Chapter One

Maka Albarn drops out of hyperspace about 2 minutes before the rest of her squadron, just outside the orbit of Entralla. She knows that her calculations were correct, that the coordinates were spot on and she didn't make any missteps. Still, she keeps a watchful eye out, waiting until the rest of her squadron catches up, and vows that she'll get one of the techs to take a look at her hyperdrive when she gets back to. Grand Moff Mortimer himself had given her training squadron the task of finding and routing a group of troublesome mercenaries, and she's not leaving until the job's done.

She runs her scans, but the space around her seems to be relatively clear - nothing visual or picking up on the scanner. Except - the computer beeps once, and she frantically looks for the signature. A moment later the rest of her squadron flickers back into existence around her and her comm buzzes with life once again. She shifts a little, trying to get comfortable as she examines the screens again. Whatever her scanner might have belatedly picked up is gone, however.

"Green-1, any sign?" Kid asks.

"Thought I saw something, but nothing's showing up, Green Leader," Maka replies. "You think we had bad intel that the Hellions would be here?"

"Are you questioning the integrity of our intelligence department?" The tone her former classmate, now instructor, takes on is light, but Maka can still make out the hint of warning there.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she murmurs. Her comm picks up the sound of the rest of her squadron snickering. Maka rolls her eyes.

She's about to take them to task for immaturity when the proximity alarms begin blaring, and Maka boosts just in time to dodge an incoming proton torpedo. " Shit ," she hisses.

"I thought you said there wasn't anyone here," Ox calls. "I'm getting signatures on at least 3 different ships!"

"There wasn't anyone here," she responds. "Scans came up clear. Harv-Green-3, off your port!"

His TIE rolls out of the way, but not quite fast enough, and Maka watches as a bit of his foil comes off. He starts spinning, but gets it under control a moment later.

"I'm alright," he says, voice steady. The Headhunter that clipped him zips by and Maka opens fire. It looks like she might have hit, but the ship doesn't slow, just banks sharply. There's one more ship, an old Y-wing, but she can't get a bead on either of them. Cursing under her breath, she guns it, focusing on catching up to the Headhunter.

"Green-1, stay in formation!" Kid barks. Maka grits her teeth, eases the throttle back a little - just in time for the second Headhunter to make a run on the right flank of their formation. They must be scrambling their radars somehow. The mercenary ship - because it has to be them - fires on Green-3 again, knocking out his communications array.

"Can you make it to the surface?" Kid asks. "If you can, make it planetside and send up a distress beacon. We'll rendezvous as soon as we take care of these ships."

There's no answering reply, but Maka has to hope that Harvar can still receive transmissions even if he can't respond. His TIE fighter detaches from the squadron and limps towards Entralla's atmosphere.

"Green-2, 4, 7, 8 - make sure he gets down properly. Green-1, 5, 6, quad formation."

She chafes a little at the restriction, but falls into formation. It's an effective tactic, one that's been proven time and time again, but it still doesn't sit right with her. Something about the mercenaries tells her that they're going to need more than tried and true Imperial strategies to get the better of them.

One of the Headhunters dips, heading straight for Harvar's contingent. The Y-Wing splits off as well, and Maka's hand twitches minutely on the controls. She stays her formation, however, heading straight for the second Headhunter. It fires a volley of shots, and slips squeaks under Green-5.

"Watch out for proto-" even as she says it, she knows it's too late.

"I'm hit!"

"Functional?"

"Lost a gun," 5 replies. "I can stay in."

As one, the formation turns, but 5's lagging just enough, and Maka knows the formation isn't going to work. The Y-Wing doubles back and 5 flinches, giving the oncoming ship enough of a gap that it blows through their formation. The second Headhunter's gone, and she can only assume it's gone to help harry the rest of their squadron.

"That pilot's insane," Green-6 barks. Maka's inclined to agree. Her computer blips again, that same anomaly that popped up earlier reappears and suddenly, Maka understands why the Y-Wing wasn't worried about taking on their formation.

