum fell upon the cabin, and Vendra blinked as the muted emergency lights were replaced by the brighter standard lighting. Vendra swiveled back to the sensor console and checked the ship's power output reading. Myrishi had main power restored to seventy-eight percent and was no doubt shooting to get that reading up to one hundred. Having main power back was an improvement, of course. But not by much. The Dagger's hyperdrive system was damaged beyond her crew's ability to repair it. Without the hyperdrive the ship was still trapped inside the Wraith, and would probably remain so well after her crew had expired. But the chores Vendra assigned to Myrishi and her father had hopefully distracted them from the inevitable. So, although she knew their efforts were ultimately futile, she could at least see some value in the charade.

Vendra was about to flip the console switch when she stopped, considered that last thought, and realized her second mistake. Instead of being the nexus of morale and leadership, as every captain should be, Vendra had assigned her crew to their distractions and then isolated herself from them both.

Again Vendra felt ashamed of her selfishness. But, unlike the downtrodden self-pity that had dominated her as she sat alone in the shadows, there was suddenly a spike in her emotions that was not there before. Perhaps it was the brighter lighting that stirred her mind. Or perhaps it was merely that she had exhausted her selfish depression. Whatever the inspiration's source, the crew's path was suddenly clear to her. The Black Dagger lacked the resources needed to repair the hyperdrive, but that Star Destroyer out there might be a different story. She knew the odds of the Dawn retaining anything useful after decades of neglect and Vong species' development were long, but the possibilities still begged investigation. Besides, the Black Dagger was not going anywhere, and her crew's first duty was to survive and escape.

For that, the ship and crew needed their captain.

Spinning back to the helm control board, Vendra snatched up her electro-driver and set to work.

"So that's the plan," Vendra said as her father regarded the scaled holoprojected image hovering over the cabin's table while Myrishi peered at the data flow from the sensor station. "What do you think?"

A quiet grunt sounded from the cabin's sensor station, and both Serons looked to the Jawa as he gestured to the station's viewscreen.

"Not this trip, Myrishi," Vendra replied gravely.

"You don't want to try for the bridge either?" Lavan asked, not needing a translation.

"Our only priority now is repairing the hyperdrive," Vendra replied firmly. "But we will drop a marker-buoy to legitimize our salvage claim."

Lavan nodded thoughtfully, studying the sparkling hologram. "The main launch bay looks in pretty rough shape. Do you think you can get in?"

"I've looked over the launch bay," Vendra said. "The docking maneuver shouldn't be a problem. No fancy stuff. We go in, get to the maintenance bay, look around, and get out. If we don't find what we need," Vendra shrugged and folded her arms as she leaned against a bulkhead, "then we come up with something else. But a ship without a hyperdrive isn't going to get us anywhere."

"You're the captain, Captain," Lavan smiled warmly. "It's good to have you back."

"Sorry about closing you two out like that," Vendra apologized glumly. "It was a stupid thing to do."

"Yes," Lavan said patiently as he stood up and gathered his daughter in a warm hug. "Yes, it was. But you came around. And you will get us out of this."

The sound of her father's heart was a soothing beat as Vendra held her ear to his chest. She remained firmly committed to her decision, but the disappointment was a lingering weight upon her. But there was nothing to be done for it. And they would drop that marker buoy first thing. One way or the other, the galaxies would remember the name Seron.

Her eyes found the power-reading flashing on the holoschematic. One way or the other, the galaxies would remember.

"Okay, let me get this straight," Lavan said unhappily. "Now that we've dropped the marker-buoy we have to go to the bridge section?"

"That's the law," Vendra confirmed, sympathizing deeply with her poor father's bewilderment. Two hours ago, the plan was straight and simple. Pass up the bridge for the main launch bay, make their way to the maintenance bay to hopefully find the parts they needed, repair the ship, and get out. Simple, straightforward, and shot to Nar Shadda about two minutes after they activated the buoy's pulse transmitter. The last thing anyone expected was that the derelict Star Destroyer would detect the buoy and answer with a pulse transmission of its own. A development which, on the face of it, meant nothing. The warship did still have that enigmatic power signature, after all. And the Dagger's crew had surmised long before that some automated functions might still be on standby. What did change the circumstances rather drastically was the nature of the destroyer's signal.

"Under galactic law it is a civil and possibly criminal offense to knowingly abandon a ship in distress," Vendra explained.

"So why didn't it sound off earlier?" Lavan asked, somewhat testily.

"Because we didn't hail it," Vendra guessed, wondering if she should feel at all guilty about her sudden stroke of good luck. "Or maybe the Dawn's computer didn't pick us up until we activated the marker's signal. And don't forget," she added with a raised forefinger, "the buoy broadcasts all the Dagger's identifying information. And on a recognized Galactic Alliance frequency besides. Maybe the main computer was programmed to run silent until it detected a friendly signal. Any way you smelter it, we now have an Alliance warship sending us a call for help. And we can't leave without investigating."

"Yeah, but it's not like we are prepared to render aid," Lavan offered, gesturing out the cockpit's forward viewport with exaggerated regret. "We could go back and get help. People with the resources for this kind of thing."

"Oh," Vendra breathed as though she just had an epiphany. "So we came prepared to salvage the New Dawn, but unprepared to save anyone we happened to find inside it. Good luck selling that one on the HoloNet."

"Bad for business, huh?" Lavan grimaced.

"Not unless the only clients you want for Ordon are the Hutts," Vendra replied dryly. "Especially if that ship contains what we think it does."

"Definitely bad for business," Lavan mumbled. "Old plan?"

"No choice," Vendra said, feigning all the disappointment she could muster. "Myrishi, what's the Dagger's status?"

I am my own worst enemy, the Jawa thought, reluctantly choking out the unfortunate truth.

"Then let's get moving," Vendra announced. "Dad, time for you and Myrishi to switch seats."

"What?" Lavan asked, the instruction came so quick he almost missed it.

"This isn't going to be just an ordinary docking procedure," Vendra explained, her tone distant as she frowned into her console's viewscreen, giving the schematic of the destroyer's back-quarter a last once-over. "I've run the simulation through the navicomputer a dozen times now and the computer has failed every test. Even the Star Track V can't make adjustments fast enough for this move. Docking with the waste dump using the landing-claw has to be done manually. No cyborgs allowed."

"So?" Lavan prompted.

"So even a manual hard-dock with the waste dump is going to be a real trick," Vendra said, holding back the impulse to grimace for all she was worth. "And Myrishi has more flight experience with the Dagger and me than you do."

"What? I've flown with you a lot," her father protested. "I was copilot for the fun-cruise in here, wasn't I?"

"Myrishi had to look after the Dagger's systems," Vendra replied diplomatically, meeting her father's gaze.

He was not getting the message.

"And?" Lavan pressed with an inviting wave.

"And the Black Dagger needs an experienced crew to pull this move off," Vendra said. Her face and voice were still perfectly patient and calm, though her eyes flared with a captain's authority.

Lavan held his daughter's stoic gaze for a few tense seconds, huffed through an indignant frown as he released his restraints. An icy silence flooded the cockpit as Lavan stood up and stepped between the pilot and copilot stations like a man climbing up a Tattooine rockface at midday with a gonk-droid strapped to his back. He dropped into the seat behind Vendra, glowering at the back of his cocky daughter's head. Myrishi sat stiffly beside him at the cockpit's commstation, not knowing what to do and striving to be as invisible as possible.

"Well," Vendra prompted finally, twisting to look at Myrishi and motioning the Jawa forward. "Like I said, let's get to it."

The Jawa's eyes flashed to Lavan's face for barely an instant. The buckles of his restraint harness jangled loudly as Myrishi worked to release them with nervous hands. Finally free, the Jawa scurried past Lavan as quickly as possible and clamored his way into the copilot's seat.

"It's okay," Vendra whispered reassuringly as the chair automatically adjusted its height and distance from the helm console to suit its smaller occupant.

It was only then, as he watched the chair adjust, that Lavan realized what had happened. Venda tried to tell him. She really did. But Myrishi was a Jawa, and Jawas were just so easily . . .

Slumping down in his seat, Lavan folded his arms and let his chin sink with embarrassment.

"Everybody strapped in?" Vendra asked suddenly. "Good," she said as her father scrambled for his harness. "Here we go!"

Lavan was barely able to secure himself before his clearly annoyed daughter punched the Dagger's sublight engines to their total fury. With the acceleration compensator adjusted appropriately a starship could reach its maximum velocity with minimal effect on the crew. Judging by the way Lavan's back was being pressed in his seat, coupled with the blurred double-vision resulting from the tidal-wave of blood rushing to his head, the ship's pilot had clearly elected to leave the compensator dialed the wrong way. Lavan's spine trembled as though someone were pressing a vibroblade to his back as he watched the Imperial Star Destroyer's ventral side sweep past the cockpit canopy. The ceiling of metallic gray hull rapidly narrowing as the Dagger streaked toward the mammoth warship's bow. And the Black Dagger shot out from beneath the Dawn's bow like a shadowy proton torpedo fired from the destroyer's forward emplacements.

"Okay, Myrishi," Vendra said as she adjusted the Dagger's pitch to a ninety-degree climb. "Here is what I need . . ."

Preoccupied with the blazing glow of lightstreams the ship was once again racing toward, Lavan missed his daughter's instructions. So he was understandable surprised when, for the hundredth time this trip, his head traded places with his feet as the ship pulled another back-to-front flip. With the Dagger's bow now facing opposite the ship's original course, Vendra stepped gently on the left rudder, and the Dagger rotated gracefully on its axis to right herself. Through the forward viewport Vendra watched the Star Destroyer's twin deflector shield domes grow steadily larger as the Dagger approached the warship's bridge section. The pilot gave her ship's course a minor adjustment as Myrishi began the distance countdown. Vendra began gradually reducing their velocity to what she calculated–and hoped–would allow her to pull off what she was about to pull off. Her mind flashed back to her brief consideration of what she thought was "likely to be their next problem." Namely, the size of the Black Dagger in relation to the opening they had made in the waste dump.

Myrishi made another report, and the shield generator domes began resembling small moons as Vendra continued reducing speed.

The plan involved Vendra clamping her ship nice and snugly against the waste dump's outer hatch. Then they would use an exterior cutting torch to burn through. After that, Vendra planned on setting Dagger's shields and internal environment control systems to represurize the waste dump.

Myrishi jabbered again, and Vendra steadied herself. The Dagger was only seconds from passing between the shielding domes, now so big they looked more like the twin Death Stars.

Vendra felt her hands tighten on the controls with a force that could strangle a Gamorrean. "Dagger Rolls", however fantastic they might have seemed, were actually very simple and required far less precision than they appeared. But this one needed . . .

Myrishi's shrill squawk stung Vendra's ear and her restraints dug viciously into her shoulders as she suddenly killed the ship's velocity. Inertia sent the tiny black starship streaking between the destroyer's deflector shield domes as Vendra fired the reverse-maneuvering thrusters and reversed the engines. Vendra resisted the urge to push at the controls with enough force to cause a hull breach and gave the helm controls a gentle nudge. The Dagger continued drifting beyond the shielding domes, and the pilot sent her ship into a quick graceful ninety-degree flip. A flip that ended with the Dagger hanging cockpit down just beyond the destroyer's great stern. Yet the maneuver wasn't perfect. For even as Vendra attempted to stabilize the Dagger's spin, inertia continued pulling at the ship's bow, and Vendra clenched her teeth as she fired a sustained burst from the breaking thrusters before easing in the forward maneuvering thrusters. The pilot allowed herself a tentative smile as the spin halted and the Dagger began easing along the Hope's stern toward the destroyer's gigantic sublight drive nozzles.

"Myrishi, is Dad still conscious?" Vendra asked, carefully easing the Dagger's nose up to set her ship's dorsal side skimming as close to the destroyer's hull as possible, watching the forward sensors count down the distance to the target zone.

"Oh, good one," Lavan mumbled, adjusting himself in his seat. "You should be a Hapan court-jester with talent like that."

"Well, I never know with you," Vendra replied sweetly. "I need you at the manual lock for the landing-claw as a back up. Think you've recovered enough to do it?"

"As long as I don't wind up pasted to the top of the fuselage," Lavan replied dryly.

"Life is risk," Vendra replied. "But if you're going to go you better go now. Because we're going to need the claw in about a minute-thirty."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Lavan sighed unhappily, all ready on his way.

"I'll try and warn you if anything happens," Vendra called after him.

"Yeah," Lavan chuckled, "whatever."

Vendra's eyes grew small and intense as she watched the Star Destroyer's hull crawl slowly beyond her field of view.

"Myrishi, are we close enough for capture," she asked as her self-made docking port became more and more visible against the warship's brilliant white hull. All ready the damage caused by their grutchin playmate was coming into view.

Myrishi jabbered his advice, and Vendra moved in just a bit closer. That had better do it, because the Dagger was now as close as she was going to get.

"Dad," Vendra called into the comlink.

"In position and waiting for the next bruise," her father responded.

Myrishi glanced out the viewport, then back to his console, and squawked.

"Get ready," Vendra called to her father, hoping his words weren't prophetic as the Jawa began a countdown from five. The imploded waste dump was just before them, and Vendra began firing measured bursts from the breaking thrusters. Then, the darkness of the waste dump's exposed interior loomed like space itself and, with a diffident but decisive motion of her diminutive copilot's hand, the Black Dagger shuddered to a halt with a sudden hard lurch and metallic groan.

Myrishi yelped in triumph and Vendra grinned broadly as she gave him a congratulatory pat on the back. "Great job!" she said, reaching for the comlink. "How about you, Dad," she beamed. "Everything okay back there?"

"Yeah," her father returned, "great. I needed a bump there anyway. It completes the look."

"I don't know about this," Vendra said uneasily. Her face was tight as shw watched Myrishi made a few final adjustments to his handiwork. Clamped firmly to one side of the waste dump, Vendra imagined her ship looking like a Bakurran ekle-fly sitting contentedly on the edge of its nest. A considerably large insect, ekle-flies were among Vendra's favorite targets for practicing with her blowdarts when she was a kid. A sitting ekle-fly was a very easy target which exploded with a big splatter and loud pop when hit. It seemed to Vendra that the Dagger's own end wouldn't be nearly that pleasant if the Jawa's scheme of running the ship's shield-grid through the sublight engine power-grid didn't work. "Are you sure the field will be stable enough?"

The Jawa nodded firmly, signaling Vendra to gradually power up the sublight power system as he activated the Dagger's shields. The engines began to hum and Vendra looked around the cockpit apprehensively as Myrishi watched his displays. A wave of pale blue light spread across the schematic of the huge waste dump's interior. He tapped the Dagger's shield controls, manipulating the deflector energy for even dispersal across the perimeter of the breach. The blue wave flood over the entire schematic, and Myrishi adjusted the field strength, instructing Vendra to increase sublight power output just slightly. The pale blue light brightened as the energy field achieved the appropriate level of strength and balance. Grunting in satisfaction, Myrishi flipped a switch on his controlboard, activating the power-governor and alternator that would maintain the field in the crew's absence.

Then he sat back and clucked, clearly pleased with himself as he looked at Vendra.

"Right," she said, looking at his viewscreen skeptically. "So this setup of your's is going to be okay while we're gone?"

Myrishi nodded, but he did offer the captain a down-side just to make her feel better.

"Yeah, well, I can handle having to replace the sublights sooner than I should so long as they hold out long enough to get us out of here," Vendra said, still uncertainly. "Let's go ahead with phase two, then."

With that she nodded to Myrishi, who flipped another switch on his control board. All eyes shifted to the viewscreen of the cockpit's communication station, which had been patched into a camera-view of the main cabin. They watched silently as the secondary heavy-cargo loading doors opened to the vacant waste dump. Myrishi flipped a switch on a side-panel, and a muted hiss sounded from behind the cockpit door as the Dagger vented its atmosphere into the waste dump. A short time later, the sound faded and was gone.

"It's pretty thin in there," Lavan said as he checked the atmospheric sensors.

"It was expected to be," Vendra said, standing up. "The atmosphere should get thicker once we open the inner hatch to the rest of the Dawn. The important thing is that we don't have to worry about explosive decompression." She looked at Myrishi, "Right?"

The Jawa nodded again, offering another decisive grunt as he closed the cargo doors and repressurized the main cabin.

"Hey, Myrishi," Lavan said as the Jawa followed Vendra from the cockpit, "good job on that docking."

Myrishi grunted his thanks and rushed nervously out.

Old man Palpatine would be proud, Lavan thought regretfully as he followed. Standing just outside the cabin's threshold, Lavan hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt and watched as Vendra touched a button at the communications and sensor station. The low table in the cabin's center pivoted on a right angle as the center deckplate slid aside. Lavan felt the vibration of the plate sliding into the groove beneath his feet. The dull drone of sliding components was replaced by a sudden hiss and an even louder mechanical whine as the compartment's heavy liftplate released and began to raise. Riding that liftplate was a heavy duty Grontor Industries Series Four Hoversled. The sled was topped by a Jawa-sized seat and loaded to capacity with rifles, handblasters, ammunition, vibroblades, explosives, and other necessities.

No matter how many times he saw the sled rise from beneath the floor like that, Lavan couldn't help but be impressed. He stepped into the cabin and surveyed the weapons, equipment, and supplies. Then his eyes caught something he hadn't seen before.

"That's new," he commented, studying what looked like the hilt of a blade protruding from a sheath built into the sled's right side. The hilt, or whatever it was, gleamed sterling in the cabin's lighting and seemed to be shaped like two intertwined snakes.

"Yeah," Vendra said, folding her blastback jacket into a poncho on the side of the sled and slipping into a wheatherwear coat. "Got that from a Kauti baroness who tried to scam Ordon out of some shipping fees with a little creative data-work and a lot of attitude. She paid," Vendra said, answering her father's expression. "But she was kind of eager for me not to report it. That beauty was my little bonus for letting her pay up and walk away."

"Used to be a time when you couldn't scare a Kauti baroness into flinching, let alone buckling over a simple fraud," Lavan reflected, his tone distant as he traced the hilt's elegant grooves with a fingertip.

"Times have changed," Vendra replied flatly as she and Myrishi began retrieving additional equipment from the cabin's storage compartments.

"Viqi Sesh saw to that," Lavan commented, referring to the former New Republic senator turned Vong collaborator. Her entire world and race had been stigmatized by her betrayal of the galaxy. Where once the great ship-building world of Kaut had been a political and economic power broker of galactic prominence, now its name and people were regarded by most as only slightly higher than the Hutts on the "slime-scale." To others even a Hutt had more honor than a Kauti. The Hutts were scum, but at least they never claimed to be anything else, and they never betrayed the Republic as Senator Viqi Sesh had. Any part of Lavan Seron that would have not allowed him to brand the entire Kauti race with the betrayal of a single individual died the first time he had to console his innocent little girl when she realized her mother wasn't coming home.

Viqi Sesh aided the monsters who killed Lavan's wife. If every Kauti bore the consequences of Sesh's treachery until the death of the universe's last star, that was fine by him.

"Well go ahead all ready," Vendra said suddenly.

"What?" Lavan replied, her voice startling him back into the moment.

"Oh, come on," Vendra chided playfully, laying out the last of Lavan's least favorite pieces of equipment. "Play with the sword. Just don't hurt yourself."

Grateful that Vendra misinterpreted her father's distant moment, Lavan pressed the sword's grip into his palm. The blade hissed loudly as it slid from its sheath. It didn't exactly sound like metal, though. And as he saw the cabin's light bounce from the polished black blade, it became clear that this blade was crafted of a material unlike anything Lavan had seen. He saw his own reflection, shadowed and virtually featureless against the sword's sleek broadside. Holding the blade parallel to his shoulders, Lavan watched the reflected light twist and bend along the blade.

"Is that some kind of writing?" he frowned, peering closely at the engraving than ran the length.

"Yeah," Vendra answered, her own tone quizzical, "and there is more engraved on the other side."

"So there is," said as he flipped the blade over in his palms. "Any idea?"

"The baroness didn't even know it was there until I pointed it out," Vendra replied as Myrishi strapped himself into the sled's seat and began powering it up. "I've taken it everywhere from The Knowledge Repatriation Institute of New Obroa Skai to The New Rudrig University, and had no luck having the script even loosely connected to any known language."

"Nobody knows, huh?" Lavan pondered, brown eyes drifting over the script again as though the next pass might catch some clue they missed before.

"I wouldn't say that," Vendra offered, and Lavan frowned at her now thoughtful voice and expression.

"Yes," he prompted.

"Don't know," Vendra shrugged. "I was overseeing that shipment of refined yag'tok biomolecules on New Bimmissari and stopped off at the central marketplace on my way to the spaceport. I was approached by a woman who was more than a little interested in the sword."

"So she appreciated a finely crafted weapon," Lavan shrugged, running a fingertip gently up the blade's smooth cool surface. "Maybe she was setting up for a snatch and grab."

"This wasn't about a snatch and grab," Vendra replied certainly as she stooped to run a last minute check on the equipment she was prepping. "She asked to see it."

"Still sounds like a set up," Lavan said.

"So why did she back off a step when I offered to let her hold it?" Vendra prompted, finally standing and turning to him. "I don't know either," she answered Lavan's silent shrug. "But she did see the script on both sides. She took a good look, Dad. She knew what it said."

"And didn't give you any clue, huh," Lavan muttered absently, waving the blade slowly and watching the light dance about its darkness.

"Actually she did," Vendra explained, fastening a utility belt snugly about her waist and checking the power level of her XelTac-21 blaster before dropping it into the holster on her hip. "She praised me for my bravery and wished me well in my destined task."

"Your 'destined task,'" Lavan prompted, raising his eyebrows.

Vendra shrugged again, "Like I said, I don't know. What I do know is that she knew more about the sword and script than anybody I've ever been able to find. She disappeared before I could make a play for more information. I tried to catch her, but you know how Bimmisarri marketplaces are."

"Be lucky to find a Wookiee in all that," Lavan agreed, the sword's edges hissing loudly as he replaced the blade in its sheath.

"I'll find out what the script means eventually," Vendra said, propping her right foot on the edge of the sled and securing a vibroblade in the boot-sheath. "But we've got other mysteries to solve right now, so you should be getting ready."

"Right," Lavan replied, trying to keep the disdain from his voice as he eyed the equipment Vendra had sorted for him. It took an embarrassing number of attempts to cram his feet into his grav boots, but Lavan finally prevailed. Though he felt a little off balance standing in boots that looked more like starship landing struts. The stiff Deflex body armor he wore under his jacket made moving hard and breathing a bit uncomfortable, and his utility belt that made his pants sag despite the suspenders concealed beneath his jacket. With the breathmask hugging his face it occurred to Lavan that he looked more machine than man.

"Okay," Vendra said, activating her grav-boots and breathmask. "Let's do it."

Lavan's leg muscles clenched briefly as he activated his own boots and fit the warmers to his ears. The boots and body armor were bearable enough, but breathmasks were probably the most claustrophobic, cumbersome, and annoying inventions the galaxies had ever seen. That Darth Vader had to spend every day living inside one was probably what turned him into one of the most infamous tyrants in galactic history.

Lavan adjusted the mask over his face and found inspiration in his line of thought. "Vendra," he said in a deep voice, "I am your father."

Vendra and Myrishi looked at Lavan, then at each other, and then back at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" Vendra asked, her voice muted by the mask as she stood regarding her father with hopelessly bewildered eyes.

"I dunno," Lavan replied quickly. "Let's get going, huh."

Myrishi and Vendra held their uncomfortable gazes for another heartbeat before Vendra reached for a switch on the small control panel beside her. Abruptly, the cabin's lighting became a muted orange glow as a caution-alert sounded. A sharp hiss rose above the warbling alarm briefly as the heavy cargobay doors parted once more. Vendra pulled her right foot up, the motion delayed as the boot's magnetic field clung to the deckplates before releasing. The field released her foot easily enough, and she stepped to the side with three heavy steps as Myrishi raised the equipment sled on its repulsorlifts, angling the craft perpendicular to the cabin. He activated the forward floodlights and began nudging the sled toward the threshold of the waste dump.

"Not too far ahead, Myrishi," Vendra instructed, looking around warily, stepping to the edge of the Dagger's cofferdam and sweeping the waste dump's interior with the double-barreled Vee-fourty-five heavy blaster. Myrishi brought the sled halfway out of the cofferdam, and Vendra and Lavan to secured themselves to either side of the sled for the short drop between the cofferdam and the waste dump's floor. The breathmask filled Vendra's ears with a dull raspy drone as she clamped her safety-cable to the sled, looking over at her father as she did so.

Lavan was locking his own safety-cable to the sled with his right hand, and holding his own weapon in ready position with his left. His weapon was a single-barrel WanCor P-22 Smartshot rifle. Though it had the auto-target acquisition scope feature that made the weapon a favorite among novice game-hunters, Lavan's severe lack of marksman practice still worried her. Despite the gun's artificial intelligence, the P-22 could be as dangerous to the shooter as to the target. But it was better than nothing. She would keep an eye on him.

The white light of their glow-beams was colored by the sparkling blue hue of the Dagger's particle shields that danced along the perimeter of the waste dump, sealing the breach against vacuum. The hoversled's repulsors purred quietly as it drifted over the waste dump's threshold, then glided gently to the dump's floor.

Wasting no time, Vendra quickly unhooked the safety-line from her waist. Her boots fixed to the floor, and she felt a slight pressure on her ankles as she immediately swept the waste dump with her rifle. Decompression and the resulting fire had indeed cleared the waste dump. The dump was completely hollow. The walls, ceiling, and floor scarred by the inferno that raged so briefly. The vacant space was now filled only with the noises of breathmasks, repulsor engines, and grav boots as the trio moved deeper into the waste dump's shadows.

"There is the interior hatch," Vendra said over the steady hiss-thrump of her breathmask, gesturing ahead with her rifle to about fifty feet ahead. "Let's get set up and take some remote sensor readings. Now that we're actually inside we might get a better look at what is on the other side of that hatch."

Her two crewmates acknowledged and the trio began moving for the center of the roughly rectangular compartment. Her footsteps were frustratingly ponderous with the megnetic boots. Vendra imagined herself moving like a Gammorrean with a thyroid problem as she studied the deep gashes and dents that resulted when the dump vomited its contents.

"We will stop here," she called into her headset. They were about halfway into the waste dump now, and it seemed as good a place as any for a preliminary interior sensor sweep. "Myrishi, see what you can do to give us a picture."

The Jawa's eyes sparkled like distant stars shining amid the darkness of space, the backwash of the small viewscreen illuminating his breathmask as he watched the sensor-scope flash with the data-feed. Yet Vendra felt stirrings of disappointment and amazement that still she could not see the features of Myrishi's face. It occurred to Vendra as she watched Myrishi work that not only had she never seen the face of a Jawa, but that she had never encountered anyone who did.

And it was not for lack of asking.

Her breathmask continued flooding her ears with its heavy electronic gasping sound as Vendra turned casually back toward her ship. Suspended on a right angle with its port and starboard fins spread, surrounded as she was by the brilliant blue glow of shield energy sealing the breach, the Black Dagger looked like a gigantic flying insect trapped in a repulsor field. Her comlink crackled with Myrishi's report, and Vendra turned away from the uneasy prospect of leaving the Dagger unattended as the Jawa gave his preliminary report.

"Myrishi says there are gravitational readings just beyond the pressure maintenance hatch," she translated for her father. "Looks like there is a breathable atmosphere to. But everyone keeps their masks on until we're sure," she added gravely. The instruction specifically aimed at her father, whom she knew was just itching to take it off at the first opportunity. "I want a full air composition analysis done of the atmosphere before we start breathing it."

"And the wildlife?" Lavan asked, though Vendra was pretty sure he didn't really want to know.

Myrishi huffed the answer at Vendra, and she liked hearing that answer about as much as Myrishi liked saying it. "There are substantial lifeform readings," she said. "Though the sensors still can't differentiate exact species. It does appear that most of those lifeforms are sedentary."

"Plants," Lavan offered. "Glow lichen, and so forth."

"Yeah," Vendra replied soberly, "plus a few smaller species the sensors just can't pick out."

"Like thud bugs," Lavan said grimly, his rifle's glow light fixed on the pressure maintinence hatch as though he were just waiting from some nasty little bloodthirsty Yuhzzan Vong monster to come boiling out of it.

"Maybe," Vendra conceded, grimacing slightly in anticipation of their next debate.

"Okay, so what do we do?" Lavan asked, surprising her. His voice was calm and controlled. Maybe there was more of an adventurer within the Bakurran business man than anyone thought.

"Now you go open that hatch," Vendra ordered. "Myrishi and I will hold back here and cover you."

"What?!" Lavan demanded instantly. Vendra hadn't expected her father to go for the idea. Lavan's sense of adventure may have run deeper than expected, but Vendra had obviously run into its limit.

"The sled has our equipment," Vendra explained. "It has to hang back and be protected. No offense, but I'm a much better shot than either of you two." She tried to keep the wry humor from her voice as she spoke. Apparently, she failed.

"All right," Lavan replied unhappily, eyeing his daughter over the breathmask. "Just don't get cocky and miss. I don't want to wind up as dinner for a relative of our grutchin greeter."

"I won't," Vendra replied, setting her rifle to full power and lining up the scope on the maintenance hatch. "Take the laser cutter and a shaped charge with you. But try opening the hatch with the manual override first."

"We want to keep the interior damage to a minimum. I know, I know," Lavan grumbled, hefting the appropriate carrying-cases across his shoulders and stomping off for the hatch at the pace of a Dagobah moss-slug. Vendra traced the waste dump's ceiling as she waited for her father's update and found the dump's other potential exit. It was a waste disposal shute. A shute which undoubtedly led into a higher section of the ship, providing a more direct route to their destination. The hoversled could easily carry them all up the thirty-foot distance, but from what Vendra knew of waste shutes, the space in there would be cramped. Although the holoschematic had provided a more than adequate map of the destroyer's interior, there was no guarantee they wouldn't have to blow the shute's other side to get out. In quarters as close as those, using a charge would be very dangerous. In fact, using a shaped charge in these quarters might not be wise either. She was about to consult with her crew-mates about that when Lavan stopped and seemed to hunch down slightly.

"How are you doing, Dad?" Vendra commed.

"I feel like I just finished a Bortas marathon," Lavan huffed in return. "Okay, I've found the hatch's manual release lever. I'm trying it now."

"Wait. Give the automatic release a try first," Vendra said.

"Nothing," Lavan reported after a moment. Vendra wasn't really surprised.

"Do you still have those extra power cells you were wearing when you showed off you outfit?" Vendra asked.

"Yeah," Lavan responded. "I'll try jury-rigging one into the port and see what happens."

"Before you do that I want you to tether yourself to something solid and be ready to cut out your grav boots as soon as that hatch starts opening. I may have to start shooting quicker that we think. And you will be able to get clear faster without the boots than with them."

Vendra couldn't hear what it was her father mumbled on his end of the comlink, but she knew him well enough to get the gist. She felt like gently suggesting again that he remain with the ship, but then she saw her father's arm moving to secure a safety-cable and reconsidered. What was needed right now was cooperation, not argument. Besides, Vendra's blacking out at the Dagger's helm was proof enough that she couldn't do this alone.

"Be ready, Myrishi," Vendra said soberly, tightening her aim on the hatch and vowing again to keep her crew safe as, through the rifle's scope, she saw her father reach over to the console. The hatch shuddered deeply, groaning with the resistance of rust and corrosion before flinging outward on its hinges. But there was no chance for a look into the gloomily lit corridor beyond.

From that hazy phosphoresent area beyond the hatch, the waste dump was suddenly inundated with long winged eel-like creatures that resembled wild electrical charges.

Over the comlink Vendra heard Myrishi's scream, but the creatures seemed not to have taken notice of the rest of the waste dump. They swarmed crazily about the maintenance hatch, and Vendra clung to the hope they might settle without any trouble.

Then she heard she father's anguished scream over the comlink, and terror instantly exploded in her heart. "Dad!" she literally wailed into her comlink, immediately swinging her rifle to where her father was suspended. She was horrified to find Lavan glowing with a sheen of angry blue sparks as one of the enraged eel-creatures clung viciously to his outer thigh. Vendra capped off a shot before she could worry about severing her father's leg. The flailing beast loosed a primal shriek of agonized surprise as her shot struck dead center in its back. The eel twitched, its bioelectrical charge flaring and fading as it dropped from Lavan's scorched leg.

There was no time for her to see what became of the creature though, much less check her father's condition before the remaining creatures collected themselves and, with a united scream akin to the sound of shattering glassteel, formed a wedge of lethal light. The flying eels were coming on to swarm the hoversled, Vendra swept their crackling formation with a hail of repeating blasts. Not aiming, but trying to deflect and deter the coming onslaught. More death-shrieks split the air, but before Vendra could even wonder how many were taken out. Her sight was suddenly burning with furious blue light as at least one of the eel-creatures bore down on her.

Vendra grunted, clenching her teeth, she twisted away as best as her magnetized grav boots would allow, realizing her mistake only as she did so. The eel-creatures were looking for opportunities to attack by grasping onto their prey, and Vendra had just presented her back and left flank as the perfect targets. But the knowledge had come too late, and Vendra swore violently as waves of fiery pain lanced down her spine. She flung her full weight around to attempt throwing the creature of her back, heard the thing shriek, and dared hope she had been successful. Yet as she turned in the direction the creature had pushed off, she found her hopes only partly realized. Her attacker had disengaged, screaming in anger as it banked around to attack again. But it wasn't Vendra the eel-creature was after now. She glimpsed Myrishi, still strapped to the sled, saw the mini-laser torch in his trembling hands, and knew that he had used it to ward off her attacker.

Now that attacker sought vengeance against the brown robed interloper. Vendra could see the fright radiating from the Jawa as he twisted in his restraints to face the eel-creature bearing down on him. Myrishi had the surprise-advantage the first time, but the creature wasn't distracted now. Clenching her teeth against the pain roiling through her, Vendra raised a weak and unsteady gunarm and shot the creature dead center in the head. Down it went, and Myrishi was safe. But whatever relief the pair felt was instantly evaporated as, with a vicious hiss, one of the blazing eel-creatures swooped in and landed hard on the sled directly in front of Myrishi. The creature's bioelectrical charge sent a current of electricity blazing through the sled, frying its systems and sending the craft pounding onto the durasteel deck. Jolted violently by the impact, Myrishi grunted and dropped his welder, now helpless before the shimmering creature hissing malevolently at him as it slithered along the front of the sled like a snake along the ground. Its wings were folded back and, for the first time, Vendra saw its reptilian purple-black eyes and white fangs. Its brilliant black-lit forked tongue flickering toward Myrishi's chest.

The eel-creature sensed the Jawa's fear; it must have, for Vendra could. Her heart was racing, her pulse thundering, the adrenaline raging through her like an angry flood of lava. Yet though she tried to aim her mighty weapon with every shred of her being, the rifle was too heavy, her arm too exhausted. All the notoriously willful Vendra Seron could do was tremble as she witnessed what this terrible creature did to one of the most noble loyal beings she had ever called a friend.

The eel-creature hissed once more and shot forward, and angry light blazed in Vendra's eyes, their came a horrendous shriek and a smell that burned her nostrils. Vendra opened her eyes to see the crippled sled quaking with the quivering Jawa who was very much alive and sheltering his head with his arms. On the sled before him lay the corpse of a dead eel-creature, a profound blaster burn that began at its tail and underbelly.

"Turn off the lights!" her father's strained voice called. Vendra looked and saw him floating up-side-down beside the hatch, still tethered to the bulkhead with a nastily burned thigh and not wearing his breathmask or headset comlink.

"Myrishi, kill those lights!" Vendra gritted between gnashed teeth as she powered down her rifle's own glow light. She had no clue why her father had given that instruction, and no time to ponder a reason before burning beams of crimson lanced the air overhead. Belatedly, she recalled Lavan as carrying the P-22 Smartshot rifle. Ignoring the pain of badly traumatized muscles, Vendra twisted to look behind her.

There, still closed and secure within the sheen of pulsating blue deflector shield energy, was the Black Dagger. And reeling around that blue energy field, attracted by either the pulsating light, or the field's heat or energy signature, were seven more of the eel-creatures. Her father, obviously, was taking advantage of the lure to pick them off. And as Vendra tried steadying her still uncertain hands for a few shots of her own, she remembered P-22's auto-tracking feature.

Three more of the flailing eel-creatures had dropped to her father's rifle by the time Vendra abandoned her rifle and took adequate but hardly certain aim with her XelTac-21. In seconds the wicked energy faded from the remaining creature's body as it dropped dead to the deck.

The dark waste dump fell totally silent save the quiet moans of a terrified Jawa, the sizzling of the hoversled's fried internal systems and, of course, Vendra's thundering heart. Her body shuddered with every breath. The muscles in Vendra's arms and hands shook with the aftereffects of the eel-creature's assault.

"Myrishi," she gritted, fighting an all out war with her right hand to holster her XelTac, "were you hit?"

It took a moment, but finally the Jawa was able to stammer a response.

"Don't try any of the sled's systems," she huffed. "We don't want to risk a backfeed." Clenching her teeth, Vendra put all her strength into the effort to take a step. Her foot hardly budged, and she had just clenched her fists when her brain suddenly caught up with her. The repulsorsled had dropped like a desert stone when its engine's overloaded, as had the eel-creatures after being shot. Flipping on her rifle's glow light, she trained on her father.

"Dad," she called, "are you all right?"

"Thanks for finally asking," her father replied dryly over the comlink he had replaced over his face. He was sitting beside the open maintenance hatch, boots off to the side and rifle held across his chest. "Careful when you take your boots off. The gravity is a bit light in here."

Vendra was still mussing over the gravity situation. Maybe dorvin basals had more range than she thought?

"How is your leg?" Vendra asked, easing herself down to release the boots with one quivering hand while bracing herself against the sled with the other.

"Sore as Zorba and shaking like a nervous Gungan," her father came back. "The tremor seems to be easing off though. How is Myrishi?"

Vendra glanced at the still frightened Jawa as she slid her other foot out of the boot, her warnings about the sled blaring in her mind as she leaned with her hand pressed against it. "He's pretty rattled but fine physically. I think the sled's had the dust crep though."

"I don't think it would have done us much good beyond this hatch," Lavan snorted darkly. "Seriously, Vendra, I really don't like our odds here."

"Stay there, I'm coming with a medpack," Vendra called, not even thinking to argue. The Black Dagger was right there, safe and sound and ready to go. True, she still couldn't get out of the Wraith. But distress signal or not, falling back on the plan of trying for the hangar maintenance bays was really looking like the smarter move. But what surprises were waiting for them in the docking bays? The question weighed on Vendra's mind like a Hutt as she unstrapped one of the supply pouches and examined it, hoping it had been insulated against the electrical feedback. The outer casing looked a lot like the walls of the waste dump, but the contents were unspoiled and undamaged.

"Stay with the sled, Myrishi," she instructed, slinging the scorched medpack over her shoulder and hefting her blaster. "I'm going to see to Dad."

The Jawa jabbered, the sounds almost pleading.

"I know," Vendra replied, starting off. "I'm thinking the same thing."

Though the brunt of the pain seemed localized to her arms and back, walking the roughly twenty-five paces felt more like climbing a worshyr tree, and the weight of carrying the medpack and rifle slung over her shoulder didn't help the situation. Still, after what just happened with those eel-creatures, the heavy blaster was a gift not to be scorned. As she reached her father, she knew the medpack was a gracious prize as well.

"It's my leg," Lavan grunted, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth as Vendra peered at the dark streak of seared flesh running along his left thigh. "The thing grabbed the first chunk of me it found and tried burning it off."

"Try and hold still," Vendra said, fumbling for a canister of antiseptic with an uncooperative hand. Like her father, Vendra's trembling seemed to be gradually subsiding, but her motor control was still flawed. She was about to suggest that her father might have to tend to himself when a small pair of hands took the canister from the pouch for her. She looked to her left and found Myrishi's sparkling eyes looking at her from behind the visor of his breathmask.

The Jawa grunted a question, gesturing with the canister he had readied.

"Just spray even and slowly along the burn," Vendra said, wincing with her father's pained sigh as she tore his pant-leg open a bit further. "Sorry."

Lavan just nodded and stiffened harder as Myrishi applied the aerosol to the wound.

"Now a bacta strip," Vendra said, biting her lip with the effort of keeping her hand from shaking. The Jawa huffed reassuringly as he pulled the medicated bandage from its wrapping and packed it gently but firmly over the burn. It barely fit, but would do the trick. By the time Myrishi had applied a strip of syntheflesh to hold everything secure, the worst of Lavan's pain seemed to subside and he relented against the wall completely.

"Thanks, Myrishi," Lavan huffed.

The Jawa grunted in reply, all ready investigating Vendra's wounded back.

"Actually, Myrishi," Vendra suggested gently, looking her father in the eye, "maybe Dad can help me with that." She looked at Lavan and caught his barely noticeable nod of understanding. "What I could really use is a desensitizer. There isn't one in the pack. Could you go find one for me?"

The Jawa clucked helpfully, his brown hood ducking down as he dug into one of the equipment pouches on his small bandolier, pulling a small flat disk and awaiting instructions.

"Thank you," Vendra replied, unsurprised by Myrishi's preparedness. It was doubtful that there was anything she might ask for that the Jawa didn't all ready have handy. She thought about using the hoversled as a fall-back excuse, but Myrishi was too far ahead of her. His series of grunts and clucks making it perfectly clear that he knew what the Serons were trying to do, but that he had every right to be part of the impending conversation.

"You're right," Vendra conceded, feeling her embarrassment mirrored in her father's eyes and silence. They had the best intentions, but exclusion from important discussions was no way to treat any crew-member. "I'm sorry. But let's see to our wounds first. You took a real jolt when the sled dropped. How is your back?"

The Jawa shrugged, and Vendra could see the discomfort there. "Then you take the desensitizer for a bit first," Vendra said. "What do you say, Dad? Feel up to some patch-work."

"Come over to this side," he said, gesturing toward the corner of the still open hatch and grimacing hard as he began sidling along the wall. He would have preferred to have pulled back at least as far as the sled, if not the ship. But he didn't feel up to walking right then. If either Vendra or Myrishi felt any more confident, they would have all ready spoken up. "You can cover the hatch while I do this."

"Good idea," crouching beside the hatch with her XelTac in hand and wincing hard at the powerful cold sting of the antiseptic spray against the burns on her back. "You said the hoversled wouldn't help us much in there," she said.

"The corridor is thick with some sort of vine growing on the walls. Maybe the ceiling too, I couldn't tell. And the floor is covered with some kind of peat or moss. Doesn't look like there is any other plant or animal life other than a dorvin basal."

"The gravity field activated as soon as the hatch opened," Vendra mused, hissing air between her teeth as Lavan made another pass with the antiseptic. "Any idea where it is?"

"I didn't exactly feel up to a stroll," Lavan chuckled glumly. "Or shining a beam of light in there for some other nightmare to follow."

"Right. How's my back doing?" Vendra asked.

"We will be fresh out of syntheflesh and bacta bandages, but there's enough to do the job," Lavan replied. "Then what?"

"Fall back to the Dagger, detach, and scout the hangar," Vendra replied flatly.

"We're probably going to have a similar experience," her father pointed out, smoothing over the syntheflesh-patching.

"I know," Vendra replied, shifting her tunic back over her shoulder and trying a right-handed grip on her blaster. "But the hangar's maintenance bays are more likely to have the parts we need to repair the ship. Alliance law regardless, that has to be our main concern now. Myrishi, get away from there!"

The Jawa's diminutive robed form was a figure cast in shadow as he stood directly in front of the maintenance hatch. Vendra had hardly finished her outburst before she lunged herself at him.

"Whoa! Easy, Ace!" Lavan said, clenching hard against the pain raging in his leg as he hooked his arm around Vendra's waist to keep her from dropping to the deck.

"I'm all right," Vendra groaned, the corridor suddenly spinning around her head at lightspeed.

"Yeah, and Jabba was underweight," Lavan replied, his voice strained as he forced himself to his feet. "Looks like its back to the Dagger for rest and recuperation."

For a moment, Vendra was inclined to protest. Then she made the mistake of attempting to walk on her own. "If it'll make you feel better," she mumbled as her stomach asserted itself.

A few hours later, after a rest period far shorter than Lavan would have liked, his face was once again crammed into the heavy faceplate of a breathmask. He was hot. He felt sticky. He was as miserable as a Gamorrean at a Hapan beauty-spa, when Vendra sounded off with the news he had been waiting to hear.

"We can take our masks off," she announced, already working at her mask's clasps. "The air is sufficient in quantity and quality."

"Thank Ackbar for that!" Lavan exclaimed, flailing against the wall and pulling at his breathmask with undue enthusiasm.

"And it looks like Myrishi has found our dorvin basal," Vendra continued, watching the Jawa as he watched the readings of his mobile scanning unit.

The disgusting bio-engineered monster that they had to thank for the privilege of not throwing up every thirty seconds because of zero-gravity.

Great.

"What else has he found?" Lavan asked tentatively, pausing his caged-animal-like struggle with the breathmask and waiting for the bad news he was sure was coming.

"That's it," Vendra replied, moving closer to the hatch and peering into the space beyond where those eel creatures had swarmed from. "Besides the dorvin basal there are no other animal lifeforms in this section of the ship." She shifted her right hand into one of the deep pockets of her badly burned replacement jacket and pulled a small hand-held glowrod. The glowrod zapped to life, its green radiance almost teal against the backdrop of sparkling blue illumination emanating from the Dagger's deflector shield.

Vendra's irises were ghostly bright as she took a step into the hatch and slowly waved the glowrod around for a look.

"Uh, would you come out of there please?" Lavan asked nervously, standing his ground on what he hoped was the safe side of the hatch.

"I found the basal," Vendra's voice echoed from the unsafe side of the hatch. "It's attached to the ceiling. Doesn't look so good, though. I think it's dying."

"Well maybe you can adopt it and nurse it back to health," Lavan suggested wryly. "Come on out of there now."

"This corridor is about ten meters long," Vendra said, her voice becoming distant as she moved further in, and Lavan thumped his head against the bulkhead as he tried to accept the inevitable. "It's only about five wide. But I think that's because of the vegetation density in here."

Lavan looked at Myrishi with a mirthless grin. "She's not coming out of there, you know. Guess what that means?"

"Dad, you and Myrishi have to see this," Vendra called, and Lavan grimaced hard. Still, he knew it was coming.

"I'll take your word that it's spectacular," he replied flatly. "Better yet, come out and tell us all about it."

"No, really, you have to see this," Vendra insisted. "Come on."

"After you," Lavan motioned to a suddenly stiffened Myrishi. His injured leg still felt as though a hot knife was being twisted into it, but the pain was only a manageable discomfort and not something he could use as an excuse. "Come on, Myrishi," he said grimly. "Let's go find something else that wants to kill us."

The thick layer of dark green moss covering the corridor's deckplates wasn't nearly as firm as it looked. Lavan thought his feet would sink out of sight as he stepped on it, but it was the corridor's smell that hit him first. A dank musty stench of mildew and decay that stung his nose and filled his mouth with an aftertaste similar what he experienced when Vendra cooked him dewback stew for his birthday. Every bite was like munching a thousand-year-old clump of bantha poodoo. But throughout the entire culinary ordeal Lavan wore a grin worthy of a Hutt slurping down a Barab mud slug.

"Smells like a Troydarian commune in here," he muttered, the pit of his gut beginning to shift. His eyes adjusted to the gloomy green glow of luminescent lichen as he began trudging his way toward Vendra's silhouette. He looked around as he walked, mouth contorting with the magnitude of the stench. He had been wondering what would be worse: breathing with that blasted breathmask, or breathing without it, when he looked up and saw the dorvin basal.

"Mother of Sidius," he breathed, the supreme foulness of the air forgotten as he focused on the circular shadow suspended by long muscular tentacles. The creature's spherical form was expanding and contracting, some of its slender tentacles writhing along the walls and ceiling as if the creature was searching for something. Lavan dipped his head, hunched his shoulders, and stayed as far away from the walls as possible just in case what the dorvin basal was looking for was a tasty Bakurran. "This better be good, Vendra," he muttered, stepping beside his daughter and peering through the small gaps in the naturally woven strands of glittering vegetation that provided a radiant barrier between Lavan . . .

And the roughly one hundred meter patch of Yuhzzan Vong bioengineered jungle he was now gazing out at.

"Okay, what was this?" he asked, surveying the myriad colors, shades, and shapes of alien plantlife that had completely overgrown whatever section of the ship this used to be.

"Schematics say it's the heavy mechanical waste dismantlement area," Vendra replied, her sterling eyes scanning the massive section.

"A wrecking yard," Lavan said. "They dismantled, melted down, and compacted the heaviest of their junk here and probably used droids to transfer whatever was left through this corridor and into the waste dump."

"I need a set of macrobinoculars," Vendra said, though Lavan thought she wasn't speaking to him. "The sensor pack picked up a few small reptilian and arachnid species out there. And a whole lot more insect variations. But not much in the way of larger animal lifeforms. I want to survey as much of the area from here as possible before going down."

As Vendra laid out the plan she shifted the sensor pack she had been reading down to her left side. She just kept talking, kept thinking, kept surveying the bioengineered world sprawled beyond as her Jawa partner instantly exchanged the sensor pack for the macrobinolulars.

"Don't touch that," Vendra instructed her father as he began reaching to gently examine the lichen screen with his right hand. Lavan cast a perturbed look at his daughter, but she was all ready preoccupied with adjusting the macrobinoculars' focus. Holding them before her eyes, she swept them left and right, her face almost grim with concentration.

"Myrishi," Lavan said quietly, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and grimacing as his calf muscle began searing again. "Would you hand me that desensitizer?"

"Got it," Vendra said suddenly.

The pain hot building in Lavan's leg was immediately forgotten. "Got what?" he asked, uselessly trying to track down whatever Vendra had found.

"Well I think I've got it, anyway," Vendra corrected, lowering the macrobinoculars and staring intently at something in the distance. "Starboard turbolift shaft," she nodded, absently handing the macrobinoculars to her father.

"You sure?" Lavan asked skeptically, zeroing in on a thicket of dense bush and vine forming a strange sort of arching protuberance along the left bulkhead about thirty-five meters away.

"Not quite," Vendra admitted easily. "But the growth has the right shape and height for a set of turbolift doors appropriate for this class of ship. I'd say our chances are better than even."

"What do you think of our chances walking through thirty-five meters of Vong jungle?" Lavan asked grimly.

"We're going to have to be careful," Vendra replied, her tone distracted as she frowned into the viewscreen of a data pad. Her sterling eyes reflecting the screen's white light as she studied a schematic. "I think it's our best chance, though. According to this the shaft should take us almost all the way up to the Executive crew quarters."

"That sounds promising," Lavan offered.

"Especially considering the Executive quarters are designated as high security areas," Vendra pointed out, turning away from the lichen screen and starting back up the corridor without looking up from the data pad.

"I don't know about this," Lavan said flatly, his voice echoing around the corridor overlooking the Dawn's

wreaking yard as he skeptically eyed the device Myrishi had secured to either of the corridor walls. The working-assembly of the automatic winch was housed in a four-foot rectangular durasteel casing. Bolted securely to the walls the winch would, Lavan hoped, support the trio as they repelled some thirty-five feet to the surface of the alien jungle below. Looking out at the dense thickets and twisted overgrowths of multicolored foliage, Lavan wondered which he was more uneasy about: falling from that thirty-five meters, or making it to the ground in one piece. He found neither prospect especially appealing.

"You will be fine," Vendra assured her father, stepping over the winch to slice away the glow lichen with her vibroblade. "You're not that heavy. With the equipment packs, I mean," she added quickly as she began drawing a thin slit down the right side of the area the lichen covered.

"Uh-huh," Lavan replied, the response heavy with sarcasm as he shifted the bulk of his burgeoning pack into a more comfortable position on his back and shoulders. Loaded with everything from spare blasterpacks to datapads, power cells, and a portable bio and environmental analysis unit, Lavan felt like an overworked Bantha. Of course, to be fair, he couldn't claim to be the expedition's only beast of burden. With the hoversled gone, its system's fused by the attack of those electric eel nightmare's, the labor of manually carrying necessities had been split among the three of them. Lavan was shouldering most of the heavy technical equipment. Vendra was hauling the weapons, more ammunition, and their medical supplies. Myrishi, possessing the ability to carry many times his own body weight, was given charge of the foodstuffs. So, although Lavan remained perfectly unhappy to soon be dropping into a bioengineered Vong jungle filled with Dooku knew what, he could at least be satisfied that the misery was spread equally. "I don't suppose we have any more information on what's out . . . WATCH IT!" he snapped, dropping low, his eyes leaping all around as the long flexible tentacles of the dorvin basal on the ceiling began writing and twitching anxiously along the walls. "Vendra, move!" Lavan warned as the basal began reaching her way. "That thing is after you!"