"Ship," she shouts. "Kid it's -"

"I see it," he replies. Their formation is completely blown to shit, and Green-5's lagging even harder, 6 is useless , and Kid's trying to coordinate two attack fronts. Harvar's escort hasn't even hit atmo yet, and all other three ships are reporting damage. She can't be positive, but she's not sure either of the Headhunters have been damaged at all.

She's the only one in a good position to fire on what looks like an old Xiytiar class transport, and it's not much of a choice as far as she's concerned. The transport gets off the first volley of shots before she can respond, and any vague hope they had to retaining formation is completely shot to shit. Later, Maka is sure that she'll be pissed with the inexperienced pilots of her squadron, but now she's focused on making sure that no one dies during what was supposed to be a simple training mission because of a mistake she made.

Everyone's checking in with damage to varying degrees, except for maybe Kid, and that's what prompts her to to get on the comm.

"Kid, get them to the surface. I'll hold them off."

Seconds later, his voice comes through on a private channel. "Are you crazy?"

"You know that besides you, I'm the pilot with the most experience here. Get them down safe and I'll catch up to you."

"That's exactly why we don't need you risking yourself; you're one of the best talents we've got and this is - four to one is suicide," he spits out.

"I can out run them, you know I can. Besides," she says, eyes still scanning her sensors, "at least two of them will probably chase you down. You can handle them or at least let Nexus City know what's happening and call for backup. I'm sure I can keep the other two at bay until they get bored or I can slip away."

The silence is deafening for a moment and Maka uses that time to fire on the larger ship; it's definitely fast - much faster than any normal transport ship should be, much less one the age of the Xiytiar, but still no match for the maneuverability of her TIE.

"Shit," Kid finally replies. "Yeah, ok. Meet us at the Nexus City spaceport."

"I'll be down as soon as I can shake them," she promises, already rolling out of the line of fire. She can't do anything about the two ships that are already on Havar's escort, but she can make life difficult for everyone else. She fires again on the transport, concentrating more on being fast and bothersome than being a good shot. As much as she'd like to take the mercenary group out, her focus has to be on giving her squadron the best possible chance at escape.

The Y-Wing veers just into her arc of fire, and her onslaught manages to graze one of its wings as she curses under her breath. The Xiytiar remains unscathed and tracks her with one of its laser cannons, dogging her just enough that she can't really get another volley off. Instead, she takes advantage of the fact that only one cannon seems to be firing, and rather than veer out of the way, she zips underneath the transport before it can turn.

She still can't fire, but she's not going to risk the engine burnout to pull the 180 that will bring her around to firing position again. Her comm crackles and she can catch the faint sound of Kid's voice, but the atmospheric static blocks most of the words. Maka catches a visual on the last of her squadron entering into Entralla's atmosphere and she breathes a small sigh of relief.

Maka turns, preparing to take aim at either of the enemy ships. She has to trust that their plan worked and that Nexus City's contingent of Imperials would meet her squadron halfway. She has to focus now on getting out like she promised Kid. She goes to fire again, only to find the Xiytiar nearly out of range, and the Y-Wing lingering just enough behind it to present a tempting target. Like a lame bird , she thinks.

Even knowing that it's a trap, she target locks on the Y-Wing. It's just the two of them now, and she burns with the need to prove herself, to prove that this trip wasn't a complete waste of time and resources. If she can just get one of them - in the end, she's not quite sure if it's her sensors failing again or if she just let herself be caught completely off guard. Her TIE rocks violently as it's hit, alarms ringing suddenly.

The two Headhunters must have pulled away from their pursuit of her squadron and come up from behind her. They both zip past her now, firing wildly, and Maka spits out another curse and pulls back. No matter how good of a pilot she is, there is no way to win against four pilots, or even three. Especially not with a damaged ship. Maka fires a volley of lasers at the Headhunters and turns her ship to run along the planet's horizon. If the mercenaries broke off their pursuit of her squadron, then she's sure as Sith not going to lead them right back to her compatriots.