Vendra spun around, holding the vibroblade in a defensive position high across her chest with the left hand as she flipped her XelTac from its holster with the right. "That's interesting," she said, taking aim for the creature's center mass but glancing at the fleshy tentacles flittering all about her as they scratched the walls. "Whatever the basal of looking for, it isn't any of us."

"So what is it looking for?" Lavan asked nervously, his bulky backpack quivering with Myrishi's trembling as the Jawa huddled behind it.

"I'm not sure," Vendra replied, relaxing from her defensive stance and watching the basal's agitated appendages more closely. "Whatever it is though, I'm standing right close to it." Still holding her weapon ready, Vendra looked behind her at the half-cut screen of glow lichen. She realized the answer immediately, but her father said it first.

"It wants the lichen," Lavan said, his tone relaxing.

"And badly, from the look of it," Vendra added, watching as those slender pipe-like tentacles scrambled to scoop up and tear away all the glow lichen they could reach.

"What are you doing?" Lavan asked as Vendra began strategically cutting the lichen again, making the plant as accessible to the basal as possible.

"Well we're just cutting the lichen away anyway," Vendra shrugged. "If the basal can use it, why not let it?"

"I was kidding about adopting the thing," Lavan said, cautiously getting up.

"I'm not going to adopt it," Vendra chuckled as the basal plucked a strand of lichen from her hand. "But I'm not going to let it suffer either. It's starving. But it's obviously been here for a long time. Where do you think it has been getting its food supply from?"

"Those eel things maybe," Lavan replied, grabbing for the most obvious answer as he shooed Myrishi from his leg. "This corridor might have been their nest or something. The eel creatures might have had some sort of symbiotic relationship with the basal."

"Seems reasonable," Vendra agreed securing her fibrecord harness to the winch and adjusting her equipment pack as she stepped to the edge of the open space just beyond the open shaft. "I'll go first. Myrishi, wait for my signal before you start your descent. Dad, you bring up the rear. I'll cover you from below. But keep a weapon ready. Both of you."

"Easy for you to say," Lavan snorted, peering over Vendra's shoulder at the very distant ground. "This may be recreation for you, but I've never done it before. I'm going to be too busy trying not to kill myself for anything else."

"The winch is automatic. All you have to do is provide the weight and momentum. Don't worry about it." Vendra assured Lavan as she faced her crewmates, gripped the line, and dropped lightly from the edge.

Lavan and Myrishi peered down, watching as Vendra repelled down a massive bulkhead densely covered by a dark brown moss, flaring purple weeds, and dull orange vines.

"Yeah, Myrishi," Lavan said nonchalantly, nudging the little alien's tiny shoulder with an elbow. "All we have to do is provide the weight and momentum. Nothing to worry about."

Vendra's first swing dropped her about ten feet before the line pulled taut and she was pulled feetfirst against the

sickly-sweet smelling foliage by inertia. She gently kicked off again into another gracefully lazy arc that gained her another ten feet before she again felt her boots impacting the soft but rank vegetation. A cool subtle wisp of air blew over her face and into her ears as Vendra felt the line's tingly vibration in her hand. That wisp, like the one before it, summoned to her nose the scents of freshness and decay existing as one. She braced her feet beneath her for the kick that would drop her to the jungle-floor.

Her feet landed lightly on the soft leafy turf that had long ago overgrown the wrecking yard's durasteel and permacrete deck. Vendra's hands were dictated by haste and practice as she quickly unhooked her harness from the line and dropped into a low defensive crouch. Spinning on her knee to face the dense twisted thickets of brush, bush, and what looked like tall drooping trees. The varied shades and colours of the forest blended in the corners of Vendra's eyes and mind as she shrugged a long lean rifle from her right shoulder. The rifle's stock dropped into her left hand as she took hold of the grip with her right. She raised the XelTac I-47 hunting-rifle and began tracking the scope around her. More than just secure the area, the rifle's artificial intelligence was using a wide array of sensors to penetrate deep into the encroaching alien terrain and map it.

Vendra swept the scope round in a slow patient circuit, her senses flooded with alien sights, sounds, and smells. And Vendra didn't need the rifle's senors, or any other instrument, to tell her what she had known since seeing this place from the edge of the corridor above. This Yuzzhan Vong bioengineered jungle was dying.

"All clear," Vendra called into the mouthpiece of her headset. "Myrishi, you're next. I'll cover you from down here. Dad, keep that P-22 Smartshot handy and cover from above. After Myrishi's down, I'll signal for to start your drop."

"I'm looking forward to it," her father replied, his static-distorted tone dry and humorless. "Myrishi is on his was now."

"It feels swollen," Lavan commented for the billionth time, sourly working his jaw as he thrust his tongue into the pungent air of the grotesque and alien jungle Vendra was leading them through. The odors of decay had been strong even from within the waste dump access corridor, and had gained further strength during his repelling descent. But it wasn't until he had touched down on the jungle floor that his senses experienced the full onslaught of the jungle's stomach hollowing stench.

"It's not swollen," Vendra replied shortly in an effort to taste as little of the retched air as possible. She swung her left arm in a wide circle that began at the shoulder, and the black blade with its sterling serpentine grip slashed through the dense thicket of rotted dull-gray bushes like a lightsaber through fresh entaru. The chopped bush did not fall away so much as shatter to fine powder as the blade hacked through it. Had it not been for the whisper of air stirred in the blade's wake the only sounds would have been trio's careful footsteps, and the muted almost lazy droning of the panicked swarm of thud bugs their intrusion had disturbed.

In a startled heartbeat Vendra stepped back, hand snapping for the ZelTac-21 holstered at her side as her mind inventoried every spot of her body not covered by armor. She flinched, gritting her teeth with eyes squeezed closed as a couple of the wicked insects impacted her shoulders and forearms before she could react. It was another heartbeat before she realized she felt no other attacks.

"Yikes!" she heard her father yelp just below Myrishi's frantic squeal. "I'm being . . .!" his voice broke off as his mind caught up with him too. "Left alone?" she heard him say, his tone puzzled.

Vendra didn't answer or turn to face him. At the moment her attention was cemented on the thud bug crawling along her forearm. Its thin body was about the length of Vendra's thumb. Though she thought it should have been considerably more rounded given that the Vong used the species as a type of blunt-force weaponry. Almost invisible under the light of the glow lichen that clung to the wrecking yard's ceiling, the bug's translucent wings fluttered and twitched at its sides as the insect continued meandering its clumsy way up her arm. Several times its wings and legs flailed, as though the creature were struggling to keep its footing. Several times the thud bug just stopped, its wings continuing to wave as if involuntarily as it seemed to shrink into itself. It was as if the thud bug had to rest, gathering energy for that next laborious step. Any doubt regarding the state of the creature's health evaporated as Vendra slowly shifted her forearm for a better look. As careful as her motion was, the shift of gravity proved too severe for the bug to hold its obviously feeble grip. It's unnaturally long thin body trembled, appendages flailing again as it released a barely audible buzz and fell from Vendra's arm.

"This place is dying," she said, her tone suddenly lonely as she looked around at the withered shrubs and brown lifeless grass, at the black mangled rotten trees and limp colourless vines pressing in all around her.

"More like eating itself," Lavan put in, moving to her side and peering through the decaying canopy of destitute plants up toward wrecking yard's ceiling. "Whenever and however all the 'Vongforming' got started, it was just a matter of time before it all started coming apart."

"Life needs room to grow," Vendra nodded, seeing Myrishi step to her other side as she watched a small brood of what she guessed were razor bugs, buzzing around and about some sort of tree that looked all but dead. "If it can't find new territory it builds over itself until it consumes itself," she said, hearing a quiet scuffing sound as her father scraped the barren dirt with his heel.

"The Vong would have approved, anyway," he said dryly, still studying the thick layer of glow lichen above that painted the entire area in a pale sickly yellow haze that was just barely adequate to see by. "Glow lichen seems to be doing well, though," he observed, looking around the disintegrating jungle and listening to Myrishi's feet scratching the ground as the Jawa fidgeted nervously. "What do you think? Connection, maybe?"

"Could be," Vendra shrugged, swathing at the twisted thicket of dead or dying vegetation again. The impatient foot shuffling had gotten louder behind her, and Vendra stifled her mounting annoyance as she continued hacking them a path to the turbolift which may not have even been passable. "Maybe the lichen absorbs the gases all this decomposition is creating."

"Yeah. Speaking of which," her father went completely silent then, and Vendra jumped with a startled yelp as she turned and saw him standing right there, bald forehead wrinkled and brown eyes bulging as he hung his tongue out as far as he could.

"Oh, for Jabba's sake, Dad!" she growled, spreading her arms as she turned away. "Your tongue isn't swollen. Let it go!"

"Well, I don't know," came the heated reply.

"Well I do know that you wouldn't have to worry at all if you had just done what I told you," Vendra pointed out, taking a long step over the remains of a huge dead tree-limb laying in their path. The toe of her left boot grazed it so lightly she hardly registered any sensation at all. But even that minor contact proved catastrophic to the blackened tree-limb, and it shattered to powder before she could take another step.

Nice.

"I told you to repel down that hill of moss back at the access hatch, not try and mate with it," she said with a grin.

"Hey!" her father roared, and Vendra imagined Lavan thumping his forefinger to his chest so hard he would have impaled himself if not for his durasteel body armor. "I've never done that before!"

"Could have fooled me," Vendra chuckled as she continued sweeping her black sword left and right, wondering what kind of brush this was as she did so. It was true she was not overly familiar with Vong brush and shrub, but she rather thought even dead material should cut different than this stuff. "Your technique was so first-rate."

"That's not fair," Lavan objected, and for the moment Vendra put aside Lavan and Myrishi's shuffling as she thought back to her father's "grand entrance" earlier that day. The descent had been a spacewalk for her, of course. After all, Vendra had climbed up and down Tattooine's Sebulba Ridge more times than she could count. She had also conquered Logray's Forge on Endor, and Zev's Glacier on Hoth. So the jaunt back at the access hatch was about as thrilling as an Ordon board meeting. While Myrishi, with his natural rodent agility, had been able to scamper and scramble his way down the line with only a couple of thousand complaints.

"Dad, you rolled down that slope like a Kaminoan Rollar Fish caught on the line," she laughed.

"Now listen," Lavan fumed.

"I have been listening," Vendra cut him off, turning on a heel. "Now, I don't why you two have been dragging your feet, but it's getting on my nerves!"

"Blame him!" Lavan said, motioning to the Jawa who was, in turn, pointing vehemently back at Lavan.

Exactly one heartbeat later, the web fell on them.

Barely had the sticky silk-like mesh ensnared them before Vendra reacted. Spinning, Vendra snatched her blaster from its holster and tracked along the thicket she had been swathing with the sword. As quick as she was, however, the predator trapping them was faster still. The stale air stirred, and Vendra caught a mere blink at the shadow as it sprung from somewhere in the thicket and flashed over her head. Vendra twisted as the shadowy blur dropped to the ground behind the webbed trio.

Her heart thundered like a heavy blaster at close range as she realized what the predator was.

Vendra Seron had been startled by many of the galaxies' most primal and vicious predators. From the wampa that had snatched her during a glacier-climb on Hoth, to the Hydra-sharks that had harried and crippled her sonic broad during a vacation to Realtrec II, the dark maned woman had certainly experienced more than her share of truly terrifying thrills. But only one species of creature could frighten even the smallest measure of reason from her mind.

It rose on four hairy stiletto legs. Its eight tremendous multifaceted eyes reflecting the glow lichen's sickly yellow light. And Vendra's breath froze in her chest as she found herself confronted by her greatest terror.

She would not remember her terrible scream as she recoiled from the enormous spider hungrily gazing at her.

A spider that was half the size of a dewback.

Vendra's XelTac-21 added its own piercing shriek barely a heartbeat later as its frantic owner fired the weapon in a gesture of blind instinct. The blaster bucked in her hand as a searing shot of crimson burned into the hairy arachnid's great sloped head just above its wide drooling mandibles and between the largest pair of eyes.

"Easy, Vendra! Easy!" her father called, his voice all but drowned beneath unending discharge of her blaster as she fired again and again. "You got it! It's dead!"

Her father's voice and words, usually so warm and welcome, were lost to the universe of terror Vendra's mind had become as she began slashing at the web. The wrecking yard's macabre yellow light danced and bounced about the sword's broadside as Vendra swung it in crazed slashes and arcs that sent her father and Jawa partner flailing to the ground.

"Vendra, it's okay!" Lavan yelled as he held his chin low to the ground. "Get it . . .!"

They swept in from amid the shadows with furiously confused but strangely deft motions almost too fast for Lavan to follow. Before Lavan even considered a mad scramble in any direction, he found himself flanked by a pair of arachnids. The fine prickly hairs sprouting from the three meter long legs of the spider on his left bristled. It gazed it him with eyes that looked like slanted eliptical mirrors shattered in a moment of terrible violence. The monstrosity twisted its enormous round head almost in an almost perfect rotation until it was gazing at Lavan from upside down. Somehow, amid the torrent of pure terror he shared with his daughter, Lavan's shocked mind registered that the beast had only one mandible as he tried to convince his frozen body to move.

"Dad! Look out!" The words were shrieked with such inhuman passion that Lavan didn't recognize his own daughter's voice as a ruby flash exploded in the corner of his right eye. It was Lavan's turn to scream then as the spider on his right, a huge black nightmare with gigantic drool-slopping mandibles, leaped high on three nimble legs in a sharp spring that would land the monster squarely on Lavan's back. Lavan was hardly aware of his outburst, let alone his movements as he frantically scrambled forward on all fours to escape. The spider with the missing mandible didn't seem to note its companion's move. All it saw was its prey attempting an escape, and all its arachnid instincts knew was to give chase. And although Lavan saw his daughter not ten feet away, although her XelTac-21 screeched with the anger of a Sith Lord's lightsaber as she fired again and again at the spider he could sense descending upon him, Lavan's heart embraced the inevitable truth that the Seron family was about to be reduced to a single member. The tearing and thrashing of dead leaves and brush flooded Lavan's ears. But as his leg was seized by the single mandible of the spider that had given case, as he felt the terrible jaw draw his durasteel reinforced boot into its mouth and clamp him for the kill, Lavan focused only on Vendra-and said goodbye.

"Dad!" Vendra screamed, taking her blaster in a two handed grip and aiming for the spider with the single mandible. But her shot was lost amid a massive fury of motion as the arachnid that had jumped into the air landed on the back of the spider attacking her father. Vendra heard her father's hysterical cry as he pulled his foot free and scrambled toward her once more. But that sound was overtaken almost instantly by the surprised squeal "Single Mandible" gave as the weight suddenly upon it forced the hairy black nightmare flat on its belly. The monster's next sound was a pained screech that resonated against Vendra's teeth like a laser-saw cutting durasteel as the beast on its back sank its terrible drool-slopping fangs into the back of "Single Mandible's" neck just behind its huge round head.

"Single Mandible" screeched again, its spine-trembling cry grating with anger as it fought back to its feet and began reeling back and forth on its four hairy legs. Its attacker, with only three legs on which to balance, was quickly overthrown. Dead leaves and brush snapped and crunched as "Three Legs" toppled to the ground.

Using its hind legs for balance, "Single Mandible" mounted and overpowered "Three Legs." A famished hiss grated from deep in "Single Mandible's" throat as the monster pressed a leg against "Three Leg's" forehead, and sank its fang into the exposed throat of its hapless prey.

"Everybody move into the thicket," Vendra whispered, her eyes fused on the sickening scene as her body trembled with terror. "We'll try and slip away while everything is," she paused as her stomach tightened and churned, "busy."

It was all the cue Myrishi needed, and the Jawa vanished into the shadow laden thicket, betraying no sound despite his speed.

"Dad!" Vendra hissed, hand shaking in spite of her

two-handed aim that was usually so sure. "Go. Now!"

She felt the worried glance Lavan gave his daughter, but the taller thicker human eased into cover with far less speed than the tiny terrified Jawa. Finally, it was Vendra's turn. Her muscles tightening as she grit her teeth . . . Took a single step back into the thicket's shroud . . . And had the fortune to step on what was perhaps the only twig that remained hard enough to snap. The sound was like the crack of an electrical spark, and Vendra froze as though electrocuted as that sudden sharp sound ricocheted wickedly through the macabre alien forest. The monstrous arachnid rumbled an unsettling buzzing growl, and the fine black hair covering its large grotesque body seemed to ripple as it raised its great awful head.

Once again Vendra found herself locking eyes with the thing, completely forgetting the blaster in her frozen hands. Natural instinct and training would have told her to just blast the beast and be done with it. But, as it was, her mind didn't even register her motion as she reeled around and dove into the thicket like an idiot.

The arachnid on the other hand took full notice of its other prey's departure, rearing up on its still trembling victim and releasing a long sustained shriek. The sound pierced the thicket like that of a billion mirrors being broken at once. Now, with that maddening cry still rattling in her skull, Vendra finally twisted to fire behind her as she ran. The flash of lethal crimson burning into the lower region of the spider's head beneath its single mandible. But even as that sickening shriek died with the scream of her blaster-shot, Vendra's instincts told her matters were worse.

"The turbolift is just a few meters outside of this thicket," she heard her father say, his voice just loud enough over the pounding of her feet and heart and the frightful white noise clouding her brain.

"Everybody stay together," she added, eyes flashing around the dense dead vegetation as she crunched more of the same underfoot. "We don't want any . . . Oh, no!" she breathed, stopping in spite of herself and almost toppling forward as her eyes focused on the irregular patches of space above her.

"I don't even want to turn around, do I?" Lavan asked, his own footfalls floundering. But, for when seemed like years, Vendra's eyes remained fixed on the crosswork of dim yellow glow lichen meshed across the ceiling above. One of Vendra's favorite childhood hobbies had been star-gazing into the night sky. In her mind she would connect the individual points of white lights with imagined lines that glittered as brightly in her mind as the stars and planets in the sky. She didn't just trace known constellation patterns, that was too easy. It was more fun to take those distant gem-like points and create patterns all her own. It was something she carried with her into adulthood, and something she'd done after first spotting the glowing meshwork of vegetation that had overtaken the ceiling of the Imperial Star Destroyer's wrecking yard.

Until now, the yellow light had looked as much like sky to her as it had for Lavan and Myrishi. But as Vendra began studying the various small gaps and shadows up there, she decided it also looked like a giant upside-down dejarik board. Of all her contemplations, however, one hadn't come to mind. Call it whatever one would–discomfort, or dread, but one speculation had never entered Vendra's darkest thoughts.

Only now did Vendra really see a handful of the thousands of individual glowing strands that came together in a complex weave at the center. The luminous mesh radiated outward from that center in a widening spiral with lines angled sharply at regular and precise intervals.

Only now did she see the dark forms spreading out across the ceiling above her. And as the great arachnids reached the walls and began scurrying down on all sides Vendra dropped her blaster, caring nothing for where it fell and clutching the grip of her rifle with a fear-fed strength that would have killed a Corellian razor cat.

Her thumb somehow found the power output and laser dispersal controls of her rifle. The weapon roared in her ears as she unleashed its fury. But her frantic heart remained the louder hammer. Her father blurted something desperate. But his voice was drowned by her own terrified moans as waves of great hairy spiders streamed down the walls like drapes of black velvet. Vendra's rifle hissed with a wickedness all its own as its scarlet beam sliced thought the thicket opposite her. Yellow and orange sparks flared, igniting small secondary patches of brilliant flame and smoldering haze as the rifle's fine beam incinerated everything within range. A rank miasma of dull gray spread to encompass the area as Vendra continued her slash and burn operation with barely half a mind attuned to the task. She heard Lavan and Myrishi cough and wheeze. She father said something to her. But the white noise of terror allowed Vendra to heed only her manic heart and frantic moans.

"Run!" she snapped as the rest of the thicket and a good part of the decay beyond burned away. "Get to the turbolift shaft now!"

Adrenaline raged through Vendra's body even as time seemed to slow. Vendra knew her legs were moving like never before, though she felt as though her pace was a brisk strut at best. She knew her heart was thundering, though it seemed more a kin to a distant and removed echo. Though her eyes stung and burned with the salty concoction of sweat and tears, she saw her father turn and run as ordered. Although Lavan had to be moving with all his speed, he still looked like a footracer whose run was being replayed by slow motion holo-playback.

And where was Myrishi? Had Myrishi ran back her way? Vendra had seen him earlier. Far ahead. But she had a dim memory of the little Jawa racing back to her as she dropped her XelTac and sword. Where was he? Why did be come back? Was he behind her? Could she bring herself to turn back and check? Those thoughts vanished as fast as they had appeared. Vendra pressed on through the thicket, the tight beam of her rifle disintegrating everything falling into its sights.

Blackened trunks of dead alien trees folded to the ground or shattered to dust as Vendra's rifle punched though them. Under-bush sizzled and smoked malevolently as the red hot energy decimated it. Insects leaped and took flight for escape, only to collide instinctively into the scarlet beam and flare into oblivion.

Vendra's sole emotion was a violent horror as a horde of the great black spiders scurried to the wrecking yard's floor and charged headlong for the prey they saw charging out of the thicket toward it. Vendra was terrified to see the small army of spiders charging her. But the spiders were far from mindless monsters. Even as several spiders shrieked and screamed as the rifle beam cut them in two, the monstrous horde spread out to the sides like the foul waters of a polluted sea.

With a speed faster than Vendra's racing mind, the horde split straight down the center. Sweeping around to join the tremendous throng cascading out from the thicket behind.

And the wall was already darkened by a second avalanche of spiders pouring down in the wake of the first. Once the third group reached the ground . . .

"A few more meters and we're there," her father called, his voice almost lost amid the ravenous chaos.

"Dad!" Vendra cried, daring not to turn and face the wash of beasts coming for her blood as she adjusted the rifle for maximum energy dispersal. "Take my rifle! Keep the ones behind us at bay!"

Throwing the long gun at her father, hoping but not seeing that he caught it, Vendra tapped a switch on the brace wrapped around her right forearm and rushed forward.

"Myrishi!" she called over the roar of fire raging from her wrist-worn mini-flamethrower, gritting her teeth as she swept the stream of spiders pouring down the walls and driving them back. "I need the concussion grenades now!"

Behind her, Vendra heard her surrendered rifle report as her father played the wave of lethal light back and forth. Another burst of angry flame howled from her wrist as she continued driving spiders back up the wall before they could come down. The concussion grenades would clear the mound covering the turboshaft. But if the shaft itself was blocked . . .

"I was afraid we'd lost you!" Vendra yelled at Mryishi as he scampered to her side, snarling as she unleashed the most intense cone of fire yet. "Now, how brave can you be, Rat?!"

The Jawa's bewildered cluck was almost buried beneath her father's sudden vicious curse.

The spiders were getting too close.

"Listen, you have to set and arm the grenades, 'Mysh!'" Vendra hollered. "I can't do it and keep the monsters back at the same time! Neither can Dad! That leaves you! Besides, you've got better odds! You're smaller and quicker! Try and get back to me when you're done! If you can't, use your comm beacon to signal me when you're clear and I'll remote detonate the charges!"

"Come on now!" she added, leaving no room for hesitation. "Get to it! We've got you covered for now, but we can't hold them!"

Vendr raked the wall with fire again. She could just see the diminutive cloaked figure racing into the smoke.

"Vendra, they're coming through!" Lavan shouted, his voice and rifle blast much closer. So close that Vendra and her father might very soon be fighting back to back.

"Just hold them off for a few seconds!" Vendra shouted back as the smoke rapidly thickened into a black wall of its own.

"We don't have it!" Lavan yelled, and then father and daughter were indeed back to back in the center of the maelstrom.

"We have to have it!" Vendra replied, gritting her teeth as she stepped forward to buy Lavan a little more room. "There's only one way out of here, and Myrishi's gone to open it for us! We've got to give him more time! Just keep firing and be ready to hit the ground when I tell you to! Got that?!"

"Got that!" Lavan replied. "I hope you know what you're doing!"

"Yeah! Me, too!" Vendra replied grimly, the withering line of fire snapping like the piercing crack of a whip as she lashed the smoke cloaked-wall with flame again. Her heart pounded as she heard the angry hisses and mortal squeals of wounded and infuriated arachnids. Her finger millimeters from the remote detonator on her wrist, just waiting for Myrishi's appearance.

And if the tiny Jawa never returned from behind the smokey shroud? If she never got a signal that he was clear . . . Was Vendra capable of sacrificing him if that was the way the cards went?

"Sith's eye!" Lavan cursed at the gruesome foaming mandibles that had lunged from nowhere for the barrel of his rifle. The grinding pain throbbing in Lavan's head increased tenfold as he scrambled back, a burning ruby bolt cutting straight through the back of that spider's mouth, and incinerating the jaw of the spider directly behind it. The burned gore barely had time to spread and smear before another spider was clambering over the carcasses to get at him, ripping huge chunks of scalded meat from the corpses as it came on. The spider reared back and crumbled before Lavan's blind shot, and he backtracked again as a dozen more monsters pressed on in its place. Then he felt Vendra's armored back against his and knew there was nowhere else to back to. At the rate he was firing the rifle had to be pretty close to exhaustion. Lavan had no idea how to reload the weapon, and didn't have any spare ammunition clips besides. But the rifle continued to answer every time he fired, and Lavan Seron would shield his little girl from these monsters for as long as he could.

And when the inevitable finally happened?

Through the fearful roar of the violent chaos, the stomach lurching stench of death and the increasing miasmic smother, a stray thought occurred to Lavan that was very comforting in a resigned and defeated sort of way. Sure, Lavan was about to die, and his daughter and her Jawa friend with them, but at least he would die with his daughter. No one was going to be left to grieve this time.

Perhaps his family would be reunited in death in a way it could never be in life. And Lavan found himself actually smiling with the thought as he kept up with his blind shooting.

Renalie . . .

It was then that he heard Myrishi shriek like a Spice Fiend in withdrawl.

Vendra sent another spike of flame lancing into the smoke, her heart heavy with the rapidly swelling realization of Myrishi's loss. Tears that had nothing to do with the blanket of smoke began stinging her eyes as her finger began weighing heavily on the remote detonator set on her wrist. Then, suddenly, a medium sized spider bounded from the smoke, leaping through the air to Vendra's right. It screamed as it sailed, and shrieked again as it skidded to the ground in a confused mass of legs just off to the side. Scouring the wall before her with another blinding hail of fire, she risked a look at the predator that was suddenly a few feet away.

There was something different about that one. Sure, it was smaller. But the shriek it gave was different to. It might have been just Vendra's perception, or the spider's smaller size, but that particular spider sounded more like a . . .

Then Vendra saw that tiny patch of dark brown hunkered on the spider's back. The patch shook as the great beast flailed about. The shriek came again, and Vendra caught just the slightest glint of glowing yellow at the fore of that patch of brown. Like two gold ingots spied by chance within the black depths of a dark mine. And even with the gravity of the situation, with death in the form of her greatest terror literally staring her in the face, Vendra's spirits soared like the Black Dagger at lightspeed.

"Go, Myrishi!" she laughed with a world-class war whoop. "Dad, we gotta get Myrishi off of there! Think you can cover him?!"

"Cover him?!" her father snapped. "Holo-flash, Vendra! I'm just barely covering us! And we're about ten seconds away from becoming dinner-guests ourselves!"

Her father's assessment was an instant and complete drain on Vendra's euphoria. Wrist-equipped flamethrowers were designed for brief bursts. While Vendra had been as careful as possible with her flame-bursts, she did not need to look to know the fuel was running low. She and her father were fighting back to back and, save that single Sith curse, she had not heard a complaint from him though his rifle had been firing continuously. He obviously was not having trouble hitting his targets. Given his limited experience, it was safe to say all he really had to do was hold the trigger down and wave back and forth. Vendra would also lay odds on his ammunition becoming as depleted as her flamethrower, just a lot more quickly. When that happened . . .

Then the thought struck, but could they pull it off?

"Myrishi!" Vendra called into her headset, hoping that the Jawa had somehow managed to keep his own communicator. Static tickled Vendra's ear, followed immediately by a Jawa squeal that sounded more than a little desperate.

But if Myrishi thought he was stressed now . . .

"Listen! How much control have you got over your friend there?!" Vendra called, sweeping the descending wave of arachnids before her with another snarling wave of flame.

"Okay, great!" she replied as her headset exploded with a flurry of angry sarcasm. "Here's what we're going to do . . ."

Only a human would think up a plan like this! Myrishi thought, clenching the small thermal-tabana canister between his teeth and clutching his enraged mount with a grip that was about six par secs beyond desperation. Thermal-tabana was a highly flammable compound that was used as the catalyst in devices that concentrated flame for controlled bursts. In this case, the canister contained fuel for Vendra's wrist-worn flamethrower. Motivated by a near compulsive drive to be as of assistance to Vendra as possible, Myrishi had two spare canisters tucked into his bandolier.

Once again, Myrishi's reliability had left him on the wrong side of the sword. He thought the plan for flying into the Wraith's Corridor was the peak of insanity. The plan he had been drafted into now raised the lunacy-level to heights he did not think possible even for humans.

Crazier still was that it sounded like Vendra thought Myrishi had planned the mess he was in. He would have thought she would have known better! Myrishi had, in fact, been stranded on the giant plant-mound after laying those explosives. In all his weeping and moaning, one of the vines he was holding gave way and Myrishi started dropping. Then his leg snagged something and he was turned around just as his new "friend" launched itself from some perch beneath him. One more unlucky snag later, and the Jawa was ripped from his own anchor. Landing hard on the spider's back and desperately avoiding the hooked legs that were bending at impossible angles to stab him.

At some point, Myrishi did not know when, he found himself facing the right way. None of which made the monster Myrishi's friend, let alone gave Myrishi any kind of control over it! But, nevertheless, there the Jawa was–holding the canister between his teeth and clutching the spindly antennae-like appendages on the sides of the spider's head. Groaning, Myrishi heaved to the left with his entire might. Hoping, praying, begging, that the tactic might give him a measure of the control Vendra just assumed he had.

Humans!

The angry arachnid hissed, the sound like a sudden acid spill as a violent shutter roiled through its body and rattled Myrishi's bones. Through his terror the Jawa found himself pleased that his theory appeared to be paying off. His desperate pulling had indeed coaxed the beast into turning.

Now came the next tricky part.

Myrishi released his handhold and took the canister from his mouth. Producing a tiny knife from the bandolier slung across his chest, he broke the seal that would allow the liquid to leak through. The canister was anchored to a line he had tied about his arm, and Myrishi tossed the canister away from him before any liquid came into contact with him.

Myrishi had to get his enraged mount moving again before the canister ran dry. Regretfully–though the word was grossly inadequate to describe his feelings on the matter–Myrishi hunkered back down, took hold of his grips, and bit down as hard as he could on an area of the spider's neck that was not hard exoskeleton.

It was like biting into the decaying husk of a recently killed slum rat. A rank sickening blend of alien bioengenered meat combined with all manner of fungus and filth that violated Myrishi's mouth and nose while assaulting his stomach with a deathly tang that would haunt the Jawa for the rest of his life.

Though it did not look like the rest of Myrishi's life was going to be a terrifically long time.

His furious mount cut a path straight across the sprawling sea of great ravenous spiders raging toward the two humans standing back to back on the ever-vanishing shore.

"Dad! Myrishi's on his way! Our turn!" Vendra shouted, scouring the wall before her with another salvo of flame. "On three! One . . .! Two . . .!"

And without another word, Vendra leaned harder into her father's back for stability, sidling around him as he turned about her. In a single heartbeat father and daughter reversed positions. Vendra waved her outstretched arm back band forth, the fire spewing from her wrist crackling as she swept the

flame-trail around. She clenched her teeth against the smoke as she back-stepped in time with her father's slow advance on the plant-mound covering the turbolift shaft. They were trying to buy a bit more room for Myrishi's pass. Even a couple of feet would do . . .

Her comlink clicked, and Vendra killed her flame-trail as a tremendous black shadow swept past her. Behind her, she could hear the continuous tight-beam discharge as Lavan used the rifle to shear away the plant-mound from the shaft. Her comlink clicked again and Vendra dropped her hands at her sides. Her right hand snatched a blaster from its holster.

"Dad, go!" she snapped, the fingers of her left hand depressing the two control studs on her forearm as her blaster-shot set the thermal-tabana trail Myrishi had drawn on the ground aflame.

One lucky second later, Vendra's high-yield personal shield generator appeared as a dome of pale blue light as the two Serons hunkered beneath it.

The fire-line exploded into a wall of heat that drove the dark tide of spiders back. The blaze giving more substantive form to the energy field sheltering Vendra and her father as she glanced around and found that thelesser of her two hopes had come true.

The turbolift shaft was there. Even better, the shaft doors, not designed to withstand a disintegrating energy beam, were a drooping puddle of steaming slag. But, even as Vendra and her father ran the second leg to safety, Vendra's heart ached for the hope that had not been fulfilled.

Myrishi. He had not made it under the shield before . . .

"Sorry!" Lavan shouted to the Jawa whom he had obviously run into and pasted against the turbolift-shaft's rear wall.

"Everybody grab a hold of somebody else!" Vendra snapped, feeling her father's arm snake under her shoulder from behind as she fired an ascension-cable from her wrist launcher. The tiny shaft boomed with released compression as Vendra blindly fired the magnetized grapple-dart into the darkened space directly above her head. Tugging firmly to insure the line was secure, Vendra took the palm-sized cylindrical shield generator from her belt and dropped it to the ground. The energy discharge spiked again as the field expanded to seal the frame that once housed the decimated turbolift-shaft doors.

"Everybody hang on!" she growled through clenched teeth, thumb depressing the trigger that activated the line. Up into the shadows they went, but Vendra could hear the awful arachnids clamoring for the open shaft as they climbed. That personal shield generator was designed to provide limited temporary protection against energy discharges like blasterfire, and chemical reactions the likes of which birthed flame, but the field would not stop the spiders from passing through it.

That was what the explosives Myrishi had risked his life to plant were for.

While the shield was useless against the horde of monsters down there, it would secure the shaft against the explosive shock the shaft was about to get.

Vendra's fingers had just found the remote detonator on her wrist-launcher when the trio's ascent came to a sudden jarring stop.

"Tell me we didn't just hit a dead end," Lavan said flatly.

"I hope not," his daughter replied grimly. The remote detonator clicked, and a roar reverberated up the shaft from the now nonexistent entry below. "Because we can't go back now."

The fidgeting and fretting of her two crew-members began as instantly as Vendra expected. Then a crisp alarm sounded from Vendra's wrist, and her blood became a frigid stream as her mouth dropped with shock and outrage. Hemmed in between Vendra's back and Lavan's stomach, Myrishi's body stiffened like a solid block of carbonite.

"What is it?" Lavan asked, his impatient tone betraying a reluctance to hear the answer. "What's wrong with you two?"

For a long moment the only sound to be heard within that cramped shaft were shallow breaths. But when Vendra finally spoke, Lavan was just as glad that he could not see his daughter's expression.

"That was the emergency pulse for the Dagger's remote systems monitor," Vendra replied, the brooding echo of her tone as deadly as the growls from the spiders they had left behind. "My ship is gone."

Lavan had decided that, over the last few hours, their luck had been running pretty good. A quick flash of a glowrod had revealed a slim service ladder that ran up one of the turbolift shaft walls. It was just perfect for Myrishi, who went scuttling on his way and found an access door along the turbolift's route. The manual release failed, as did Myrishi's attempt to splice in a power-pack with a little rewiring work. But, while the access would not open completely, Myrishi had coaxed a little cooperation from it. With the hollow groan the access opened just a few inches. Not enough to get through, or even to see what was waiting for them on the other side, but enough for Vendra to get in there with her sword and pry the access sufficiently open.

Vendra's mood was foul enough to make a Sith Lord proud or panicked as she savaged the doors open with a new standard of viciousness. She stalked along at the head of the group, slaying any beast that challenged her as she led the way through the hazy marsh that had overtaken the ship's Executive Deck.

The marsh, like the densely vegetated den of those murderous arachnids, was lit by thick patches of glow lichen that seemed to have grown randomly on the walls, ceiling, and floor-panels of the Executive Deck. Like the heavily forested Wrecking Yard, this deck was bursting with alien bush, grass, and vines at a variety Lavan could not begin to discern, let alone describe.

But that was where the similarities between the two levels ended. The Wrecking Yard was a hollow rotten space where all that was still alive lived in constant desperation. The Executive Deck smelled of decay too, but it was a different smell. Not stale and rank, but sweet and damp with traces of mildew one would expect from a thriving water-soaked swamp. It was cooler here to, but not so cold as to be uncomfortable. The thick peat and tall grass was soft as Lavan walked on it. The dark brown and emerald turf had a firm elasticity that held well against his weight.

It was the same ship. The same Imperial Star Destroyer they had been venturing through for the past day and a half. But with such stark differences, the Wrecking Yard and Executive Deck may as well have been two distinct worlds.

Lavan had tried to explore the contrasts with Vendra a couple of times now, but his daughter was not ready to become sociable just yet. Then again, her current mood was not something Lavan could blame her for.

The smile Vendra wore the day she won the Black Dagger was of an energy that surpassed even her excitement over registering her pilot's license. The Black Dagger was more than just a ship. It was a benchmark of accomplishment. By winning a ship of her own Vendra had officially realized her calling and assumed the place in life where she belonged. In that way, the Black Dagger was to Vendra what Ordon Corporation was to Lavan.

Though, if someone were to damage or destroy Ordon, Lavan would not be nearly as calm and collected as his daughter was.

Not by a long shot.

So, as they set in camp in what was the spacious Executive Lounge, Lavan offered Vendra her privacy and just sat quietly.

Dominated by a large shallow marsh, the lounge was alive with a near constant hum of insects and small scampering reptiles with ridged backs, fringed heads, and truncated snouts. Occasionally, equally small but very fast and agile creatures that looked like a cross between Endorian mynocks and Tatooinian Mound Mites rose from the thick stalks that almost completely hid the mash's dense cloudy water from view. Everyone made sure to keep their eyes open and weapons ready. But with the exception of the waist-high reptile that jumped out at them shortly after they had started setting up camp, nothing bigger than half a foot had been seen.

Lavan was still amazed and a little frightened. Not by the attacking reptile, although he would be happy never to see another one. No, the truly remarkable thing was his daughter's reaction.

Lavan had just set up the last of their area lamps when he heard a growl that sounded like a large rock tumbling down a badly broken permacrete slab. With a sudden splashing of water the reptile launched itself from cover and straight at Vendra.

She must have all ready seen the thing because she dropped to one knee with blaster in hand. The dark blue reptile overshot its mark, and Vendra fired straight up with a shot that caught the animal square in the stomach as its leap carried it straight over her head. The creature crashed and rolled onto the turf, and Lavan was pretty sure the thing was dead at that point, but his daughter was in no mood to take chances. Before the creature had even hit the ground Vendra had spun on her knee. The blaster was still in her right hand, that black sword of her's now in the left. And as the creature rolled to a stop not far from Vendra she stood up, raised the blade, and brought it down in an unforgiving chop.

In a mere few heartbeats the skulking reptile had gone from being an attacking predator, to the single course meal for its intended prey.

Lavan had never seen someone pull off a move like that, and it gave him new respect for his daughter's temperament. But things with Vendra could not stay as they were if they expected to get off this destroyer and back to civilization. So, with a casual breath of preparation and an idle glance at the remnants of his alien meal, Lavan took the plunge once more.

"You know, I never thought Vong bioengineered-barbeque could be so tasty," he said conversationally. "How about you, Myrishi?"

Lavan and Myrishi were clearly thinking along the same lines, because the short alien went into an extended reply clearly intended to offer Lavan an opening.

"He said it beats chomping on the neck of a giant spider, anyway," Vendra muttered flatly, grey eyes fixed downward at nothing as her slender face hung low. Save for an exchange between Myrishi and herself, when Vendra assured him that the Dagger's loss was no fault of his, it had been the first time in hours that she had spoken a word.

"Yeah," Lavan chuckled, hoping to start some kind of communicative trend here. "You handled that thing like a tauntaun wrangler, Myrishi. Something still bothers me, though."

"Okay, that's it," Vendra pronounced. Startled, Lavan was battling to stabilize his plate in his lap as she snatched something from around the medkit and crossed the campsite toward him. Lavan was going to talk about why and how it was that the Wrecking Yard could sustain a small army of massive predators while everything else in there was dying off.

His daughter, obviously, thought something else entirely.

"What?" Lavan demanded as Vendra was suddenly leaning over him with a bio-probe.

"Let's get a saliva and tissue sample from your tongue," Vendra said, pushing her father's forehead back and holding the probe more like a knife than a medical instrument. "Say 'aw.'"

"Hey, watch it with that thing!" Lavan said, his tone somewhat urgent as he gently fended off his daughter.

Long accustomed to displays of human bizarreness, Myrishi sidled his bedroll to a safe distance, and settled in to watch as the two Serons reveled in their species' innate weirdness, but his eyes caught a glint of something half-buried nearby.

"Now, daddy, you've been worrying about your tongue for a while now," Vendra replied, chuckling as she started wrestling past her father's defense. "It's time we put this bantha to pasture."

Unnoticed by the primitive humans, Myrishi investigated the glint he saw. Pulling it from the moist clinging turf, the Jawa confirmed his suspicion. The object was similar to those he found in the waste chute and Wrecking Yard. It was a metal square. A small platinum piece overlaid with gold. Like the others he had found, this one was dented and broken. All the pieces had some kind of symbol and writing on them Myrishi did not recognize.

They looked like . . .

"Tatooine doesn't have pastures," Lavan replied, doing his best to squirm away and having no such luck as Vendra pressed her playful attack. "Looks like somebody's looking for a trip to tickle-town, though," he laughed. Seconds later the marsh exploded in a flurry of laughs and giggles as Vendra suddenly found herself on the defensive.

But the care-free moment vanished as three shadows suddenly fell upon the trio of campers.

Gazing down at them was a tall well-muscled Quarren. His leathery light orange skin shiny beneath the glow of lichen and lamp-light as he stood there, flanked by two big burly Niktu.

"Um . . . Hello," Vendra said, hoping the casual tone and awkward circumstance would keep the alien trio off-balance long enough for her to grab a weapon or two. But they had barely begun to shift to face their visitors when the clearly amused trio went from guests to aggressors.

"Hands high, please," the Squid Head said. His facial tentacles were as relaxed as his voice was calm, but his wide deep-set brown eyes were alert and threatening as he held a blaster in a large three-fingered hand. "Walk toward us on your knees."

Lavan looked at his daughter and got a shrug in return.

There was a blaster on the ground next to Lavan, but he would never get the chance to even reach for it. They were both wearing blasters, of course. Blasters that were secured in holsters on their hips and boots, which left the same problem since Lavan and Vendra already had their hands up. If the Squid Head did not get them, his two flat-faced squint-eyed Niktu friends would. They were caught, and there was no use denying it.

Or rather, they were caught for now.

A captain protects her crew . . .

"Wraith's Corridor is a busy place all of the sudden," Vendra said as she and her father complied. "Who got here first?"

"The honor falls to you of course," the Quarren replied smoothly. "Alas, we are but followers in your wake. Oh, and, please, due rise."

So, now they were letting Vendra get to her feet . . .

"Quite the trick," Lavan commented, eying the blasters the Squid Head's two buddies were aiming. "You the same people behind that Ryloth security scam?"

"Of the same organization, anyway," the Quarren answered.

"Your people missed the sail barge at Ryloth," Vendra said as she rose, she sensed her father moving beside her on one side and Myrishi on the other. The Squid Head was wearing a full length duratex enviro-jacket. There was no way to tell what the jacket was hiding for body armor, but Vendra did have one clear shot at the face, and there was enough stuff on the ground to kick up for diversion.

"Yes, yes. We certainly did," the Quarren sighed. "That is close enough. Stop there," he instructed, focusing on Lavan. "Compliments on seeing through the slight-of-blade. Fortunately, our employer is very good at covering all dewbacks before the sandstorm. Your daughter was followed from the minute you directed her to Vek Rauntana. We have detailed information on all her local contacts. And your's, for that matter. It was simple to find someone at the head office of your corporation to furnish us with all the pertinent information regarding this venture."

"And just what employee am I sharing with this boss of your's?" Lavan demanded, his face and forehead as red as the flare of a blaster-shot.

"Business is business, Mister Seron. Yes?" the Squid Head replied simply, and Vendra watched as the Niktu moved forward to collect their prisoners' gun belts and equipment packs.

One of the big copper-skinned aliens reached for Vendra's gun-belt. But Vendra flicked the sabre-dart concealed in her palm, and the Nikto grabbed for his throat as he fell to his knees. From the corner of her eye she saw her father charge his opponent. Human and alien grappling for the second Niktu's gun as Vendra's hand flashed down to the blaster at her hip. The Quarren was faster, drilling a hard bony fist into Vendra's right temple and slamming her to the ground.

The enraged Quarren stood over her with a blaster in his hand and murder in his eyes. Then, without warning, the Squid Head lurched forward, facial tentacles thrust outward and dark eyes bulging as big as blossoming borgo-flowers.

Vendra caught a glimpse of the diminutive brown-robed figure attached to the Quarren's left leg. For a heartbeat she actually sympathized with the Squid Head. If Myrishi's first talent was starship mechanics, biting was definitely a close second.

The Quarren's rage roiled from him like the heat of a firestorm as he threw Myrishi halfway across the marsh, and took aim for Vendra's forehead with his blaster.

"SON OF A HUTT!" the voice boomed like an exploding torpedo.

"SON OF A HUTT!" Lavan ranted again, lifting the Niktu he had been fighting from the ground and smashing him face-first into a nearby section of bulkhead.

The Quarren grunted with surprise and terror as he instantly found his neck in the grasp of a furious human. In his shock the Squid Head dropped his weapon. Hands clinging to Lavan's wrists in a desperate effort to break a crushing grip fed by the torment of a decades-old nightmare. Lavan looked into those dark almond-shaped eyes and saw it. Every detail of the vision that, even today, could still have him awaken in the screaming throes of feverish grief.

Ranalie looked just the way she had that day . . .

"You!" Lavan fumed at the gasping Quarren, his voice quiet but trembling with anger and pain. "You took her!"

The Squid Head's eyes grew quizzical in spite of himself as he kept struggling against a grip he had not known humans were capable of.

Her hair shining under the sun and flowing in the

breeze . . .

"You!" Lavan raged, voice growing in volume as his fingers dug further into the Squid Head's neck. But Lavan himself was unaware of the words he was speaking. Just as he was unaware that the Quarren's feet were dangling from the moss-covered ground. "You took her from me!"

Her eyes and smile beaming with an irrepressible passion as she turned with a final goodbye to the family she was leaving only briefly . . .

"But you won't take her!" Lavan thundered toward the being he was killing with his bare hands. The Quarren gagged and gurgled as he quivered in Lavan's grasp. But Lavan did not see a Squid Head at all. He saw . . . He saw . . .

A blinding flash of plasma that incinerated every trace of that face Lavan held so dear . . .

"No!" Lavan barked, tears streaming from eyes that saw only the past. "You won't take my daughter!"

"Dad!" a frantic voice called from somewhere beyond the walls his grief had built to channel his vision. "Dad, that's enough!"

"Not my family!" Lavan continued, oblivious to the frothy white drool rolling from the convulsing Quarren's mouth. "Have to kill me first!"

"Daddy!" the voice came again. Clearer that time, and the mental walls quivered with the sound. "Stop it!"

"You tell that to your Warmaster," Lavan chuckled, the sound hollow yet trembling with the darkest determination. "Tell it to your Supreme Overlord! They'll have to kill me first! You tell them!"

"Stop!" the voice came again, and Lavan felt a weight on his arm as he began shaking whoever it was he saw dying at his hands.

"Tell them!" he shouted again.

"Stop!" the voice repeated from beyond those black mental walls.

"Tell them!" Lavan bellowed up at the head above him that bobbed and rolled as he continued to throttle all the loss and fear of loss that the Quarren symbolized.

"Please, Daddy! Stop!" the voice beyond the walls cried. But the voice–it was not beyond the walls anymore. It was close. It was with him. Beside him. Begging him to . . . Stop?

Only then did Lavan see the smaller set of hands trying to pry his own from the Quarren's neck. He looked to the side and saw his daughter–his little girl–virtually hanging in the air herself as she clung to her father's hands. The emotion in her eyes one no man should ever see from his daughter.

The Quarren groaned despondently as Lavan dropped him to the ground.

"They took your mother," Lavan sobbed, laying his head on Vendra's shoulder as she stepped into his embrace.

"I know," Vendra sniffled in return.

"I'm afraid they'll take you to," Lavan cried.

"I know," Vendra repeated, holding her father tightly and desperately.

Lavan trembled as he sobbed, and Vendra held her father even more tightly, wishing it was enough.

If only it was enough.

The corridor access doors scraped along their badly rusted tracks. Groaning like the starving stomach of some lost and lonely beast as Vendra set her teeth and grimly prided them apart with that seemingly unstoppable sword of her's. The armored panels parted to the width of her face, and Vendra squinted to glimpse what may be hiding in the darkness beyond as she replaced the blade in the sheath slung across her back. She could not see or hear anything. But on this ship that hardly mattered, and Vendra could not help wondering what was going to try and kill them next as she centered herself to push the doors open with her hands.

She sensed a small motion from her right as her father eased the muzzle of his rifle in from the side to cover her.

Vendra raised her own weapon into ready position, easing into combat stance as she stepped into the silent corridor of blackness beyond. Her thumb twitched as she sidled her way to the left, and her rifle's tight-beam glow-light flashed into existence. Her durasteel-armored footfalls were a slow and muted rhythm as she swept the wide long corridor with her weapon's glow-light and scope.

"Okay, this is weird," Lavan commented, sweeping the ceiling with far more than mere caution, and with good reason. All the really big surprises seemed to come from above, but except for irregular patches of rust and tarnish, the ceiling seemed completely intact. "Vong jungle filled every other square centimeter of this ship with a thousand varieties of nightmares, but left this section of the Executive Deck alone? Wouldn't think the monsters living here would have that much respect for the concept of military privilege."

"No water," Vendra muttered, moving deeper into the miasma of silence as she tracked her rifle along the walls and floor. The deck-plates seemed to be in the same condition as the ceiling. But as she scanned the walls she noted that every vidscreen, monitor-station, and console had been smashed, shattered, and crushed with a brand of fanatical rage that was classic Yuzzan Vong. Though, if there were enraged Vong going insane in here, why did they not keep going further into the very command center of the ship? "Bioengineered or not, life is life. And life needs water to go on living. Maybe all the life out there knew there was nothing in here for it, so this corridor got passed over."

"There is atmosphere though," Lavan pointed out, suitably convinced that nothing was going to drop from the ceiling to rip his throat out. Though he would not be surprised if it did. "Life needs air to. Not to mention . . ."

"Noticed, huh?" Vendra prompted as her father stopped cold. "I'm not an expert on Vong biotech, but everything I've ever heard or read says that one dorvin basal couldn't generate enough gravity to cover the distance between the waste dump and this corridor. But I haven't seen any other dorvin basals. Have you?"

"There's an active gravity generator somewhere," Lavan said, running his glow-light slowly along the areas of metallic erosion that seemed to have set in randomly around the corridor. The access doors Vendra levered open had erosion and tarnish too. So severely that the doors were pretty set in their tracks. But the erosion on the doors did not look like the breakdown-marks in here. These marks looked more like . . . "The auto-start sequence our marker-buoy triggered might have activated a few."

"That's my guess," Vendra replied, and paused, her face focusing as though she were listening for something. "I suspected it when we were all hanging like mynocks in the elevator shaft," she continued after a few seconds. "And I knew it for sure when we camped in the lounge swamp."

Abruptly, the dark corridor fell far more quiet and cold as father and daughter were struck again by the events back there in the lounge swamp. Vendra's eyes flickered like stars as she glanced at her father, rifle sinking in his hands as his eyes sank to the ground. Never had she seen him like that. Never had she imagined her father capable of such fury, such force, such violence. Lavan could have killed the Niktu he sent crashing face-first into a bulkhead, and would have throttled the Squid Head to death had Vendra not been able to stop him. True, the Old Galaxy was a rough, even savage, place. But, even in some of the most lawless parts of the Old Galaxy, what Lavan did might have been considered attempted murder. Vendra had seen her father livid before, but never had she even suspected that side of him existed, and Vendra never wanted to see it again.

Actually being frightened of her own father, that was her biggest problem right then. Lavan's immediate problems were dealing with losing his mind, perhaps committing attempted murder, and seeing his daughter terrified of him.

But there was another whose source of misery had yet to be accounted for.

"Well, this corridor seems secure enough for now," Vendra said, pulling and igniting flares from her pack and tossing them about the deck.