Maka flies close enough that she can skim a little extra energy from the planet's gravity well, boosting her own speed just enough to edge away from the Headhunters. They fire a few more half-hearted shots her way, but she can't help but get the feeling that they mostly got lucky earlier - especially since they break off their pursuit not long after.

She exhales shakily, and noses her ship into position for atmospheric entry. It rocks and shudders violently, and for a long, tense moment, she's certain that the Headhunter's lucky hit managed to really knock something vital out of whack. Soon she's through though, and no more worse for the wear it seems.

Except that she's nowhere near Nexus City and the sensors that have been blipping in and out since this stupid mission started decide to completely fail her. She skims back westward, towards the direction that she knows Nexus City is in, but there's no guarantee she'll be able to find it without proper coordinates. Fortunately, she doesn't have to wait too long before she catches sight of civilization.

Whatever it is, it's too small to be Nexus City, but it's still large enough to have a spaceport, and Maka is just grateful that her comms are still working.

"Control, can you read me? This is Imperial TIE fighter pilot-trainee Maka Albarn, 42-42-564, can you read me?"

"This is Bastion Control, we can read you, pilot."

"I've got a ship in need of repairs, do you have a docking bay for me?"

"10-4; we can house you in Bay 4; look for the numbers painted on the top."

"10-4, thank you Bastion Control."

Docking Bay 4 feels like it would barely fit a landspeeder, but she manages to wriggle her ship in with inches to spare. For a long moment, she just sits in her cockpit, harness still fastened, eyes almost unseeing.

She's lucky. Luckier than she has any right to be, even if she is in the wrong spaceport on what may as well be the other side of Entralla from where she needs to be. She's still in one piece, and her ship shouldn't require too much in the way of repairs. Maka's never believed in a higher power, no matter what stories her father used to tell her by the fireside, but that doesn't mean she doesn't feel grateful in this moment.

Maka releases the catch on her harness and pops her hatch open. She knows that it's safe - they'd all read up on Entralla before coming on this mission - humans are native and its air is made of the same stuff she breathes normally, but TIEs aren't really meant for planetside survival, and she can't help but feel just a little off kilter, despite knowing that she's safe.

But despite her hesitance, the spaceport plascrete is firm beneath her feet when she touches down, and really, it looks just like a hundred other ports she's been in over the years, if maybe just a little more run down than most places she associates with planets under Imperial control. There's a small contingent of onlookers keeping just outside of her dock that she can see. Knowing port cities, there'll be someone in that crowd she can convince to get started on repairs, and someone else who can send a transmission to Nexus City and to the rest of her squadron. It still takes her another couple of minutes before she unlocks her helmet and allows herself to breath the planetside air.

Bastion is exactly the kind of city that Soul had hoped he'd never have to spend time in again. Instead, he's slipping through the streets of a run-down spaceport town on an Imperial world with a not insubstantial bounty on his head in search of an artefact that he isn't even positive still exists. But Stein had said the Force was directing them to Bastion, and so here he is.

He's never been comfortable in cities, and it's just made worse as another contingent of noisy, laughing pilots pass him by on the street. Soul shifts the cowl covering his hair, a reflexive gesture. It's not like pilots are uncommon in a spaceport or anything, and he tries to roll away the tension building in his skull and shoulders. The odds that any of them are bounty hunters or Imperials in disguise is slim to none. Breathe . He exhales, feeling the Force flow and ebb through him. No one knows to look for him here; no one appears to be paying any attention to him, and that's exactly the way he wants to keep it. He feels a faint nudge, a hint of something that tickles his sense - bitter chocolate sweet. He extends his senses through the Force the way Stein taught him and is reassured by the sense of rightness he feels.