"I think now's a good time for a nice little talk," Vendra said, frowning hard at the slight dizziness and dull ache lingering from the Squid Head's blow as she slid her helmet off.

Vendra's burgandy lochs bounced about her shoulders as she dropped down directly in front of the throughly downtrodden Jawa that had not so much as huffed in over an hour. "What's on your mind, Myrishi?"

Lavan frowned at the half-sized scavenger. Caught up in his own gloom, he really had not noticed any problems with the Jawa. But, now that Vendra mentioned it, Myrishi had been moping around like a bankrupt Troydarian junk-dealer for the last little bit.

"Don't give me that, Rat," Vendra said at the dismissive grunt and wave impatiently tossed her way. "You've been shuffling along like a bantha with dandruff ever since our fight in the swamp."

"What do you mean it wasn't 'our fight?'" Vendra demanded as the Jawa pointed at her with a series of decisive moans and grunts as his eyes became blazing suns.

"Oh, no," Vendra chuckled humorlessly, tapping her forefinger to her chest. "You're not going to pin that one on me. I didn't start that fight."

Vendra's response inspired a shriek from the Jawa that made Lavan's ears ring and teeth hurt as Myrishi threw his head back and hands in the air in frustration.

"Well then what is it about?" Vendra asked with a mild tone. "Don't stop now. Let's hear it."

For a moment the corridor was silent again as the Jawa dropped to his haunches and lowered his eyes to the hands that sat in his lap like exhausted dwarf nuna infants. Then, with a final grunting sigh so deep it seemed to lift his entire body, Myrishi raised his star-like eyes and started talking.

"Of course I remember the Aqualish that tried to kill you," Vendra nodded to the slow stream of Jawa grunts.

"I remember when those gifts of yours started showing up around the Dagger whenever I was on Tattooine. Yeah," she said, crossing her legs and pressing her fingertips together as she listened. "I still have most of them as a matter of fact."

The Jawa stopped for a second, eyes blinking as though he were surprised by Vendra's sentimentality before continuing, a little tentatively.

"How could I forget you're charging to my defense in the cantina," Vendra commented with a wry tone and expression. "It's one of this story's biggest highlights. I still do think it was bantha-headed," she answered Myrishi's pointed cluck, her sterling eyes narrowing. "But go on," she said, her face and tone instantly softening as she gave the Jawa a gentle encouraging swat on the shoulder.

Myrishi did just that. He went on about the commitment he made to repay Vendra's act of heroism with one equaling it. He spoke of the reaction of the Jawa Elders, his own father among them, and of his defiance toward them.

And he spoke at length about his failures. From the Brubb mercenary gang in Aberegado Rae, to the Weequay slavers of Sullirr, to the confrontation in the swamp lounge of this very ship, Myrishi talked of his failures.

Vendra made no attempt to stop or correct him. She just sat thoughtfully and let him speak. She did break in to repeat a little of what he said in Basic now and again. Though Lavan knew that was for his benefit. Myrishi must have known that to, because the Jawa paid it no mind.

"So, basically, I saved your life, and you've spent the past two years trying to save mine without success," Vendra said when Myrishi completed his story.

"Myrishi," Vendra prompted at Jawa's sullen nod. Her voice and face as mild as could be, and the Jawa raised his eyes to hers. "There isn't a container ship big enough to hold the line of bantha dung you just fed me," Vendra growled, her expression hardening around eyes that had chilled into icy orbs of iron.

"What? You think that just because you can't pull somebody's arms out of their sockets when I tell you to that you're no good to me? No," Vendra said, harshly breaking off Myrishi's protesting squawk, "you had your chance to whine. Now you're going to shut up and listen. So far we've heard all about 'Myrishi The failure,' let's talk about 'Myrishi The Mechanic' for a minute. Just how much time and work have you put into keeping my ship up and running?"

Vendra began making counting motions with her fingers. "How many repairs have you done? How made upgrades have you made? How many diagnostics have you done? How many times has that ship saved my neck because of your work? Be quiet!" Vendra hissed, and Myrishi recoiled just a bit.

If nothing else, Jawa males had one thing in common with their human counterparts: knowing better than to further provoke an already angry female.

For his part Lavan stood silently off to the side, his satisfaction concealed behind a serious but thoughtful expression. It was nice seeing someone else taking the brunt of the Seron no-nonsense temper for a change. As he stood there cradling his rifle, Lavan supposed he really should do something to save Myrishi. But, the truth of it was, he would sooner go back for a second round with those giant spiders armed with nothing but a grease-gun than put himself in Vendra's temperamental cross-hairs.

"How fast would the Dagger been blown out of space when we flash-bombed Troggha The Hutt's spice convoy without the enhanced harmonics you gave her shields?" Vendra asked darkly, and Lavan frowned hard.

Spice convoy?

"What chance would I have had at blasting out of Bastion after buzzing the bridge of that Super Star Destroyer if you hadn't optimized the Dagger's acceleration capacitor?" Vendra continued.

"You did what?" Lavan demanded.

"And where do you think I'd be if the Chiss had caught me during that mess out by Nirauan?" Vendra asked, her tone snarling.

"When was this?!" Lavan demanded again, and again he was ignored as Vendra continued giving her sulking partner a

Much needed lecture.

"I'll tell you where I'd be," she continued, oblivious to her father's growing fury. "Locked away in some prison of the Imperial Remnant. Or chained to the throne of a bloated slug. Or just plain gone and never heard from again. That's where!"

Lavan was still fuming. Still ready to get into it. Where did Vendra get off messing with the Hutts, the Imperial Remnant, and Force forbid the Chiss?! Vendra had better enjoy her moment of self-righteousness, because she was going to find herself on the receiving end of a good lecture pretty quick.

The Chiss?! What was she? Nut's?! Talk about

bantha-headed . . .!

Lavan's frustration was broken by a sound he heard from the far end of the corridor. "Uh, I hate to interrupt but . . ."

"Besides all that," Vendra plowed on over her father's words, "there's the fight we had back in the swamp lounge. And it was our fight, Rat. You may have joined the party late, but you sure picked your moment."

"Guys," Lavan tried again, leveling his rifle and moving deeper into the shadows despite of his better instincts. "I really think you want to wrap this up."

"That Squid Head had me dead to rights back there," Vendra said grimly, still not hearing her father despite his increasing alarm. "He was armed. He was enraged. And there was nothing stopping him from killing me. Which was what was about to happen. But I'm still here. Know why?"

You're going the wrong way, Lavan's brain told him as his body kept moving opposite the direction he wanted to go. "I think I'm going to need a hand here," he called behind him.

The shadows coated the corridor with an inky darkness, but as he got closer to the far end and his eyes adjusted Lavan could make out traces of an open blast door. There was an indistinct but visible glow coming from beyond that door. But Lavan was too preoccupied by the shadow he thought was moving along the right bulkhead to pay the glow much mind.

No. The shadow was not just moving. It was prowling.

At least get a bigger gun, Lavan's brain said. But he could not back away now, and he knew it.

"I'm still here because a four foot rat jumped out of nowhere and sank his teeth into the Squid Head's gun-hand. That's why," Vendra said, gritting her teeth and jabbing a forefinger against her Jawa-friend's chest. "So don't give me anymore of this 'Jawa-weakling' dung," she lectured with another series of jabs.

You don't want to do what you're about to do, the voice in Lavan's head said. And he had to concede the point. But he had gotten himself into so much trouble all ready. It would be a shame to cheat himself out of a good catastrophe. So, with a deep silent breath, Lavan slowly shifted his aim directly at the prowling shadow, and, with a twitch of his thumb, flipped on his rifle's glow-light.

"VENDRA!" he screamed, the mortified call booming through the corridor like the thunder of a turbolaser blast.

"What?!" Vendra demanded, she and Myrishi alike jumping at the emotional volume of Lavan's terrified call.

Only then did Vendra and Myrishi finally look in Lavan's direction.

And, in that moment, the voxyn attacked!

"Get behind me, Myrishi! Now!" Vendra ordered, falling onto her back, uncrossing her legs, and tucking her knees to her chest as her reverse roll brought her into a low crouch. Her rifle was on the deck, but her hand instinctively snatched her blaster from her hip as something big, lithe, and very angry came storming from the shadows and into her father's glow-light. Before she could even take aim the thing pounced on her father even as his rifle screamed with a shot of searing crimson light.

The voxyn landed its huge front paws on Lavan's back as he ducked beneath its jump. But barely a blink later, with a deep growl that sounded like a molten rockside on the planet Mustafar, the monster sprung from her father's back like a diver from a sonic-board. Sending Lavan stumbling into a hard skid along the deck as the creature landed on six muscular legs and charged Vendra and Myrishi head on.

Vendra clenched her teeth, a thousand curses ripping through her brain as she aimed dead-center and fired as many shots as her instant of opportunity allowed. Her first shot was hopeful, blasting the raging predator's muzzle and burning through. The creature stumbled and thrashed in pain as Vendra's next three shots exploded against its heavily scaled flat head and lean flank. But then, with a withering roar of pure rage, the beast gathered itself and came on again as Vendra dove forward. In part to grab her rifle, in part to protect herself as her three shots bounced harmlessly from the enraged creature's scales, and ricocheted wildly about the corridor.

She could feel the deck rattling beneath the monster's six great paws as her hands clutched her rifle. And Vendra dove in a forward roll that brought her up on one knee. But instead of aiming the rifle, Vendra found herself thrusting it outward lengthwise to block a great set of brutal jaws.

Jaws that were now a breath away from tearing her unprotected head from her shoulders.

The predator's breath was a vile wave of intense heat and tremendous stench as it clamped down on Vendra's rifle with crushing strength. The beast looked like a twisted cross between a reptile and wild cat, glaring at her with bright yellow eyes.

Vendra clutched the opposite ends of her mangled rifle as it buckled before the tremendous power of the beast's gruesome jaws. She grit her teeth and leaned into the struggle with all the power she had.

But Vendra's strength was nothing to the predator that was easily overwhelming her.

Knelt on one knee, Vendra had no maneuverability. Worse, her grotesque enemy seemed to know it. It seemed to know its victory was assured. Vendra had to do something, and quickly. At that rate, the beast would have her on the ground in a couple of heartbeats, probably breaking her bent knee along the way. Distantly, as her muscles began trembling with a throbbing fatigue, she wondered where her father was. Why was he not shooting?

Was he dead?

The question fired Vendra's spirit, fueling her muscles with rage, and Vendra rallied all the strength she had left to steel herself. Using the beast's own monstrous force as leverage as she began pushing herself onto her feet.

"Myrishi," Vendra said, the name coming from deep in her throat as a low grating growl. "Get to Dad. Find . . ."

Her next word transformed into a surprised yelp as Vendra suddenly found herself hanging from the deck. But she gave no pause to the surprise as her body moved independently of her conscious mind. She did not tell her feet to snap together anymore than she directed her legs to swing before her. Vendra did spare a thought of concern for her unprotected head as she let go of her demolished weapon. Dropping to the deck on her back directly beneath the monster's body.

The beast growled as its front paws clapped together and held nothing between them. The monster had but an instant to glance down at the quarry laying on her back beneath it before a angry flare of fire washed over the underside of its upper torso. Howling an agonized cry of fear, the beast leaped up and away from Vendra with a speed her eyes barely matched as she doggedly kept up the fiery stream pouring from her wrist.

The blazing fire-line trailed the creature as it jumped almost to the ceiling in a surprisingly graceful arc toward the bulkhead on Vendra's left. Vendra shifted on the deck, trying to keep the fire on the monster. But, even as the beast's momentum carried it, the creature shifted in the air. It hit the ground with a great resonant impact, and Vendra was suddenly rolling frantically away as its long wickedly barbed whip-tail lashed out like a giant vine snake. It smacked the deck where Vendra had been with enough force to lop her body clean in half as she sprang to her feet.

The predator was a feral vortex as it cast the remnants of Vendra's rifle from its jaws and crouched for what was sure to be a fatal pounce. Knowing her only chance was at the far end of the corridor, Vendra sent a scalding fire-line straight into the emergency flare just off to the monster's right.

Vendra would have flinched at the blinding explosion were she not already running for the corridor's far side, while the beast leaped sidelong toward the corridor entrance to get away from the fire.

At least, Vendra hoped that was what it did. The increased distance the beast had to go would buy only an extra second, maybe. But an extra second could be all the difference. Dimly she was aware of the sword she held as she ran. Though Vendra could not remember when or why she had drawn it.

She reached the corridor's far end. First she saw Myrishi. Then she saw her virtually motionless father. Then she saw . . .

The beast was coming on again. Its enraged charge thundering on the deck like the motors of an old Trade Federation droid troop transport. Vendra reached her limp father, grabbed his rifle and spun on one knee. She was a blink from blasting when her target abruptly halted, opened its huge mouth a good half-meter, and wailed an ultra sonic scream.

The rifle clattered to the deck as Vendra pressed her hands to her bleeding ears and belted an agonized howl that barely qualified as a human cry. The monster was coming straight for her again, and all Vendra could do was recoil as she withered from the extreme auditory attack.

The horrendous stew of filth that was the monster's breath flooded her nose again, and she opened her eyes just enough to see those terrible jaws streak toward her face. Jaws that grew in size until they consumed her entire being. Then a tremendous weight fell upon her body and she was driven to the deck by a vicious wave of dizziness and nausea.

The final seconds of life raced by, and there was nothing but infinite silence to mark their passing.

Myrishi could not have known humans could make a sound like that which exploded from Vendra as she was overwhelmed by the monster's auditory attack. The Jawa probably would have been terrified to be the only sentient still standing before the beast's lethal stampede. But Myrishi, being the only sentient still standing, had no time for fear. The ultra sonic wave hit his brain so hard Myrishi's skull may as well have been smashed into a block of solid duracrete.

Time slowed to a mere trickle and, in that single endless second, Myrishi saw it all. He saw the monster spring forward on six legs that seemed so slow the beast appeared to be crawling more than running. He saw Lavan Seron, fully unconsciousness though twitching in response to the creature's vocal onslaught. He saw Vendra flail back and pitch forward like a moisture farmer's vaporator being trashed by a Tusken Raider. At last, he saw himself standing there. He saw himself seeing all he was seeing. Then, he saw himself gripping the hilt of the sword that had fallen from Vendra's hand. He watched himself as he pulled the blade that was at least as long as he was. In his mind Myrishi watched himself as he sidled between Vendra and the snarling predator. He was aware of it all. His own violent nausea and evil dizziness. The abysmal void that had crippled the two humans. The desperate will of the predator whose heart pounded with a raw instinct that drove it to attack. And, again, he saw himself shifting his grip on the sword in his hands as he leveled the tip of the black blade even with the monster's ravenous mouth. The beast's reflexes were magnificent. But, somehow, Myrishi's were faster. Finally, as though he were watching a holographic recording, Myrishi saw the monster run itself straight into the tip of that dark blade even as the Jawa thrust the pommel away from his chest. The blade ran right trough the back of the voxyn's neck.

With a growl that almost sounded shocked, the voxyn stiffened and dropped to the deck with a final death throe.

When it was over Myrishi was surprised to realize that, not only was he still alive, but he was also . . . The hero? It was over then? It was done? The two year comedy of embarrassment and humiliation was finished, and had ended with a climax that left Myrishi the hero?

It took a second for that amazing truth to set in. When it did, the Jawa's rush of strength and courage finally left him. Vendra's sword suddenly became too heavy for him. The blade fell from his shaking hands as his legs went numb. His body felt as though it were turning to rubber as his brain swirled like churning water and his stomach started doing "Dagger Rolls." Mryishi stumbled, eyes drifting to the voxyn carcass and the blood pooling around it. When he saw that blood, a dark suspicion rose above his sickness.

Haste drove back the grave illness creeping through him and he moved clumsily to Vendra's side. She was still unconscious, but her condition looked even worse than just moments before. Which meant the Myrishi's suspicion appeared to have been right. Something about the voxyn's blood was making them sick. The Jawa knew he had no time to waste. He had to act while he still could. Myrishi quickly fitted Vendra's breath-mask about her face. It sealed with a quick quiet hiss and began thrumming its slow steady beat.

The Jawa shook his head vigorously and unsteadily slipped his own mask beneath his hood. Rich pure oxygen flowed into him immediately. It would sustain him for a time, but he was continuing to slip. And though he might have already been too late for Vendra's father, he still had to try.

Myrishi stood, but fell with his first step. Given time, the oxygen he was getting might give him more strength, but Myrishi knew time was not his ally. So the Jawa gathered his will and crawled on all fours. Ordinarily, it would not have been a problem. With his agility Myrishi could crawl at a pace that was a fast run for most species, and Lavan was only five feet away at most. But, in his condition, the five foot crawl felt like a five kilometer uphill run. Nevertheless, he made it to Lavan's side in quick time . . . But found no trace of Lavan's breath-mask.

Lavan Seron hated breath-masks. He was consistently the last being to put one on and the first to take it off. It was likely that he had conveniently lost his somewhere along the way. It was a foolish thing to do. But then, to do anything other than the foolish would make him less human. What was Myrishi to do now?

The answer came with the question. But his debt was to Vendra. Myrishi did not owe her father anything. But he was her father. To save her and not him . . . The decision was made before he had even been consciously aware. Suddenly, Myrishi's lungs flooded with a last breath of clean air as he removed his breath-mask and placed it securely on Lavan Seron's face.

Myrishi tried to hold his breath as he closed his eyes against the awful fumes the voxyn's corpse was still giving off. Who knew? Maybe a few more seconds was all Vendra needed to recover enough to help him? Maybe those fumes were already starting to level off, and all Myrishi had to do was weather the remnants?

The Jawa leaned on Lavan's side as he started coughing. Though his eyes were closed the fumes seeped beneath his eyelids. The flood of tears only added to the biting sting and angry burn that scorched his eyes as his tongue began to fatten and his throat began to close. Myrishi's body started to convulse as he felt himself falling into a torrent of dreadful illness. He moaned desperately. Trying to prop himself back up. Trying to stay alive. After all, Vendra would be along any second. She would help both him and Lavan. Then father and daughter would exchange verbal barbs. Then Myrishi would tell them both exactly what he thought of the human species. Then everything would be back to normal.

Myrishi lurched with a violent hacking cough that could not escape his swollen trachea. His eyes flickered like dying glow-lamps as he forced them open, looked to Vendra . . . And found her just as still as she had been before.

His eyes flickered again as he laid his heavy head on Lavan's side. Each flicker became longer and longer until . . .

Until . . .

The energy field created by all living things had surrounded and penetrated Myrishi. It had given him the vision to see and experience everything at once. It had granted him the strength and reflex to perform the impossible.

Now that mystical energy field called for Myrishi to shed his mortal existence and join with it.

A final thought flashed into his oxygen starved brain: after two years Myrishi the Jawa had finally paid his debt.

Then, Myrishi's eyes faded like two distant dying stars, nd perhaps the most unlikely partnership the galaxy had ever seen ended as he drifted away.

Vendra had not felt as sick as she did right then since the morning after that little impromptu party she had with about four dozen strangers in celebration of winning the Black Dagger. The thought of that name brought Vendra's mind full circle as she recalled why she was so sick in the first place. Her memories did not include putting on a breath-mask, and her concentration split three ways as she focused on moving, wondering how and when her hearing would return, and pondering why they had put a breath-mask . . .

Vendra's eyes shot open and immediately began to burn; she blinked and squinted with tears that kept coming. She felt rather than heard herself calling into her mask's comlink. Calling the names of her father and partner though she was deaf to any reply. Vendra forced herself up on her elbows, raised her head, and jerked back from the laser burned muzzle of the dead voxyn that lay not three feet away.

She twisted her head away from the grizzly sight, and Vendra's stomach wrenched at an even more terrible sight. How ever, and why ever, Lavan and Vendra were wearing breath-masks, Myrishi was not.

Again Vendra sensed herself calling for Lavan and Myrishi. Throat muscles contracting with urgency as she moved to where they lay as fast as her still uncertain limbs allowed. Terror encased her body in an emotional shell of ice as Myrishi slumped into her arms with the slightest tug.

The Jawa gave no reaction to Vendra's calls or motions as she pressed her fingers to his wrist. What Vendra felt hardly passed for a pulse at all. It seemed as though his body had already given up and was just going through the motions of life as it failed. Vendra was no medic, not for something like this. She certainly did not know enough about Jawa biology to do much beyond the basics. But Myrishi was clearly responsible for placing the breath-masks on her and Lavan, and she was going to do something.

Grabbing the medkit from her back-pack, Vendra removed a small emergency air canister and pressed the plastic face-mask inside the Jawa's darkened hood. As she did, Vendra noted the soft bulge of Myrishi's throat just beneath his chin. It could have been normal for a Jawa. But, given her own response to whatever the voxyn had done just before it died, something told Vendra to snatch the anti-inflammatory spray and get it down Myrishi's throat first. Then, she peered deeply at the Jawa's face, found the tiny slits of his nose and sprayed both nasal cavities with a strong antihistamine. Finally, she opened the valve on the emergency air canister and fixed it to Mryishi's face.

That air canister had maybe twenty minutes of air in it. What Myrishi needed was a full breath-mask. As far as she knew they all had one. Which meant her father had conveniently misplaced his. She had to get him to tell her where it was.

That meant waking him up. A hypo-stim to the heart would have been perfect. But Lavan's body armor made that impossible. So Vendra pushed her father flat onto his back, and jabbed the hypo-stim the side of his swollen neck. He jumped like a shocked Ewok, eyes snapping open and fixing on Vendra with an expression of unfathomable surprise. She tried speaking into her comlink, and it was instantly apparent that he could not hear anything either.

Lavan stirred, hands fumbling about the breath-mask he had just realized he was wearing. Vendra's hand clamped down hard on his wrist as he tried removing it. His eyes blinked to his daughter's face, but the annoyance faded immediately as Vendra leaned close. Looking him dead in the eye as she held up an emphatic forefinger between them.

Vendra's forefinger jabbed to Lavan's immediate right. Lavan's eyes followed, focusing on Myrishi's motionless form and the reserve oxygen canister just visible from beneath the hood. Lavan's eyes flashed back to Vendra's intense gaze. She replied to his unspoken question by pointing to her own breath-mask, holding up three fingers, then motioning back to Myrishi and shaking her head.

Lavan shook his head in deep remorse.

Vendra looked around her, weighed down by hopeless bewilderment as she searched for inspiration.

And found it.

Locking eyes with Lavan once more, Vendra pointed first at herself, then up at the release for the blast door beside them. Then she pointed back to Lavan, and then back to Myrishi.

Certain her intent and instruction was clear, Vendra took a power cell from Lavan's equipment harness. She stood and went for the blast door's release as Lavan laboriously rolled onto all-fours.

A single glance at Myrishi's alien body was all it took to leave Lavan feeling completely lost and useless. He was saved the desperation of having to do something by a quick and vehement tap on the shoulder. He looked around to time to see Vendra circling around him to Myrishi's side. Gathering the small being in her arms she motioned with her head back toward the door.

Fighting his way to his feet Lavan shuffled to the door, but Vendra was already by the release. She tapped with her elbow and, shifting Myrishi into a one-armed cradle, grabbed her father by the arm and hauled him in faster than his body really wanted to go. Lavan fell through the door, tumbling to the floor as Vendra shut the door and crouched to the deck.

She checked Myrishi over as best she could, wondering hopefully whether the Jawa's rapidly rising and falling chest was a good thing as she checked and adjusted the air canister.

"Please wake up, Mysh," Vendra said to the still unconscious alien as she pressed her fingers to his wrist again. "I really don't know if we're doing anything good for you. Be nice for you to fill in a few blanks here."

She checked the oxygen level of Myrishi's canister and winced. There was only about thirteen minutes of air remaining, and it looked to Vendra like that oxygen was the only thing keeping him alive. Once it ran out . . . But that was why she had gambled on moving everybody into the bridge section's primary security area in the first place.

Grabbing the portable sensor package from her backpack, she collected an air sample from the compact glow-lichen lit space and ran it through an environmental analysis. A few minutes later, Vendra pulled the mask from her bruised and dirty face. The small toxic traces from the voxyn corpse had diffused into the open door, but were now mostly dispersed. The air was clean enough to breathe.

Her still weak father moved unsteadily to her side and nodded for permission. Vendra nodded in return and Lavan removed his breath-mask as Vendra did. Then, father and daughter knelt side by side and did the only thing they could for their fallen crew-mate.

They watched and they waited for the universe to give them reason to celebrate or mourn. They waited in silence. Oblivious to the great Star Destroyer with its massive jungle of unnatural terrors. Oblivious to the sensations of their hearts, whose desperate drumming they could feel but not hear. Oblivious to the total deafness itself.

Oblivious to the yellow eyes gazing at them from the bone constructed voxyn lair concealed by the mangled console of the badly dilapidated security kiosk. Eyes gazing with a stare that was as curious as it was frightened by the bizarre creatures huddling not twenty feet away and making more noise than they seemed to know.

For a long few moments Lavan and Vendra just held hands, father and daughter speaking encouragingly though neither could hear the words. Abruptly, Vendra pulled away, reaching into her nearly barren medkit for two pairs of bacta-bandages. They were running the wire on supplies here. If they ran into anymore trouble . . . But there was little more she could do for Myrishi. The best thing now was to try and heal the damage to their ears. She gently pressed the small soft packets deep into her ears, feeling the bacta-fluid seeping into the cavities of her blown eardrums and hoping it would work as she applied the other set to her father. Then she brought out some of their remaining field rations and water. Still unaware of the hidden observer whose yellow eyes continued watching with frightful curiosity.

And growing hunger.

Lavan had no idea when he had fallen asleep, and he was certainly too tired to dream when he had. In truth, his mind was grateful for the blissful peace of such a deep sleep. On any other ship, at any other time, in any other place in the galaxy, a good hard sleep would have been in perfect order. But this was not any other ship, time, or place in the galaxy. This was the Star Destroyer New Dawn, a derelict hulk that was domain to a million unnatural horrors ready to attack at any second.

All of which made falling into deep sleep a mistake that was several thousand levels beyond mere stupidity.

But there was no time for regret, let alone defense. If his mind registered that his ears were healed and hearing again, Lavan was far too panicked by the long resonating growl that had startled him.

Lavan went immediately for his weapon as, suddenly, the growl became a roar. A roar that was already virtually on top of him as he instinctively snapped his head toward the feral sound.

"Oh, for Jabba's sake, Vendra! Wake up!" he exclaimed at his snoring daughter.

"Ow!" Vendra blurted, banging her head against the bulkhead as she sprang from a deep sleep of her own. "What?!"

"We're supposed to be on guard here, and you're snoring like a drunk rancor. That's what," Lavan retorted.

"Sorry. Little tired, I guess," Vendra muttered, rolling her head around her shoulders to work out the kinks.

"You go to sleep on this ship, you might start feeling a little dead," Lavan said bluntly. "I'm tired too, okay? But I'm still fighting to stay awake here. If I can do it, so can you. Right?"

"Right, right. Sorry," Vendra nodded wearily, straightening up. "How's Myrishi? Any change?"

"Uh, not that I've noticed," Lavan replied casually. "But I'm no expert on Jawa's," he added, pouncing on that wonderfully convenient excuse.

"Me neither," Vendra replied, moving her fingers to Myrishi's wrist. She pressed gently, and gasped in hopeful surprise as his hand twitched at her touch. Vendra's eyes flashed instantly to the Jawa's darkened hood in time to see two tiny flecks of light blink into existence.

"Myrishi! Hey, partner! Great having you back!" Vendra exclaimed as tears dropped from her eyes like heavy raindrops.

Myrishi chittered in response, and Lavan saw Vendra's face flush a little bit. Her smile was still joyful, but a hint of some other emotion had crept into her expression.

"What did he say?" Lavan asked, wiping moisture from his eyes as well.

"He said that he's been conscious for a couple of hours now," Vendra replied, her tone still conversational. "But he wanted to wait until we woke up to say anything." She looked up then, a definite edge to her face and voice as she turned her eyes on her clearly guilty father and raised her eyebrows. "We?"

"Myrishi, you're alive!" Lavan cried suddenly, and the Jawa blurted in unbridled shock as Lavan Seron collapsed over him in a dramatic embrace as in obvious ploy to escape Vendra's glare.

The bridge anteroom exploded with a flurry of irritated jabbers and squawks as Myrishi batted the big human in vehement protest of the embarrassing display.

"All right! All right!" Vendra said flatly, rolling her eyes as she waved her father off. "You're of the hook. Let Myrishi go before we have to resuscitate him again."

"Well, I'm glad he's still with us," Lavan said in a purely sincere tone.

"Oh, so am I," Vendra nodded with an expression just as earnest. "But you're still a hypocrite," she pronounced, and Lavan could only grin and look away.

It was then that something roughly spider-like sprung from the front desk of the security kiosk.

"What is that?!" Lavan snapped, his cry startling Vendra as though she were hit by a stun baton.

Vendra screamed in terror and disgust as she snapped up her blaster and fired. It was no surprise that her shot missed. The short distance, coupled with the brief loss of her bearings, gave their attacker the advantage. All Vendra and Lavan could do was get clear as the creature leaped over and past them. Vendra rolled over her shoulder and up on one knee, her stomach and head reeling with the move. The attacker hit the anteroom door and slid to the deck. Vendra leveled her weapon . . . And did not fire.

She watched as the creature fell in a tangle of legs and struggled to right itself. A second later the tiny attacker flipped belly-first, glaring at Myrishi as it hummed with a quiet purr that Vendra guessed was probably its fiercest growl. It was worlds smaller, but the yellow eyes, snout, and barbed whip-like tail were very familiar.

"What are you doing?" Lavan demanded as Vendra ran a small fire-line from her flamethrower across the deck to deter another attack.

The creature continued humming, but shied away from the flames that were little more than some added lighting.

"Okay, I'll get it," Lavan said, taking aim.

"Wait," Vendra said, her voice quiet but sharp as she studied the diminutive animal still valiantly trying to look threatening. The creature tensed again, and Vendra flashed her flamethrower to discourage it.

"Wait for what?" Lavan asked suspiciously. "Let's blast it already."

"Hold on. But be ready," Vendra said, her hushed tone forbidding debate as she inched a bit closer. "It's okay," she said soothingly. "Nobody's gonna hurt anybody," she said, moving even closer but hesitating as the animal flexed its throat muscles and spat. Vendra was well out of range of the acidic spittle melting tiny pits in the deckplates.

"That's a new trick. Momma didn't use that one," she said mildly. Vendra stopped a mere few feet from the infant voxyn. For an instant the little predator just looked at her quizzically. Then, it opened its mouth again and screamed.

Vendra flinched against the sharp pain in her head as her vision slid a little off center. "That one she used," Vendra commented as her crew-mates made more noise than the attack really warranted. "Are you looking for a fight? Or a dinner?" she asked thoughtfully, shifting her aim to reach into her belt-pouch.

"You're nuts," her father said tensely as Vendra drew out a morsel of the reptile they had cooked up back in the swamp.

"You're crazy," Lavan murmured as his daughter slowly held the food out.

"Go on," she said tenderly. "It's yummy. Trust me."

The creature's beady eyes flicked from Vendra's face, to the food, and then back to her face again. The tiny claws of its tiny feet scuffing the deck as the infant floundered on uncoordinated legs. Torn between an instinctive distrust of Vendra, versus a keen interest in the food she held. For her part, Vendra remained perfectly still. Her face and breath tightly controlled as she awaited the little animal's decision.

It was a considerable wait. The creature kept up its buzz/growling. Kept looking from Vendra's face to the food in her hand. Kept creeping forward and scrambling back on its uncertain legs. Then, just as suddenly, the little hunter came absolutely still, fixing its yellow eyes to Vendra's face.

The back of Vendra's neck prickled with the feeling of oncoming trouble. But before she even thought to pull away, the creature jolted forward to snatch the meat from her fingers. Vendra pulled her hand away, a quick cringe flashing over her face as her armored fingertips smoldered with small acid burns.

She was acutely aware of her father's alarm as she tore the glove from her hand and dropped it to the deck.

She silently cursed herself. Granted, her reaction was quite unavoidable, but she was trying to inspire some trust here, and sudden motions would convey the wrong kind of inspiration.

But the creature did not appear to be spooked. It just paused in its studious chewing, tilting its head aside as through puzzled by her behavior.

"That's okay," Vendra soothed, trying a smile. "I've got spare gloves. Want a little more?" she prompted, offering a second morsel with her other gloved hand. The little animal swallowed its current mouthful with a single quick gulp, looking at the next offering.

No, its looking at my glove, Vendra realized, the thought coming even as the infant stretched its neck slowly forward. Vendra pressed her teeth together, preparing to pull her hand more carefully than before. As it happened the preparation was unnecessary. The smart little thing had apparently caught on to what had occurred before. This time the animal plucked the meat from her hand with only its front fangs, and only after swallowing to insure none of its corrosive saliva made contact with Vendra's hand. She smiled as the creature moved away before flipping the meat into its mouth.

"Well, aren't you just clever," Vendra said with a calm playful tone as the animal began its vigorous chewing. "You can put your gun away, Dad," she said over her shoulder. "We're all friends here."

"I haven't shaken its paw yet," Lavan replied grimly. "I suppose we know now why the bigger one out there held off on the acid."

"Wanted us as whole as possible," Vendra nodded. "Food for the family. Oh, will you relax," she admonished, looking away from the infant voxyn to cast a look back at her paranoid father. "Everything's fine here now."

"Watch it!" Lavan exclaimed, and Vendra looked back just in time to see the baby voxyn scramble forward to settle on Vendra's forearm, with all six legs anchoring it in place.

Lavan leveled his blaster at the thing, wondering how in the worlds they were going to get it off Vendra's arm.

"Are you comfy there? I think you are," she said, talking to the thing as though it were a baby Ewok. "Wanna come with me?" she asked in the same voice, and to her father's profound horror. "Come on. You can help us find some treasure," she told it, and the creature seemed to ponder her words as she slowly got to her feet, turned around . . . And saw her glowering father standing before her with his hands on his hips. Looking like a towering–only slightly overweight–Dark Lord of the Sith, about to interrogate Vendra over stolen data tapes, or something.

"Uh-uh," he said flatly, drumming his fingertips on his hips and settling his weight on one foot. "Nope. No way."

"Uh-huh," Vendra replied, matching his tone and scowl. "Yup. You bet."

Lavan jabbed a forefinger at the creature gazing steadily at Myrishi from Vendra's forearm. "That thing is a killing machine."

"A baby killing machine," Vendra retorted.

"It was created by the Vong," Lavan rumbled.

"So what?" Vendra demanded.

"So, it should be destroyed along with everything else on this blasted ship," Lavan bit out.

"And that would make the universe all right?" Vendra growled.

"Yes. It would," Lavan retorted, trying to ignore the way the truth hung in his throat and twisted painfully in his stomach. Nothing would make his universe right again. Nothing would even come close. He knew it, and Vendra knew it to. But before the debate could continue, the brief silence was slashed by the sudden hiss of a triggered relay.

Vendra's blaster was in her hand before she knew it. She sidled to the bulkhead on her left as Lavan hustled to the right. Aiming his rifle with one hand and dragging Myrishi along by the bandolier with the other.

"I'm getting really sick of this," Lavan muttered, and there was a quiet grunt of agreement from the Jawa lying on the floor behind his feet.

"That's the main bridge," Vendra said with a gasp of relieved excitement. "We made it."

"Don't count your Dwarf Nunas just yet," her father replied tensely. "Main bridge blastdoors don't just trigger themselves."

"On a ship as neglected as this one they might," Vendra offered. "But it's unlikely. I'll grant you that," she added before Lavan could complain. Besides, her forearm was suddenly pulsating with the infant voxyn's buzz-purring. She glanced down, and paused for a longer look. The creature's body was quivering with excitement. Its jaw working visibly as its eyes flicked madly between the massive bridge laid out before them, and Myrishi.

What was it about Myrishi that the little thing found so fascinating? What was it about the bridge that had it so stirred up?

"You suppose you're pal's pappa is in there?" Lavan asked warily.

"Not really," Vendra replied. "If that were the case, odds are good we'd all ready be shooting. You and Myrishi stay put. I'll check it out."

"Are you kidding," Lavan snorted. "Listen, I've gone too far and been scared too much on this trip to let you see the big surprise without me."

"Okay," Vendra replied with a slight smile. "Guess the only question is whether it's a party of two, or three."

Lavan heard the long somewhat wheezing sigh the drifted upward from the floor, followed by a series of decidedly unenthusiastic grunts and chitters.

"What did he say?" Lavan asked, noting his daughter's quick smirk.

"He said that, considering we're likely to get him killed either way, he might as well come along. He adds, and I quote: 'That's what I get for hanging around with humans.'" Vendra translated.

"Hard to argue," Lavan said dryly.

"I'd even call it charitable. Considering what we got him into here," Vendra replied, raising her blaster to ready position beside her right ear and pressing her back to the bulkhead. She squinted, looking hard into the expansive space beyond. "There's a lot of light coming from inside the main bridge proper."

"From well inside at that," Lavan agreed, gently shifting the extra weight of the Jawa now slung over his shoulder more comfortably along his back. "Doesn't look like any variation of glow-lichen though."

"No," Vendra murmured, frowning as Myrishi gave a series of thoughtful grunts and moans.

"He says it's not glow-lichen," Vendra answered her father's raised eyebrows. "It's the discharge of a full spectrum military-grade containment shield. The kind that would raise during a massive decompression," Vendra's expression became puzzled as Myrishi continued. "He says the energy output harmonics are the same ones used in bio-containment and stasis chambers."

"There's something alive in there," Lavan muttered darkly. "Great. How do you want to do this?"

"Straight and simple," Vendra replied, already sidling along the corridor wall toward the bridge access. "You cover my side, I'll cover your's."

But as Lavan fell into step with Vendra, settling into covering position along his side of the corridor, it occurred to her that there were no further dangers awaiting them. Caution was still well and good. But, suddenly, Vendra had a sense of safety she could not explain. All the ship's dangers had been faced and survived. All that remained now was to enter the bridge, confront the modern legend, and find out, once and for all, if the legend was unbelievable reality, or a very spectacular myth.

But, after all they had been through on that ship, they had better find something blasted spectacular or Vendra would

raise . . .

"What in Star's End?" Lavan breathed as he and Vendra stepped onto the bridge. Though Lavan had not addressed his daughter even remotely, she would not have heard him if he had. In fact, at that moment Vendra could have been bitten by a sand kreete without feeling a thing.

Of all the things she had expected . . .

"And they've been kept alive?" Vendra asked, though the words were more a statement than a question as she and her father walked down the raised command walkway separating the port and starboard crewpits. Suspended within the protective energy field, floating above the still pristine but long darkened banks of vidscreens and consoles like sleeping ghosts, were fourteen Yuzzhan Vong.

"The oldest can't be a day over fifteen," Vendra murmured, peering closely at the sloped foreheads and pale-blue sacs beneath their sunken eyes.

"Are those supposed to be Jedi robes, you think?" Lavan asked, his voice an icy growl as he glared in disgust at the dark brown long sleeved garments that looked like shiny leather hides.

"What is going on here?" Vendra muttered, oblivious to her father's contempt as she stood transfixed by the bizarre and somewhat morbid sight. Lavan was about to make a snide suggestion that they wake one of the Vong when Vendra gasped.

"Dad, Myrishi, look," she whispered, pointing toward the bridge's main viewport. Lying on the deck, just before the computer and control consoles lining the bottom of the viewport, were the remains of a human being.

Father and daughter stood shoulder to shoulder, frozen with awe and trepidation at the sight before them. Lavan unable to speak, Vendra incapable of blinking. Both trembling as their bodies were swept up in a thrill that was neither pleasant, nor dreadful, as their minds tried to cope with the moment so suddenly set upon them. Even Myrishi, whose primary concerns in all of this were survival and investigating the power signature he had detected, was stone stiff and perfectly silent.

As Vendra starred her eyes gradually penetrated the light and began perceiving details of the skeleton laying face down on the deck. The sight seemed to be enlarging in her mind, drawing closer somehow. Eventually, her brain would realize Vendra's legs were moving as she moved closer with a pace and step she might use while approaching a fresh grave.

"This is Han Solo," Vendra murmured, her voice as shaky as her legs as she knelt beside the remains of the long deceased man.

The man who had gone from outlaw smuggler and mercenary, to Rebel general and Civil War hero . . .

To legend.

A legend who had died as only he truly could. On the bridge of a ship, in a position of command, and with a weapon in his hand. Vendra peered at the pistol still gripped by the skeletal hand of its long lost owner–an antique BlasTech DL-44 that was legend itself. However Han Solo had gone down, he had gone down fighting.

Vendra bristled with a pang of embarrassment that she should expect anything less from a man who lived through, and fought in, two galactic wars. And that was only part of his known history. Han Solo had been flying from one side of the Old Galaxy to the other for years before joining the Rebel Alliance. It would not surprise Vendra if . . .

"There it is," her father said quietly, and Vendra willed her eyes to her father's face. His eyes were focused on the deck with an intensity Vendra had never seen before. Her eyes traced her father's path, and the terrible wonder set fire to Vendra's nerve again.

There on the deck, not more than a few feet from Han Solo's remains, was an empty Jedi robe. Within the folds of the crumpled robe was a black tunic, matching pants, and a pair of black boots. But the heaped clothing was hardly noticed. For Vendra's eyes were cemented to mechanical hand lying in its bed of discarded fabric. An artificial right hand that was still sheathed in its black glove.

A hand still holding the most sought after antique weapon in galactic history.

"It's true," Vendra whispered as she gaped down at the lightsaber of Luke Skywalker.

"Looks that way to me," Lavan said, growing uneasy for the first time since entering the bridge. "I don't know, though. I mean, shouldn't there be more left of him than this?"

"Don't be so sure," Vendra cautioned as a grim feeling began taking root in her gut. "Some say Jedi Masters can go into some kind of, I don't know, trance that makes their bodies disappear when they die."

"And Skywalker's right hand stayed because it is artificial?" Lavan asked doubtfully, shifting to give Myrishi the view the Jawa was impatiently squirming for.

"It would fit with the rumor, anyway," Vendra replied, suddenly feeling a little cold all over. "I don't know anything more about it. But only Jedi Masters apparently know how to do it."

"If that is even Luke Skywalker's lightsaber," Lavan pointed out.

"It is," Vendra said as that cold feeling grew closer and closer to something like . . .

"We don't know that for sure," Lavan pointed out. "But triggering the blade would be a good step in finding out. Lightsabers are supposed to last a century or more. Let's see if this one still works," he said, stooping to reach for the frozen hand lying in its bed of fabric.

"No!" Vendra said sharply, hand snapping out to grab Lavan's wrist. "Don't touch it. Don't touch anything."

"Why not?" her father asked gently. "It's what we risked our lives for, isn't it?"

"Because I'm not a grave-robber, that's why," Vendra said firmly. Firmly, but with a hollowness in her tone that spoke to the shame she felt.

She thought back to how mad she was about the traffic citation she got in Bespine's Cloud City. She remembered her bitter and cynical belief that she would never have been cited at all if her last name had been Solo or Skywalker. She remembered how offended she was by the deference shown to Leia Organa Solo at that reception on Bakurra, and her desire call Organa Solo to the carpet for her "presumption." Finally, Vendra remembered how she felt after marooning the Black Dagger inside the Wraith's Corridor during that grutchin's attack. Vendra had wanted the fame of Luke Skywalker and Han Solo. She wanted to be as remembered and celebrated as they were. Somewhere along the way that desire had changed to jealousy. A bitter resentment that always circled back to Vendra's single biggest flaw.

Pride.

Yes, she wanted the galaxy to remember her. But not for fear of being forgotten. She wanted her name to be toasted. Her own exploits noted in history archives and taught in academies across the galaxies. She even wished for prominent buildings to be named after her. After all, if it could happen for a former smuggler, and some moisture farmer from some backwater miserable Hutt planet, it should certainly happen for her. But, in all her jealous, arrogant, ridiculously immature fantasies about fame, fortune, and glory, it never occurred to Vendra just how high the cost of becoming a modern legend really was.

Not until now, when that price was starring her in the face. The scene before her now attested to the price these two heroes–these two legends–had paid for their place in history. But Skywalker and Solo had not fought battles and wars for personal glory. No. They fought, gambled, and struggled in defense of peace and justice. They died for it without thought of personal glory. That was what made them heroes, and Vendra was not going to cheapen it now by picking at their remains like some slimy Dathomirian carrion slug.

"Whatever you say, Ace," Lavan said, his warm affectionate tone speaking to just how unsurprising Vendra's reaction had been. "Okay," he continued with a deep breath, "we made it to the bridge. What now?"

Vendra shrugged as she took another gentle step back from the sight she knew would be with her for the rest of her life. She drew a breath to speak, but was stopped by the soft groan of motors. It was barely a sound at all, and Myrishi clucked excitedly at the trilling of electronic code that echoed weakly from the starboard side of the forward viewport.

"The surprises continue," Lavan muttered as he, Vendra, and Myrishi starred at the blue/white dome-topped R2-unit jacked into the internal systems control console. "I knew R2-units were built to last. But this," Lavan shook his head. "The droid's been online without maintenance of any kind for, what? A decade or more? Gotta be a record."

Once again Vendra began to speak and, once again, she was silenced by surprise as the droid's holoprojector flickered to life. From the projector node came a ghostly field of hazy blue energy. The beam flickered, the projector sputtering as though on the verge of a system's failure. But as the beam reached the top edge of the captain's chair, a quarter-sized blue-scanned image appeared.

It was the image of a middle-aged man of medium height and build. A man wearing a hooded robe. A man who had the hilt of a lightsaber attached to his belt. The same hilt resting in the grip of the black gloved hand lying on the deck.

"Greetings," the hologram spoke gravely as the man folded his arms into the wide sleeves of his robe. "I am Luke Skywalker. Jedi Grand Master, and defender of the young Jedi apprentices aboard this ship."

"Jedi apprentices?" Lavan snorted in disbelief.

Vendra silenced her father with a sharp hand gesture as the holographic Master continued. "Years ago these young Yuzzhan Vong were called to me by the Force. Now I ask for your help in seeing that their training in the ways of the Jedi is completed. We were en route to the Jedi Academy on New Dagobah, but our ship has come under attack by a large Bothan attack force, and I'm afraid our mission to bring these students to the Academy has failed."

Myrishi clucked, and both Seron's nodded at once. The bits of metal the Jawa scavenged from the Wrecking Yard and swamp lounge were remnants of Bothan neck-pieces, and the fragmented script and symbols represented family crests. In the wake of Chief of State Borsk Fey'lya's death during the Vong conquest of Coruscant, the entire Bothan race declared ar'crae. A blood-oath to exterminate the Yuzzhan Vong to the last being by any means.

"This ship had been running with a minimal crew," the Jedi Master continued. "Most of whom were killed in the Bothan's initial attack. Many more died defending the Dawn when the Bothan assault troops finally boarded. Some survived to evacuate in the escape pods, only to perish as the Bothan ship targeted and destroyed them."

"We mourned their sacrifice as deeply as we honored their courage," the Jedi Master whispered.

Then he straightened once more. "Finally, as an absolute last resort, Captain Solo and I placed my apprentices into the protective field you see now. We spent the Dawn's last shreds of control and power to bring her here. A place without a sentient world or cluster within fifty light-years in any direction. I then created a corridor of high intensity gravitational Force-storms as a last line of defense. I have placed information necessary for neutralizing the anomalies protecting this ship into the memory systems of this R2 unit. The Jedi will know how to retrieve it."

"This is a most profound hour, for both the Jedi and the Yuzzhan Vong," the Jedi Master said, his tone and manner moving from deep gravity to an even deeper sincerity. "Help them, my courageous strangers."

"You're their only hope."

Seated in the low-backed chair Lavan had appropriated from a systems-monitoring station for him, Myrishi chittered softly to himself as he went about examining the R2 droid's access and interface ports. Lavan was keeping busy with attempts to access the ship's main computer from another terminal, his quiet mumbling and frequent head shakes attesting to his progress. The R2 had returned to standby the instant the Jedi Master's recording had ended, and Vendra assigned Myrishi to do as through an examination as possible for the same reason she had her father looking into the ship's computer. However self-sustaining the bioengineered jungle was, it all still depended on the ship's environmental systems to survive. Vendra needed to know how stable the ship was without the R2 droid before she . . .

"I don't know, Vendra," her father said in a voice of defeat. "Replacing power cells, control consoles, these things I can do. Looking for a backdoor access in a half dead

military-grade supercomputer just isn't something I learned in business school."

"But the systems are all as online as they were before we boarded?" Vendra asked, her voice distant as she gazed out the forward viewport.

She had to do it.

"I don't know what their status was when we boarded exactly," Lavan pointed out. "But the power levels are stable, and everything seems nominal. Probably thanks to our tubby little friend over there."

Vendra shifted her gaze to the right, feeling the weight of the coming moment crushing her heart like a heavy power-hammer.

She did not have a choice.

"How about it 'Myish.' What have you got," she asked, congratulating herself for keeping her tone so steady against the hollowness that was expanding in her soul like the mists that crept across the swamps of Dagobah.

Moving conservatively, the rapidly recovering Jawa carefully shifted in his seat to look at her. His usually loud and lively jabbering was weak with fatigue and pain. Vendra listened to his response, pointedly controlling the sympathetic wince she felt coming to her face at his evident strain. The R2 was effectively running the ship in concert with the badly disabled main computer. The droid was so far interconnected with the ship's functions the Myrishi was certain any attempt to remove it would cause an almost immediate failure of the fragile environmental systems. In addition, the R2 was solely responsible for the maintaining the lock-down of the security doors that were sealing off areas and creatures even more dangerous than the Wrecking Yard and those giant spiders. Removing the R2 meant sacrificing that security. If that happened the ship would be completely overrun by the wildlife and torn apart from the inside out.

Nodding her head to forestall the tangent of Jawa pessimism she saw coming her way, Vendra gestured patiently with her hand. "Droid stays. Got it. Is there anything we can take that it won't miss? An inactive power cell, maybe?"

Myrishi replied that removing any mechanical component would be like disarming a live thermal detonator. Myrishi added that, although he knew that diffusing volatile explosive devices was one of her preferred hobbies, he sure as Nar Shadda was not going to do it!

Then the Jawa's manner became thoughtful, and Vendra was quick to see why as Myrishi pointed to a possibility that may be far better than a generic component. In his examination of the R2, Myrishi had come across a section of the droid's domed head that had been converted in a concealed compartment. Given its design, Myrishi had only one conclusion–the compartment had been custom built for the sole purpose of hiding some sort of cylinder.

Myrishi finished his explanation and Vendra nodded, peripherally noticing Lavan stepping beside her. "But you said we shouldn't risk removing anything mechanical. If the compartment is magnetically sealed and built with servo-motors the droid controls, don't we risk losing the R2 by taking it out?"

The Jawa conceded a small gamble in removing the compartment. He noted, however, that the compartment operated on its own power supply independent of the R2's primary power systems. Another advantage was that the sensory input unit on the back of the droid's domed head had been modified as a manual release for the cylinder compartment. Since the manual release was not mechanized in any way, it should be safe enough to remove.

"Sounds good," Vendra nodded, her voice steady though her stomach was as knotted as overgrown Wookiee hair. "There wouldn't have been enough room for the whole R2, anyway."

Despite her even tone a tense silence fell upon the bridge. Lavan and Myrishi knew something was up with her. Even the little voxyn had sensed her mood and was gazing up at Vendra's face from his place on her forearm gauntlet.

"Why wouldn't there be enough room for the R2 on the Dagger," Lavan gently asked.

Vendra's stomach wrenched hard as her nerve stalled her from speaking the words she knew were necessary. Her eyes flicked to her left, at the full-length duster she and Lavan had spread over the remains of Han Solo. He and Luke Skywalker had made their sacrifices. It was time for Vendra to make her's.

"Because the Squid Head's ship only fits three," Vendra explained. "We're leaving the Dagger here."

Vendra had thought the Dagger destroyed when contact with the ship was lost, but a certain shadowy figure apparently had plans for her. The Quarren and his pals had deactivated the Dagger's power systems, leaving her adrift but undamaged at the New Dawn's stern.

The Black Dagger was Vendra Seron's ship. She was the Dagger's pilot. She was the Dagger's captain. The decision to abandon the ship was her's and her's alone.

But Vendra's crew felt differently.

If she had not known better Vendra would have thought Myrishi and Lavan had prepared for that particular debate in advance. Vendra had been vehement in defending her decision, and her crew were dug into their opposition with equal stubbornness.

Her father pointed out that flying out of the Wraith's Corridor in an unfamiliar ship could just as easily be a suicide run. Vendra countered that their supplies were critically low and that they still lacked resources to fix the Dagger in any case. Her father countered that, if worse came to worst, Vendra could kill another lizard for dinner. And Myrishi pointed out that the hyperdrive system on the Squid Head's ship may be compatible with the Dagger. Or could perhaps be modified to be so.