-Less reassured because that sense of rightness is coming directly from the spaceport proper, which is pretty much the last place Soul wants to go. Stein's intelligence hadn't been terribly specific, which was about what Soul had come to expect from his mentor over the years. The artefact he was in search of was definitely hidden somewhere on this planet, but past that it was anyone's guess. He would have assumed the artefact would have been hidden somewhere a little more populous, but the Force had lead him here, of all places.

He adjusts his cowl again, making sure the tell-tale shock of his white hair is covered, and continues to wend his way through crowded streets, stopping every so often to peer at a seller's wares. He stops just long enough to look like he's genuinely browsing, but never long enough to be remembered by any of the merchants. It's a good strategy - one that's served him well on a dozen other planets for a dozen other reasons. And it works right up until an Imperial TIE fighter nearly buzzes the marketplace coming in low and heading straight for the spaceport. The Force tingles again, the faint tug/smell getting stronger which is exactly the thing he did not want to happen.

But something he needs is in that spaceport, and he's going to have to suck it the fuck up and trust in the Force to keep him on the alert for danger. Soul's long since learned not to expect the Force to keep him safe. He adjusts the hood over his hair once more and moves steadily towards the spaceport proper. He's not the only one on the move - Imperial world though it may be, it's uncommon enough for a lone TIE fighter to be dropping into port like this that it's going to attract attention. Soul can only hope that it'll be enough attention that he'll be able to remain unnoticed in the crowd.

He catches sight of the ship not long after, as he hovers at the back of a group of curious onlookers. It's a little banged up, but nothing too bad as far as he can tell - which must mean there's something wrong with its systems for it to have bothered landing here. He watches as the pilot jumps down from the cockpit - a little shorter than he would have thought for one of the renowned TIE pilots.

There's a beat, a lull in sound and sense and Soul finds himself holding his breath without really knowing why.

Then the pilot removes her helmet. He blinks and feels the Force ebb and flow around them both, and oh . It's about the clearest signal he could have hoped for from the universe and exactly the one he had been hoping not to get. Soul slips through the crowd until he's nearly at the ship - her eyes cut over to him, green and piercing. He swallows and pushes his cowl back, stepping out of the crowd.

"Need a mechanic?"

She looks him up and down, and he didn't need to be a Jedi to read the skepticism written in her features.

"Depends. Are you a mechanic?"

Soul shrugs a shoulder. "I've been known to dabble. My speciality is really nav systems, but I can find my way around most things." She steps closer, sizing him up, and it takes most of his willpower to just stay relaxed.

"How much?"

"Depends on what needs done. I can take a look and give you an estimate."

"You take Imperial creds?"

He rolls a shoulder again, "If it's good here, I'll take it." She hesitates and for a moment Soul isn't sure if she's going to go for his proposition. She nods, holding out a hand.

"Maka Albarn," she offers. He clasps it and has to still himself against the tide of emotions swirling around the pilot. She stiffens and pulls her hand back, pupils dilated.

"Soul Ea-Evans." He trips over the name, but she doesn't seem to notice, still seemingly shaken from their contact. He understands the feeling. Of all the things he was expecting to find out here, it sure as hell wasn't another Force-sensitive.

"I'll be back in a few," she says after a beat. She stops mid-stride and gives him a considering look. "You wouldn't know who I could talk to about getting a message sent to Nexus City, would you?"

"That's not really my business," he mumbles, carefully dodging her gaze.

"Hmph. I'll expect a quote when I get back, Evans," she says with the sort of careless authority that Soul's heard out of the mouths of a hundred other Imperial minions. He does his best to shrug it off and focus on why he's here.

It would be a lot easier, he muses, watching her walk away, if the Force would give him just a little more to go on - some kind of hint at where the artefact might be - there's a tenseness thrumming through him, like time is running out, but he there's no indication of what could be at the end of that time limit, or where to go from here. With a small resigned huff, he raids a stash of tools near the bay doors and climbs into the cockpit to see if he can figure out what might be the matter.

A Jedi has many skills, after all.