In the end a compromise was struck. Since there was a group of beings held in stasis here, it seemed reasonable that stores of food, water, and medicine were secured on the main bridge proper for them. If so Vendra would at least postpone her plan and give Myrishi's idea a chance.

Ultimately, they did have to fall back on Lavan's lizard suggestion but, since no further accidents or assaults fell upon them, their meager supplies held for the duration.

It took Myrishi a few hours to alter the New Dawn's emergency beacon to serve as the transmitter which allowed Vendra to fly both the Black Dagger and the Squid Head's Tracker Hawk by remote command. Setting up the Dawn's secondary helm controls to allow her to do the remote flying took a few more. Add to that the time it took for Vendra to successfully position the ship, the time Myrishi needed to remove the storage compartment from the R2, and the slow awkward process of everybody spacewalking from one ship to the other, and it was a couple of days before Myrishi got a good look at the systems of both the Dagger and the Tracker Hawk.

It took him a full week to effect all the repairs he thought were necessary. And a couple of days more to test-run everything to Vendra's satisfaction. The Jawa often remarked how he could have made the Dagger space-worthy in half the time. But Vendra insisted that she and her father do as much of the work as possible. Giving Myrishi as much time to rest as possible. Even if it meant extending the repair-time.

Then, finally, it was time to go.

"Everything okay, Ace?" Lavan asked from the commstation seat.

Vendra adjusted the chin-strap of her silver flight-helmet as she looked over the preflight displays. "All lights are green. The ride out should be a lot smoother without the drag of towing another ship."

Lavan studied his daughter. He saw the spark in her eyes, heard the pride in her voice. To others the Dagger was just a ship, a possession that could be easily replaced by someone of Vendra's means. But Lavan knew better then that. The Black Dagger was not just a ship, it was Vendra's ship. And it was not just a possession she merely bought with her money, it was a prize she had won with her skill.

The Black Dagger was as much a symbol of achievement and pride to Vendra as Ordon Corporation was to her father. Yet she was willing to surrender her most precious possession because the Dagger was not going anywhere without a hyperdrive, and Vendra's crew was her first priority.

Vendra was where she belonged. Fulfilling her natural role and doing the job she did best. The discovery on the Dawn's bridge, and the choice she made in the face of that discovery, had been the final test.

His daughter had found her way.

"Okay. Get yourself secured Myrishi," Vendra instructed, eyes steady as she gazed along her chosen hyperspace-jump vector.

Myrishi adjusted the harness of the copilot's seat that was his rightful place, and Lavan fired a glare at the cockpit's other occupant.

"How about you?" Lavan glared across the cockpit. "Are you ready to go to?"

The response from that side of the cockpit was a muffled moan that quivered with helpless uncertainty. That the Squid Head's reply was unintelligible was not really all that surprising given that his facial tentacles had been tied together and fleshglued to his mouth.

Then Vendra's eyes sharpened as she laid a hand on the hyperdrive levers. "Okay. Everybody hang tight. Let's get out of here."

And so the Black Dagger's engines roared as the ship's pilot poured power to the drive. The lightstreams twisted bizarrely as the ship pushed off into hyperspace, leaving the New Dawn within the Wraith's Corridor's lonely intractable embrace.

The flaring energy discharge of hyperspace raged around the ship like a furious blue/black firestorm.

"We're dropping out of hyperspace," Vendra reported, her tone calm but quivering slightly with the vibration of the cockpit rattling around her. The cockpit's rocking was relatively minor, but the shaking sure did not make watching the systems and engines' status displays any easier. Myrishi tried to hold his head and eyes steady as he watched the hyperdrive power level feed. So far everything looked good. The systems were holding everything on the line now that they had only the Dagger's mass and inertia to maintain. Unlike the trip into the Wraith, when the Dagger had been unknowingly towing the hitchhiking Tracker Hawk with it. Myrishi was still concerned about the velocity-kill of hyperspace dropout. But, on the whole, everything should be smooth enough.

Still, he did dial up the inertial compensator just to be on the safe side.

Outside the viewport the hyperspace energy storm dissipated as the ship's nav computer automatically shut down the hyperdrive and cut in the sublight engines.

"Well, the trip out was a lot better then the trip in," Lavan said thoughtfully. "Why do you suppose that is?" he sneered across the cockpit. The gagged Squid Head just blew a resigned sigh and slumped in his seat.

"We've got contacts," Vendra announced, and Myrishi keyed the mid-range scan.

He was instantly sorry he had.

Off to starboard a lean unfriendly-looking starfighter was coming out from the group of ships holding position on the edge of Fate's Bluff.

"Sienar D-11 Maulers," Lavan commented, looking sideways at Vendra. "Fancy. Friends of our passenger, you think?"

Before Vendra could respond the comm sounded. They were being hailed.

"I'd say that's a yes," Lavan said, his chest easing. The Squid Head had already admitted the plan was to hijack the Black Dagger and deliver her to his employer as a trophy of sorts.

"Great," Lavan shrugged. "So all we have to do is get back into hyperspace before . . ." But Lavan stopped short as Vendra opened the comlink. She static-burst her comlink in a three-part pattern that was the covert recognition and all-clear signal for the would-be hijackers. The Mauler scout burst-commed a reply, Vendra dutifully responded, and the scout eased into escort position as the other fighters accelerated and maneuvered to do the same.

"Everything's fine," Vendra commented, her tone soft as she focused on the flashy MC-180 pleasure barge that was drifting in behind the approaching Maulers. "They're going to bring us in for a round of drinks and slaps on our backs."

Lavan was looking at the luxury-liner to. True, he did not have his daughter's combat experience and instinct, but he knew it was not going to be that easy. "Okay. So all we have to do is get into hyperspace before . . ."

But Lavan was interrupted as the Dagger shuddered lightly with the lock of a tractor-beam.

"Okay, that's trouble," Lavan sighed unhappily. "What now?"

Vendra's simple shrug was barely half-hearted. "We're being invited to a party. So we'll go to a party." She settled her fingers around the primary control-stick. "I just hope they're serving a good Corellian brandy. I can use one."

Lavan eyed the primary control-stick. "Well, if they've got any civility at all, they ought to. Considering it's going to be served with your last meal."

The guide-lights of the MC-180's docking bay illuminated the huge ship's interior. The bay itself appeared empty, which made sense. A warship camouflaged as a pleasure barge would have layers of concealed armor and armament, all wrapped in a blanket of stealth technology. A ship like that would have a lot of power and engine facilities, but little in the way of cargo capacity. Already close enough for a good look at the bay's interior, Vendra could see that the deck-space was big enough to hold the Dagger, and not much more. But the walls appeared very high, and she guessed that the escorting Maulers probably pulled into docking housings higher up.

The docking bay gaped before them, almost filling the entire viewport. Vendra's eyes ran around the bay's outer edge, and found what they were looking for. The tractor projectors pulling them in were set on the bay's perimeter. Which meant that the capture beam projectors would be . . . There. On the docking bay deck inside the ship. There were magnetic locks and deck-clamps as well.

"Everybody tighten your restraints and get ready," Vendra instructed, making a final adjustment to the navicomputer as Myrishi finished cycling shield power into the weapons' capacitors.

"Get ready for what?" Lavan asked, his voice rigid as he noted Myrishi visibly bracing himself and softly clucking something that sounded a lot like a prayer with a little profanity thrown in.

Vengra shrugged again, and again the gesture was way too relaxed as the Dagger was towed up to the very edge of the

MC-180's docking bay. "Their inviting us to the party. We may as well be nice and bring the favors."

And, right then, the navicomputer sounded. The exterior tractor-beam had cut out, the interior beam cut in, and, for the time-span of an eye-blink, the Dagger was free.

Vendra let the computer take over. It registered the tractor-beam power fall off and fired the maneuvering thrusters. Pivoting the Dagger so that her nose pointed up at the far corner of the docking bay's upper most bulkhead.

The Dagger jolted forward as the computer kicked in the repulsorlift engines. The ship heaved itself out of alignment with the tractor-beam projectors, and Vendra clenched her teeth as she viciously squeezed the trigger on her control-stick.

A concussion missile shot from the aftermarket launcher Treek Sev installed beneath the Dagger's port wing fin. The missile's white exhaust trail was still solid as Vendra's thumb jumped to her control-stick's ordinance selector switch. But the concussion missile won the race. It slammed into the corner bulkhead with a sonic boom so violent that the entire

MC-180 warship quaked. But Vendra's thumb was already depressing her trigger again. This time two proton torpedoes were fired from the aftermarket accelerated torpedo launchers Treek Sev had also installed beneath the port and starboard wing fins.

On the outside the MC-180 probably had armor and shields enough to take a good pounding from a Corellian corvette. Maybe even a solid few rounds from a dreadnaught. But on the inside even the greatest warship was just a ship. And armor that was impregnable on the outside could be as flimsy as the wrapper of a ration bar from within.

The concussion missile was the hammer softening up the warship's structural integrity. The torpedoes were the twin battering rams that would smash through.

Vendra's thumb flicked back to the selector switch. And as she squeezed the trigger a third time her foot pressed on the right rudder. The Black Dagger rotated slowly around her axis as its captain used the repulsorlift engines to hold her steady. But instead of the short bursts of laserfire, the guns were now emitting sustained bars of energy that were not unlike the discharge of laser drills.

Fed by the shield power systems, the energy output of the cannons was amplified by roughly seventy-five percent. The beams burned so red hot they triggered the Dagger's viewport blast-tinting as they carved a wide circle into the docking bay's compromised hull.

G-forces began pulling at the Dagger as the MC-180's ruptured hull expanded out into a convex bulge of stressed metal. But still Vendra held position. Still maintaining the Dagger's stationary rotation and keeping up the continuous streams of fire though the laser cannon barrels were beginning to melt.

The mangled bulkhead gave a final explosion, and Vendra was working her controls as the gale of decompression began tearing the MC-180 inside out.

Vendra completed a last rotation and fired up the sublight engines, continuing to carve a path through the breach as she hurled her ship headlong toward it.

Lavan's eyes were as big and bright as the suns of Tattooine as he pushed himself back against his seat, hands throttling the armrests. "The girl's nut's!" he gasped, repeating the mantra again and again as the breach raced upon them.

Lavan's frenzied mantra ended in a scream as the Black Dagger plowed through the breach. Vendra gnashed her teeth as debris collided with her precious ship.

The Dagger still had her original omni-directional proton torpedo launcher, and as the ship soared through its exit Vendra swivelled the launcher around. Three torpedoes streaked beneath the Dagger's belly to detonate inside the imploding warship behind. The MC-180's fate was sealed, and the ship was halved as though torn apart by the hands of some invisible giant.

Two of the doomed warship's escort fighters were caught in the MC-180's explosion and shared the warship's fate. The remaining three fighters, surprised by the shocking event, were still trying to sort themselves as Vendra poured full power to the drive.

Getting clear of any interference from battle debris, she pulled into her chosen hyperspace vector.

"Now that was a party," Vendra joked darkly as the Dagger leaped in hyperspace.

They came from across both the Old and New Galaxies. High level dignitaries and representatives from dozens of worlds coming together in tribute for two of history's most celebrated heroes. Some were political allies, many were comrades in arms. And, while the number who could be counted as close friends was small, even fewer could be called family.

Holding position at the heart of the flotilla was the Mon Calamari Star Cruiser Bel Iblis. Its graceful six-hundred-meter long hull shaped as though it were an exquisitely worked stone. Its massive sublight drive engines brilliant against the galactic darkness.

Within the Bel Iblis' hangar bay rested another ship. A ship that was very old and tremendously scarred with marks that could be read like the pages of a history chronicle. She was a ship of legend and infamy that remained the standard for record-breaking speed and all manner of trouble. She was a ship that was now home for a person whose life had become galactic myth and legend.

"Looks like the long shot's not gonna pay off for me this time, Sweetheart," Han Solo's quarter-sized image spoke. The hologram's shimmering blue light reflecting against Leia Organa Solo's deep brown eyes and heavy tears as she watched. "Luke and Artoo are stabilizing the powerfeed for the containment field. Once that's done we'll open the bridge blastdoors and shutdown the environmental systems for the bridge while the automated defenses cut the Bothan furballs to ribbons. And if that doesn't get'em, the Vong ecology Luke had grown to make the students feel more at home will. Bothans are a really great bunch to have as allies, I'll tell you that."

Even in quater-size Leia saw the endearing half-grin pull at the corner of her husband's mouth. "Then again, the people that made'em allies also made me a general. So who are we kiddin,' right?"

Despite the loss she felt, despite her dread that the recording would end, Leia could not help but chuckle at Han's typical cocky sarcasm.

The tiny half-grin faded, and her husband's eyes seemed to pierce the time and space fate had set between them. "After we're gone Artoo's gonna run the place, reactivate the environmental systems, and make sure whatever evolves on this ship afterward doesn't go where we don't want it. I'm sorry I gotta leave you, Leia. But the containment field's Vong specific. It's not gonna help me. And this crazy 'gravitational thing' Luke came up with is pretty well going to keep me here. I don't want you worrying about this, though. Your work's not done yet. The Alliance needs you. Your nephew needs you. And our kids need you."

Something off camera caught Han's eye, and Leia heard her brother's calm voice. "Han, it's time."

Leia's chest and throat tightened then, her neck prickling in awful anticipation as Han paused for the longest heartbeat of their lives. "I'm here, Princess. I'll always be here."*

She sat cross-legged, hovering a few feet above the floor of her cabin. Her Jedi robes were laid out on her bunk in customary precision. But, for now, the Head Mistress of the Jedi Academy remained nude as she levitated. Her body suspended in the embrace of the Force as her consciousness drifted along its universal currents. Two lightsabers were suspended with her. A blue/white blade shining to her left, a green/white blade gleaming to her right. The blades were tilted inward, their shimmering tips kissing just above the Jedi Grand Master's head. Forming a triangle of light and humming in complete unity as they rotated around the Master's body.

The woman's red/gold hair had faded with time, and lines had begun setting at the corners of her mouth and eyes. But her hair still shone with flame-like radiance in the light of the lightsabers. Her naked body remained as firm as her mind. Her slender form was still lithe with a dancer's grace. Her posture was straight and proud as her hands rested, palms up, on her knees. The tips of her thumbs and forefingers pressed together while her other fingers were extended.

This was the pose Mara Jade Skywalker adopted when communing most deeply with the Force. And when the Force communed most deeply with her, it spoke with the most beloved and comforting voice she had ever known. The voice of one who had never judged or spited her. Even after all the things she had done as a personal agent of Emperor Palpatine. The voice of one who never resented her. Even after all the bitter resentment Mara threw upon him when they first met, some three decades ago.

The voice of her husband.

I can feel Leia's grief, Luke, Mara said with her thoughts.

So can I, Luke Skywalker's voice replied, echoing through Mara's mind as though he were speaking to her from within a vast tunnel. But she's strong. It'll pass.

How strong does one person have to be? Mara asked.

As strong as it takes to live with the kind of history we all share, Luke's voice returned.

But I still have you, Mara countered. I can see you. Talk to you. Even feel you. All Leia has are memories and a holographic farewell.

Han's message is an emotional shock, but it'll pass soon enough, Luke's reply drifted into Mara's mind. Leia knows how to handle grief. We all make this same journey, Mara. Han made it. Chewbacca made it. One day you will make it.

I know, Mara said, pausing with uncharacteristic trepidation. And, speaking of the journey, how long are you going to be able to put off your's? You've held on far longer than Obi-Wan Kenobi did.

Why? Is there another Force-Ghost I should be jealous of? Luke's voice came back with warm humor.

You know what I mean, Mara pressed.

I've seen many possible futures, Mara, Luke's voice replied. Its echo still felt warm to Mara's soul, but with a renewed gravity. Those possible futures are as varied as they are elusive. But, in all of them, you stand in darkness between two storms of annihilation. You have allies standing with you. But they are few.

Is this Vendra Seron one of them? Mara asked.

In many possible futures, yes. In as many others, no, Luke replied.

That answer made Mara's emotions prickle. You know what, Skywalker, when you began visiting me from beyond, I was hoping to get a little more concrete Intel from the Force.

I'm afraid fate doesn't work as efficiently as the Imperial Security Bureau used to, my love, Luke said, his wry tone betraying his amusement.

The future is always in motion, I know, Mara replied with resignation. But knowing doesn't mean I have to like it. I am who I am. You can't blame me for that.

I never have, Luke said, and Mara heard the pure truth of the answer as it floated softly through her mind. But take what comfort you can from this: for whatever their differences, in all the possible futures I have seen you face great struggle and danger. And, when you do, I will be your greatest ally. I promise you that.

What about your journey? Mara asked again.

I will take it, Luke replied simply. I must take it. But I will take it when you are here to take it with me.

It was a part of space as ordinary and unremarkable as the sun bleached rocks that littered the floor of Tattooine's Beggar's Canyon. It was a point of space without a single star shining within fifteen thousand kilometers in any direction. Yet this most ordinary patch of universal shadow was the site of the largest peacetime gathering of ships since the New Republic made peace with the Empire.

Standing in a far corner of the Bel Iblis' main observation deck, Vendra fidgeted with the annoying but elegant gown her father had spent two days harassing her into wearing. Vendra resisted with every shred of Seron stubbornness she had inherited at first. Then the epiphany hit her, the perfect way to arrange for her father's own demand to snap back at him with the bite of a rabid Krayt dragon. So, when it came time to choose what she would wear for tonight's ceremony, Vendra went immediately for the most expensive and alluring outfit she could find.

The black backless ankle-length gown was a creation of Lyhnn Ti, the most renowned and exclusive designer of the New Galaxy. It was a form-fitting little number with a provocative neckline and a high-cut slip along the skirt's left side.

Though it was seldom that acts of rebellion and revenge upon her father backfired on her, as she stood there, uncharacteristically self-conscious by the gown's revealing nature, Vendra wondered if she had only succeeded in torturing herself. Her burgundy hair was done up in curls that tickled her cheeks whenever she turned her head. And she could not even scratch for fear of smearing the blush. The rouge lipstick Vendra wore did not help her mood much either. It was not that there was too much, but there was just enough to make everything taste just a little on the funny side.

But worst of all were the glossy pair of black high heels that were sending icy spikes of pain shooting through her feet. Vendra had decided about an hour ago that the Empire wasted its time using interrogator-droids during the Civil War. All an Imperial interrogator had to do was force a Rebel to stand in high heels for a couple of hours straight, and she would gladly tell him anything he wanted to know. No doubt. But even so, Vendra's right hand drifted up to her neck, fingers idly tracing the sparkling coruscu-gem necklace that reflected every spectrum of light in countless sequences. The necklace, and the matching earrings dangling from her ears like celestial teardrops, were gifts from her father for "not getting him killed," as he put it.

As beautiful and sentimental as those spectacular charms were though, they did not make up for the other Death Star-sized problem the dress brought with it.

"Excuse me," a young male voice tentatively addressed her from behind, as if taking a cue from her thoughts. If she did not think the dress would have burst against any additional strain, Vendra would have sighed. That had to have been the hundredth time that evening Vendra was about to be propositioned. Throwing a silent grimace at Myrishi, floating faithfully at her side in his medical hoverchair, Vendra turned to face the next . . .

"Hello," she said to the young Jedi looking at her with brightly restless green eyes. His red hair was short and curly, his jaw strong but gently squared and punctuated by a cleft chin. And though he could not have been much older that sixteen, he was as tall as Vendra. His muscles were lean but well-defined as he stood with confidence and poise beyond his years in the traditional brown Jedi robe. The youthful Jedi wore a neatly pressed red tunic, black pants, and brown shin-high boots beneath his open Jedi robe. The lustrous silver hilt of a lightsaber hanging prominently from his trim waist.

"Ben Skywalker," he said, stepping forward and extending a hand. "I though I'd come over and introduce myself before you got caught up with somebody else," he said, his voice pleasant but firm as he cast a hard glance past Vendra's shoulder.

Vendra turned just in time to look behind her at the scaly bright green back of a retreating Faleen male. She turned back to the Jedi Padawan, a sudden uncertainty gripping her. What was she supposed to say to the son of a man whose grave she had intended to rob?

"Thanks for that," she grinned politely, hoping the expression covered the emotion beneath it. Vendra felt like a graverobber the moment she saw those remains, and she felt very much like a graverobber now.

"Thanks for risking your neck to find my dad and uncle," Ben said, not requiring Force sense to know she was uncomfortable. "I know my mother doesn't show it, but she's a lot more peaceful now."

"I'm glad. Your family has done a lot for the galaxies. Your mother deserves all the peace we can give her," was all Vendra could think to say.

"I got a look at your ship on the way in," Ben said after a brief silence. The kid was obviously scrambling to keep the conversation going. Despite her discomfort, it was all Vendra could do not to grin as the young Jedi's confident shell began to crack. "She's a beauty. What do you think are the chances of getting her off the Star Cruiser before she's impounded with all that hardware?" he grinned.

"Ah," Vendra waved offhandedly, "I've run Rancor tails around bigger bureaucracy than the transit authority. I'm sure it will be no problem."

"I'm not so sure," the impetuous teen replied, this whole scene was getting cuter and more flattering by the second. "That's some serious hardware you've got there. Might make an exit kind of tricky. And you will be flying alone. I'm a pretty fair pilot," he shrugged casually. "I could give you a hand if . . ."

"If your mother hadn't been asking for you?" a broad shouldered man said as he strode up behind the young Jedi. The older taller Jedi stepped to Ben's side, grinning widely as he stood prominently with his hands clasped behind his back. His smile one of expectation as his wise blue eyes flickered back and forth between an amused Vendra Seron, and an openly flustered Ben Skywalker.

"Vendra Seron," Ben muttered, his eyes weighted to the deck as he shuffled from foot to foot. "Master Jacen Solo," he said, gesturing unhappily toward his cousin.

"We've met," Vendra said, inclining her head to the Jedi Master.

"Of course," Jacen Solo replied, bowing his head slightly. "In the Bel Iblis' docking bay when my mother's delegation arrived. In fact," Jacen Solo frowned at his cousin, "I think I might have introduced you then as well, Ben. Possible?"

The young Jedi's face was about as red as a supernova at that moment, and his cousin finally decided to let him of the hook. "If you will excuse us, Miss Seron," he said, offering another small bow and turning away.

"Quite the party they've . . ." but Ben Skywalker's next attempt at conversation ended in a surprised grunt as his cousin wrapped him in a gentle Force-grip. The Padawan stumbled briefly as he was urged along. "Well, maybe I'll see you a little later," Ben said, his heels scraping against the deck as Jacen slowly towed him along.

Finally free of social constraints, Vendra and Myrishi shared an extended chuckle at the exchange.

"Oh, my!" See-Threepio exclaimed. "It appears Master Jacen is carrying Master Ben!"

An almost musical series of mechanical twitters sounded a response.

"I most seriously hope it is nothing serious, Q9," the gold-plated protocol droid replied to his gray and red R-12 counterpart. "It would not due for Master Ben to miss Master Luke's Memorial. It would not due at all. And if Master Ben has succumbed to some malady well, that would cause great stress to Mistress Mara." Threepio bent at the waist, "She is quite protective of the boy, you know."

R12-Q9 beeped again, and there was a pointed pitch to the sound that made Threepio back-step even as his golden palm clanged down on the Astromech's domed head.

"Q9!" Threepio admonished, looking quickly about. "You mustn't say such things at a function such as this! Why, the scandal! I shudder to think." Abruptly Threepio stiffened, "And how would you know anything about human courting behavior anyway, you glorified flight-computer?! Just you take care not to overstep your bounds. I've seen droids rewired for less!"

Q9 sounded a vehement chirp.

"And you can go right on believing that!" Threepio retorted. "But don't come scampering to me for help when the technicians come calling for you. I won't shift a servo."

Thrusting his head back, Threepio turned and headed off at a stiff and indignant walk. But the droid had not made five steps before colliding with another droid coming the other way.

"Oh, my!" Threepio blurted. "I'm terribly sorry, I . . ." His photoreceptors brightened as he looked at the other. "Artoo? Oh, my, Artoo! You have returned at last! If only you knew what that I have suffered all these years!"

R2-D2 blurped an only slightly sarcastic response that registered simultaneously with R12-Q9's interrogative whistle.

"Oh, yes. Of course," Threepio said, shifting to regard both the astromechs flanking him. "R12-Q9, meet R2-D2, my former counterpart. R2-D2, meet R12-Q9, my current counterpart. Q9 belongs to an astromech line designed to integrate with the next generation X-Wing and J-Wing starfighters. As such, Q9's line is of the most sophisticated astromechs ever constructed. Which is not to say you are obsolete, of course, Artoo," Threepio added quickly. "You are a better counterpart than any mechanical could ask for."

R2-Q9's head swung to Threepio then, and Threepio held out his arms in growing alarm as Q9 beeped loudly.

"Which is not to say you are of less value, of course, Q9," Threepio added even more quickly. "But, you see, Artoo and I have . . . well, that is to say we . . ."

Suddenly Threepio waved his hands in exasperation. "Oh, this is all so cybernetically-awkward!"

Half way around the gently curved observation deck, Lavan Seron threw another exasperated grimace at his daughter. Vendra knew full-well that the gown she had chosen for tonight was not even close to what he had in mind. Lavan just did not want her coming to the ceremony on one of her usual flightsuits, that was all. What he really wanted was for her to dress a little more ladylike tonight. Maybe it was a little silly, and perhaps unfair, to ask his daughter to change her style, even for an occasion like tonight's. Lavan would have been just as proud of Vendra even if she had shown up in her usual manner, after all. And he knew she would have done something to make herself a bit fancier. Even so, Lavan was glad when Vendra finally agreed to look for something elegant to wear to the Memorial.

He should have known she would find some way to turn it against him.

"Why couldn't you cooperate, just once?" he muttered, shaking his head helplessly. "Just once?"

"Pardon me," a cultured female voice said.

"Of course," Lavan replied quickly, stepping aside to free up the table of refreshments he had rather monopolized. "Excuse me," he said, half turning to smile at the person waiting patiently. His eyes flicked to her face, and his voice immediately froze as he took in the woman's high forehead, piercing blue eyes, slender nose, and wide attractive jawline. Her short blonde hair was faded but still thick and colourful. Her face was intelligent, willful, and, perhaps, a little mischievous.

Her glittering emerald dress represented a slim attractive figure while at once maintaining a modest quality. She wore a shining string of white Endorian crystals from which hung a charm of what Lavan guessed were clustered Trojar-diamonds.

"You would be Lavan Seron," the gracefully confident woman said, her blue eyes flicking up and down Lavan as she stepped beside him. "The C.E.O. of Ordon Corporation."

"Yes," Lavan said, realizing only as he spoke that he was standing taller in his brown Alderaanian business-suit. "That's right. Have we met?"

"As of now," the proud luxuriant woman smiled, her teeth as bright as the Endorian necklace she wore. "My name is Clare Rodey," she said, holding out her right hand with the palm and wrist down. "And I must say, you have inspired a great deal of excitement in the New Galaxy with this adventure of your's," she said as Lavan gently took her hand.

"It was nothing much," Lavan shrugged, feeling embarrassed for no reason he could track down.

"Really," Clare Rodey replied, a pale-blonde eyebrow twitching. "According to the media you, your daughter, and, so the rumors say, a Jawa, breached the Wraith's Corridor, and braved a Star Destroyer's worth of Yuzzhan Vong plant and wildlife. All to answer a distress call made on behalf of a group of helpless children by two of the galaxies' greatest heroes, whose remains you also recovered. The HoloNet is also obsessed with rumors that, apparently, the three of you were ambushed by a band of criminals who had somehow followed you into the Wraith." That eyebrow arched just a bit more. "Now, obviously there must be some truth there. Or we wouldn't be here. Would we?"

"Those are the basic facts anyway," Lavan replied, his face beginning to warm as he pulled his stomach in just a bit more. It was ridiculous. Lavan had not felt that way since . . .

"Tell me," Clare Rodey spoke into the wave of guilty self-doubt starting to ripple through him. "Is it true you lifted a sealed blastdoor completely by yourself?"

Lavan cleared his throat, awkward with the way Rodey's eyes were focused on him. "No," he said quickly, pausing to clear his throat again. "No," he said, more casually that time. "It

was . . . Well, I had . . . Uh . . . I had a little help." The words finally yanked from his mouth, Lavan glanced at his shuffling feet. "I'm going over there now," he said quickly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "It was a pleasure, Miss Rodey." Spinning sharply on his heel, Lavan made his retreat.

Clare Rodey allowed the escape. But her eyes took a last inventory as she watched him go; her smile hidden behind her glass as she raised it to her lips.

The exchange had been witnessed by another set of eyes, though. And Vendra's mind spun with the mysteries and possibilities of her father's encounter. She saw the way that woman was looking at Lavan. It was not the look of someone making idle chatter for the sake of social grace. And it certainly was not the expression of someone looking for a business deal. No. It was something a lot more than that. Something Vendra had hoped for years would be sparked. There were possibilities there, alright. And, behind Vendra's steel gray eyes, the seeds of a scheme began to sow.

"Come on, Myrishi," Vendra said, any modesty regarding her chosen attire forgotten as she started toward the mystery-woman. "Let's go shmooze."

The Jawa deftly swung his hoverchair around Vendra Seron in a fluid arc as the woman snatched her glass from the table and started toward the refreshment table half way around the observation deck.

The final straw was the Abyssin.

The big one-eyed alien snuck up on Vendra while she was waiting for a drink. And the was nothing she could do but stand there–looking as disinterested as possible–as the misshapen alien chatted her up with all the charm at his disposal. At any other time, and only as a last resort, Vendra would have called him a monoc, killed him in self-defense when he attacked her over the insult, and been done with it. But the diplomatic event of the year, hosted on one of the Galactic Alliance's greatest ships in memorial to two of its greatest heroes, was not the place for such civility. So there Vendra stood, looking bored and feeling embarrassed as she let the poor Abyssin make a complete Gungan of himself.

Truly, Vendra could tolerate propositions from males of the ugliest species in the galaxies. Including Hutts. But Abyssins? The thought made Vendra shudder.

After all, at least Hutts were rich. And easy targets when you shot them for propositioning you.

After the scene with the Abyssin, Vendra felt perfectly justified for ditching the dress and diving into the comfort of a nice flight-jumper.

Unfortunately things got worse after that. Flight-jumpers were form-fitting insulated body-stockings worn beneath full flight-suits. Eye-catching at the best of times, but even more so after Vendra discovered she could not remove the make-up from her face after she let her hair down.

The result was a social upheaval that saw her being pursued from stem to stern by males of every alien race on board. At last count Vendra had refused fourteen marriage proposals and caused nine mate-separations.

Finally, Vendra Seron–the great and fearless conqueror of the Wraith's Corridor–retreated back to her cabin. She stood at the cabin's viewport, studying at the graceful arc of the Wraith's magnificent lightstreams. The door-chime sounded, cutting into her contemplations, and Vendra rolled her eyes. She had asked to be summoned for the service, but it was as likely another would-be suitor coming to make a play.

So I'm being stalked now, Vendra thought wearily. Great.

Turning away from the viewport, Vendra undid the safety-strap of her holster. She doubted there was any actual danger of a stalker out there, but it was just as well not to take chances at this point.

Vendra stepped to the door, palmed the release, and found herself in the presence of someone who, not long ago, she would have slighted without a shred of hesitation.

"Hello," was all Vendra could say.

"Good evening, Miss Seron," Leia Organa Solo said, her face and voice seeming younger than her age. "I was looking for you at the reception, but you seemed to have vanished. I hope I'm not intruding."

"It's no problem," Vendra replied, studying the other woman's deep brown eyes. Eyes alive with spirited determination, yet tempered with qualities of experience and wisdom earned through a lifetime of pain, sadness, and loss the likes of which Vendra could not possibly imagine, or want to know for herself. "The reception is wonderful but I just had to . . . I don't know. Get away from it all for a while, I guess."

"Yes," Leia said quietly, "notoriety can be suffocating." Her long white gown swept gently across the floor as Vendra invited her into the cabin, her elaborately braided white hair gleaming beneath its light. "It is beautiful, isn't it?" she asked, her tone dreamily soft as she stepped to the viewport and gazed at the Wraith's distant brilliance.

"Considering what almost happened to me and my family I shouldn't think so," Vendra chuckled, the sound slight and humorless as she joined Organa Solo. "But, yeah, it still is. Even after . . ." her eyes flicked to the side, her face filled with an embarrassed heat, and Vendra fell silent.

"Even after unraveling its mysteries," Leia finished for her. Without a hint of the grief Vendra would have expected from a woman who just found the remains of her brother and husband. Instead, he older woman turned her lined but somehow young face toward Vendra with an indescribable expression of peace. "This is not a time or place of tragedy, Vendra," she smiled. "My husband and brother have gone beyond, but they died as they lived. In defense of those whom could not defend themselves. Han and Luke may not be here to witness the creation of the new galaxy we are building, but they did help create it just the same. No," she said placidly, looking out at the profound trails of light again. "There is no cause for grief here."

Silence lingered for a moment as the two women regarded infinity, then Vendra's mind caught up with her. "The service is due to get under way pretty soon. Shouldn't you be getting back?"

"All will await my presence, I'm sure," Leia said wryly, a smile spreading across her lips. "My Nephew will see to that."

Vendra thought back to her encounter with Ben Skywalker. "A bit hot blooded, huh?"

"Get's it from his mother," Leia replied, her smile broadening. "But you're right. We should be getting back. I just wanted to thank you privately first."

"Thank me?" Vendra frowned.

"You found two of the dearest men I have ever known," Leia answered. "And you returned their remains to us. And you brought true closure to my family through those acts. All done at great personal risk to yourself and your family. I would say it is worth something of gratitude."

Vendra bit her lip and looked away as she fought to swallow the sand dune-sized lump in her throat. "Yeah, well, our motives weren't quite that pure, I'm afraid."

"Yes," Leia nodded easily, "your father told be about the bargain you made with your friend," she frowned slightly. "What was his name?"

"Vek," Vendra replied, her grimace reflected in the transparisteel panel before her.

"You understand we could not allow you to keep Luke's lightsaber," Leia said.

"It's funny," Vendra offered reflectively, "getting the lightsaber was the biggest reason for doing this. But once it was right in front of us, it just didn't feel right."

"Your intuition serves you well," Leia said. "If you stay true to yourself it will never lead you astray. But let's return to the matter at hand. I have something for you. A gift of appreciation which you might use to satisfy your debt."

Organa Solo faced Vendra then, and for the first time Vendra noticed she was holding something. A very old weapon of a type Vendra had seen only in the private collections antique weapons enthusiasts. She eyes darted from the blaster to the other woman's face.

"Yes, you can," Organa Solo insisted.

"I'm surprised you would want to give it up," Vendra suggested. "Besides, you've all ready given me your astromech. I'd say that is reward enough."

"Staying with you was Artoo's choice," Leia answered. "This is a gift from my family to you."

"But it's so personal," Vendra objected.

"Han was known for it, that is for certain," Leia agreed. "But I have always believed that his ship was more a symbol of his soul. Please," she said, "accept my family's gift. Use it to clear the debt you owe. Or keep it," a smile pulled at the corners of the older woman's mouth. "You obviously know how to make use of weapons. Modern or otherwise.'

Vendra's hands quivered as she gently took the vintage BlasTech DL-44 blaster. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Organa Solo stepped forward, her face suddenly intense and, for the first time since she had entered the cabin, old in a way Vendra could not understand as she squeezed her arm warmly. "You are young, Vendra Seron," she said, and Vendra thought perhaps Organa Solo was seeing in her face a reminder of someone else. "You are young in a universe forever wealthy in challenge and pain. In the years to come your hope may waiver, or cloak itself from you completely. The important thing is that you find hope again, no matter how hard the struggle." Leia took her hand from Vendra's shoulder and pressed her palm mildly to Vendra's face. "Always find it again."

With that, Organa Solo started for the cabin's door. "Take your time," she said. "We will wait for you."

The door slid open, and shut, and Vendra was alone. Alone with the history she held in her hand. Vendra knew many collectors who would pay a handsome ransom for the antique she was holding. But the idea of this weapon spending decades behind sterile glassteel did not seem right. This weapon belonged in action, deserved to be held and fired in battle. Not starred at by some impetuous collector who saw it only in terms of monetary value.

The curiosity proved irresistible, and Vendra pulled her XelTac-21 from her holster. Laying it aside, she slowly set the DL-44 in its place on her hip. The vintage weapon was heavier than her XelTac, and she doubted she could even get blasterpacks for it any more. But still she stepped into a gunfighter's stance. She held the position for a few heartbeats, clearing and focusing her mind, relaxing her muscles, and shoring up her concentration. Her right hand was poised just inches from the grip of the holstered blaster, and she flexed her fingers in preparation.

Then, with a motion as fluid as it was fast, she pulled the blaster, spun around, and took aim at the reflection framed within the cabin's transparisteel viewport.

"Aw, to Kessel with Vek," Vendra remarked to her reflection, rising from her stance as she holstered her new weapon.

After a succession of weak and corrupt leadership, the Alliance found political gold in Chancellor Rallrraceen—former ambassador of the planet Kashyyk. Though she cared for politics even less than her father, Vendra had to admit considerably greater optimism that a Wookee held the reigns. Rallacheen's election was even more interesting to her considering his ability to speak perfectly understandable Basic arose out of a condition Wookees considered a speech impediment. It was one of those wonderful ironies that made even ordinary hyperspace jumps interesting.

"Into the care of the cosmos do we entrust the spirits of the heroes we honorr this day," Chancellor Rallrraceen purred. Though his thick hide of hair had long since grown completely ashen, the Wookiee remained a commanding presence as he towered over the podium. "Let their names and legends live forr as long as children and younglings of all species grow up and thrive within an Alliance built upon the foundations of peace, equality, and tolerance of all beings that fill the ocean that is the universe. And let that life grow and expand and give strength to the powerr of the Force which sustains and protects our new and old galaxies with all theirr wonders and terrors."

"And, yes," the Chancellor continued, his deep brown eyes glittering with a firey determination mirrored by the increasing growl of his words, "let the Force grant us the vision and strength to remain true to the principles of Jedi Masterr Luke Skywalkerr and Captain Han Solo. Let us give true meaning to theirr sacrifice by continuing to embrace the unknown, accepting the differences of those among us and those who might come among us. But let us never again be lulled into the complacency so swiftly and devastatingly exploited by the Yuzzhan Vong and theirr agents of chaos and destruction."

"But let us be wise enough to know the difference between vigilance and tyranny," the Chancellor groaned soberly. "Forr, if we allow vigilance to become paranoia, the Alliance which we have built from the ashes of the Vong's terrible invasion could very well become the perverted Galactic Empire of injustice and slavery like that which Palpatine created."

Then, the Chancellor raised himself higher. "Let us embrace righteous," he said, his voice almost a roar. "Let us strive for valorr not just for this generation, but for every generation!"

Had the venue for the Chancellor's speech been Senate Hall, the Royal House of New Alderaan, or even the palace of a Hutt, Vendra would have expected the Chancellor's final thunderous words to spark a din of cheers and applause that would have made her ears ring. For now though, Rallra's rousing address and striking oral ability was secondary to the total silence of his audience as he took a step away from the podium, and nodded to the general standing at attention a his side.

"Attention!" Jaina Solo called. A general like her father before her, General Solo's Fleet uniform was crisp and neatly pressed, her face one of a battle-hardened soldier. The small scar on her right cheek a testament to battles won and battles lost.

There did come a loud noise then, the sound of booted feet stomping as the Alliance military leaders and warriors, standing on the Command Deck with the Jedi, offered salute.

Then a second sound charged the air; the sound of myth, legend, and reality melded as one.

Snap-hiss!

It was the sound of twenty-five lightsabers blazing into existence, humming as they were held in final tribute to men who had all ready given more than the galaxy was due. At Chancellor Rallacheen's eloquent nod Sian Kev, the Sullistian Supreme Commander of the Alliance Fleet tapped a short sequence into his command board.

Then the Chancellor, flanked by the white gowned Leia Organa Solo on his right, and the Jedi robed Mara Jade Skywalker on his left, stepped closer to the command deck's huge viewport as General Solo and Admiral Kev snapped to attention at opposite ends of the line. The entire assemblage of saluting soldiers, peacekeepers, dignitaries, and honored guests gazing out the great viewport at the Wraith's Corridor.

From the console the Admiral had activated a pulse began to sound. The sound was muted and slow at first, but as Vendra stood with her father, Myrishi, and the quirky antique R2 unit she had apparently been adopted by, the transmission built in rapidity and pitch. The air of the deck tensed with that pulse, as emotions grew taut in anticipation of the gravest climax.

Then the intermittent pulse became a continuous wave and, in the distance, the hazy abstract form of the Wraith's Corridor remained as it always had been.

But the Wraith's Corridor was changing, and not just because its profound mysteries had been unlocked after so very long. The Wraith's Corridor was being changed by the cataclysm taking place within it. It was true, the Jedi had taken custody of the remains of the Jedi Master who oversaw the return of the Jedi Order and Council to a galaxy in great need of them.

The fate of Han Solo's remains would be a different one though.

"He was a man of adventure," Leia told Lavan with one of those placid smiles she had expressed to Vendra during their private exchange in Vendra's cabin. "He had to slow down in his later years. But asking Han Solo not to go into space or into a fight would have been like asking a Troydarian to not beat his wings." Then, Organa Solo chuckled, "I kid you not, Mister Seron, when I say that wherever and whenever my husband went, something was almost certain to explode."

"And someone was certain to swear," Lando Calrissian added as he stood beside her.

"That too. Of course, Lando," Organa Solo chuckled even more loudly. "Although, Han always had plenty of help from certain friends as I recall," she replied with a sly side-look, arching an eyebrow in the man's direction.

"It wasn't my fault," Lando Calrissian replied, raising his hands in playful submission. "Always," he added dryly, bringing smiles to everyone.

"Indeed. No, Mister Seron," Leia continued thoughtfully, "there is only one way to lay a man like Han Solo to rest."

And so, while the remains of Skywalker, the Force sensitive Yuzahn Vong children, and the astromech droid were removed from the ship, the remains of Han Solo were left at rest on the Dawn's bridge. It was then that the military's finest explosives and demolitions teams went to work, efficiently and strategically placing powerful detonators throughout the Dawn's interior and outer hull.

Meanwhile, technicians installed a reverse gravometric pulse receiver which would lock into its sister-receiver which the Bel Iblis had been retrofitted with. The Bel Iblis' receiver would use the Wraith's own gravitational currents and distortions to send a signal through the malestrom, and to the receiver installed with the Dawn.

And so they all gazed out the great bridge viewport of the mighty Bel Iblis, seeing nothing but enthralled just the same.

Vendra imagined the farthest tip of the Dawn's arrowhead superstructure evaporating with the first massive detonation. She could hear the thunderous explosion and the squeal of warping hull plating as multiple implosions began flaring and dying and flaring again as the firey wave of destruction followed its carefully laid course along the great ship's massive hull. Those explosions triggered secondary explosions as the thunderous wave of annihillation crawled along the destroyer's main hull. She could see the massive brilliant plumes of fire as the ship's alien atmosphere vented and burned.

The ship would be coming apart now, Vendra was certain. Pieces of all sizes and shapes tumbling and bursting as bulkheads, hull plating and internal components were reduced to flotsam. The magnificent boiling wave consuming the ship should almost have reached the main bridge command tower now, and the legend awaiting it. The legendary adventurer whose famed weapon was now holstered to Vendra's hip. And she found herself stroking the butt of the DL-44's grip, feeling its weight increase with each second.

If she believed in such superstitions, Vendra would almost believe that the weapon was telling her something. Warning her that fate was about to unfold, that she was about to get a call from the galaxies' which she would not be permitted to ignore. That the fortunes of one had been passed to another.

Then, the moment came. The Bel Iblis' instrumentation gave no indication, the Wraith's Corridor surrendered no sign as all. But Vendra knew that the thunderous wave had reached the Star Destroyer's Main Bridge, and the legend awaiting it.

All the mysteries had been solved, all the words had been said, and all the gathered ships vanished into hyperspace until only the Bel Iblis and the Black Dagger remained. Vendra held position just off the Bel Iblis' portside, studying the Mon Cal Star Cruiser as she began her prelightspeed maneuvering.

The cruiser was magnificent, but she didn't hold a lightsaber to Vendra's girl. Vendra would match the Dagger's drives with that oversized Galactic Alliance tub any day.

"Sure," Vendra replied into her comlink, "I'm taking Myrishi home anyway. A quick business meeting won't be a problem. Just make sure Daray is actually at Mos Espa before I make the trip. I don't care how good a customer her is, I'm not going to spend three hours getting Tatooine sand in my hair waiting for him to figure out we're supposed to be finalizing a shipping contract."

"He'll be there," Lavan promised, his voice crackling with light static.

"Wasn't there last time," Vendra countered dryly.

"I swear on my, uh . . ."

The comlink went silent, and Vendra arched her eyebrows at the long pause as her father tried to come up with a witty comment.

"Vendra, he'll be there. All right," came the surly response, and Vendra grinned as she looked down at the tiny black-scaled six-legged creature watching her from the depths of the copilot's seat. "How long do you think you will be away?"

"Depends on how long the meeting with Daray takes," Vendra replied as she adjusted the seat's security harness around her shoulders and waist. "And I want to stop in on Vek while I'm in the neighborhood. Figure a few of days."

"Why do you want to see Vek," her father rumbled darkly.

"Hey," Vendra admonished him mildly, "after everything we went through on this trip, I think we all have earned a

little . . ."

"We're about to jump," Lavan cut Vendra off before she could say something that might kill him. "I'll see you when you get back to Bakurra. And remember, stay in touch and out of trouble."

"Trouble?" Vendra sighed as if the very notion shocked her. "Me? Nah!"

"Right," came the gruff reply. "Well, I'll love you anyway. How's that?"

"Deal," Vendra smiled, watching as the tremendous Star Cruiser sidled its way in an optimal pre-hyperspace jump posture. "Have a good trip. Love you, Dad!"

"You too, Ace," her father replied, there was a click of static as the frequency broke. The great warship's massive sublight-drive nozzles erupted spectacular trails of efflux, and the Bel Iblis vanished.

"Guess that just leaves us, huh?" she asked the voxyn youngling, reaching down to pat the ittle creature's head.

A few careful questions here and there during the reception had allowed Vendra to uncover why Voxy reacted to the Dawn's bridge the way he had. The Vong were masters at genetic mutation, and had modified vornskyrs—an animal native to the planet Mykr that preyed upon other Force-sensitive creatures by tracking them through the Force itself. Voxy had sensed the Force presence on the Dawn's bridge, and reacted to it.

The circumstance explained why the voxyn lair had been built immediately outside the main bridge blastdoors. What remained unexplained was the survival of Voxy and his mother. Voxyin had a very short lifespan—a few months at most—and were all cloned from a single queen. By the end of the war even the Vong believed the voxin were ompletely extinct. So, how had these two survived on the Dawn?

Given that voxyn were created to hunt and kill Jedi there was no reason anyone needed to know about Vendra's little pet, but there were now two bigger, more personal questions. The Dawn's main bridge wasn't the only thing that excited Voxy; he also seemed almost irresistibly attracted to Myrishi.

Was there something about Myrishi Vendra didn't know about? Something Myrishi didn't know about himself, maybe?

Then Vendra acted on the reminder those questions prompted.

"Everybody strapped in and locked down back there?" Vendra called toward the open cockpit door and the two passengers in the main cabin. The jumble of electronic blurps of an irritated R2 unit sounded off against the huffs and grunts of an indignant Jawa.

"All right, you two have nattered at each other enough," Vendra cut Artoo-Detoo and Myrishi off as they tried immediately to out-vocalize one another. "You're both going to be stuck with each other for a while, so you better learn to get along."

The droid and Jawa offered like-minded opinions and odds of that miracle coming to pass. Immediately realizing they had again spoken at once, droid and Jawa rose to the challenge of being the Dagger's most obnoxious passenger.

Tiny points of starlight danced from Vendra's helmet as she faced forward, her shoulders rising and falling with a deep sigh of exasperated defeat as she tapped a switch on the helm control board. The cockpit door closed, sheltering her from the galaxyies' great verbal contest. "If Artoo thinks he's upset now, wait until he finds out about the little overhaul he's going to get when we get home," she said to the baby voxyn. The little creature stirred at her words, making the cutest little grunting noises of his own as he rocked back and forth excitedly.

"Well, Voxy," Vendra cooed down at her little pet as she began orientating the Black Dagger for her own hyperspace hop. "Let's see what happens next."

Vendra grinned as she fed power to the sublight engines and gently pulled the hyperdrive levers toward her. The cockpit was instantly flooded with the icy white brilliance of starlines as the Black Dagger roared to lightspeed. Concerned with matters of navigation, the blaster riding Vendra's hip was temporarily forgotten by its new owner. The shine of the starlines reflected from the muzzle of the weapon, and the vintage DL-44 sparkled in the brief intense glow as its adventure continued.

Requler likely felt very fortunate. Not only was the Squid Head the sole survivor of the team sent to eliminate the crew of the Black Dagger, but he had been taken into custody by the Alliance as well. Apparently, he had been very quick in offering his full cooperation to various authorities attempting to penetrate his employer's organization. In exchange, those same authorities had been very efficient about granting Requler immunity from prosecution. Requler was on a covert transport for a safe house on some remote but pleasant planet deep inside the New Galaxy.

Requler would never taste the new life the authorities had set up for him within the New Galaxy of the Alliance. For the covert ship he thought was taking him to New Ukio brought him to Ord Mantell instead.

And Requler's throat was delivered directly into the palm of the employer he had betrayed.

Requler's execution was slow, furiously painful, and horrendously gruesome. It was a twisted and evil nightmare of violence that Guri made certain her top lieutenants personally watched from the first scream to the last spatter of blood.

Those who achieved status as Guri's top lieutenants–her "eyes," as she called them–were the most intelligent, resilient, and otherwise resourceful members of her organization. They were all exceptionally motivated and ambitious, and it was that last quality, ambition, that made her most capable agents the most dangerous.

Ambition lead to greed, and greed lead to betrayal.

Violence was a necessary tool in Guri's trade, but never one she employed lightly or excessively. Thugs and tyrants relied on violence as their principal means, and that reliance was always their ultimate downfall. Though she had presided over Requler's prolonged piecemeal dismemberment, Guri remained as dispassionate about his betrayal as she was detached from his howled pleas for mercy and death.

Guri held no resentment for his defection to the authorities; her artificial intelligence was analytical, not emotional. Requler's execution was for the benefit of her eyes. A way of tempering their treacherous ambitions but demonstrating firsthand the consequence of betrayal. They would then spread word across Guri's organization about what they had witnessed, forestalling any further betrayal. The tale of Requler's fate would undoubtedly become exaggerated, which could only benefit the situation. Yes, Requler's execution had been a most effective and judicious use of violence.

Guri sat motionless in her tall regal chair, the computer consoles surrounding her casting bright flickering light into the shadows of the otherwise darkened room. Her violet eyes staring at a neutral section of wall on the other side of her sanctum as Guri's cyborg brain processed the data and variables relevant to the second related matter.

Guri's offer to the Serons had been more than generous. Certainly more than the two humans warranted or deserved. Guri had calculated a ninety-seven percent probably that her offer would be rejected. Even so, as she sat in her chamber, the computations of the feminine-formed human replica droid were of a quality Guri could almost interpret as annoyance.

Guri wanted the lightsaber of Luke Skywalker. She wanted to claim it in honor of the sole human who had bested her in honorable combat, and then spared her existence. The Jedi may have had rights to the blade, but Guri wanted it. Up to now Guri had always gotten what she wanted.

The error has been her's.

Guri knew well the treacherous nature of humans. She had said as much to Vendra Seron at Cloud City, but that did not excuse the Serons' treachery any more than it negated Guri's error in attempting to strike a bargain with them. The simple fact was that if Guri could not abide betrayal by her servants, she certainly could not let the betrayal of two human outsiders go unanswered. No, that would not do at all.

A measured response was called for here, and cold violence was the tool the situation called for. The only decisions left to be made were the manner in which Guri's example would be delivered, and which of the two Serons would suffer for that example.

Guri's fingers dipped into a pouch on her belt and removed the small object resting there.

It was Relquer's chance-cube.

The concepts of luck and superstition meant little to her save that such beliefs made most organics easily manipulated. Relquer believed the object being regarded by Guri brought him good fortune. If so, it failed him. But it seemed fitting in some remote way to let the cube chose which Seron would have the honor of serving Guri's purposes.

So be it. Red for the pilot, blue . . . Her father.

The cube tumbled onto the table, the colour came up.

And Guri began to plan.

Bibliography

*Denning, Troy, Star Wars The New Jedi Order: Star by Star, New York, Bllantine Publishing Group, 2001. pp.464.