CHAPTER 1

Cassidy awoke, wondering where he was this time. At least this time it was in a bed. He hated waking up on battlefields or in outhouses, or forests, or deserts. A Twi'Lek doctor came over and babbled something at him in Huttese. Cassidy waited patiently for his brain to translate.

"You are awake, I thought you dead for sure."

Cassidy was used to hearing these things. He always woke up that way after being shot, or blown up, or sliced, or spaced, or drowned that one time.

"Where am I?" He croaked in basic.

"Oh," The Twi'Lek responded, also in basic. "In a hospital Mr. Starjumper, of course."

Starjumper, the tone of that name sounded familiar. Where did they have names like that...Oh Noooo...

"Tell me I'm not on Tatooine again?" Cassidy groaned.

"Yes of course, Anchorhead, what do you mean, again?" The Twi'Lek looked confused.

"Nevermind, gimme my things, what do I owe you?" He rubbed his head and sat up. He looked at his arm and disconnected an IV.

"Your bill has been paid Mr. Star..." Cassidy cut him off.

"Don't call me that. I'm not going by that name anymore." At least that wouldn't raise any eyebrows here, even if he was apparently a local kid.

"Certainly, if you must hurry off..." He called to the hallway for his things to be brought.

He apparently had a backpack with various odds and ends, an old military blaster pistol (heavy enough that the average user needed two hands to steady it) a broken speeder bike that would only float in place when turned on, and a dewback to haul it. He also had 1000 credits, enough to make him hope the blaster worked.

Cassidy bullied the hospital staff into giving him 10 liters of water as a courtesy. Since he had apparently just died of dehydration, he felt it was paid for as part of his treatment. The payment had been rendered by some uncle in Mos Eisley he had no direct knowledge of, but memories from recently dead brain often came sluggishly.

He slung the two jugs over the Dewback and packed the rest of his gear in saddle bags. He then sat waiting in the staff lounge, drinking more of their water, for Tatoo I to set. When the sun went down he felt no further need to make the staff at the clinic (hospital was a real stretch) nervous and departed.

He didn't believe he could fix the speeder bike from parts found in Anchorhead, but on impulse he went to Tosche station anyway. The people there were shopping in the pleasant cool and he picked up a few components that he felt would serve with a little of his trademark engineering.

Off to one side he saw a shop that he recognized in general if not specifically. It was a Jawa Dealer. Jawa dealers bought Jawa scavenged merchandise in large lots and sold it off piecemeal to those in need of spare parts for anything from appliances to starships.

Outside the shop, large pieces of equipment were grouped under huge shelters. Cassidy bypassed them and went inside. The inside of the shop was deceptively large and it was packed floor-to-ceiling with pieces of technology. The stuff was arranged in order of size with similar-looking (sometimes totally unrelated) bits grouped together. He took a small box near the door and strolled along the aisles selecting components. While it was working, Cassidy felt like his blaster needed a complete rebuild. It was a bulky DC-17 and he could already tell it wasted energy and gas 10 faster than a new one (not that there were any more new ones). These old dogs were designed to sacrifice efficiency for continued effectiveness as they aged. Cassidy had a knack for modifications and he knew he could get it shooting better than ever with a few spare parts and some time for tinkering.

As he passed a box with a number of rod-shaped things, something odd looking caught his eye. He reached in and pulled it out and examined it. It was, undoubtably, a broken lightsaber. He tossed it in his hand, the thing looked ancient. I wonder what poor Jedi dropped this here on this idiot dustball, and I wonder when. Maybe it was me. On closer examination he saw it couldn't have been him. The thing bore none of his style, though it felt like the Jedi had been human.

As he was musing, the store owner, a human at least twice as wide as Cassidy approached.

"Say there feller," He said. "Whatcha got there, broken flashlight?"

"No." Cassidy said quickly. "It's a control stick from a Devronian Atmo-Flitter. I'll have to totally redo the contacts to make it fit something around here, but maybe I can get it into a Pod Racer."

"Huh, Never wooda figgerd' that." The fat man scratched his bald head.

Cassidy pointed down the aisle to the far wall where a particularly long blaster rifle hung.

"Is that a Marnok Mark III Sniper-Blaster?" He smiled.

The fat man let out a wheezing laugh.

"It sure is, feller, but if it was workin' you couldn't afford it. Lessn' ya got a load a' spice that'd cripple a Bantha. Thing is, the entire mechanism is shot. Some sand-brain overheated it so bad it fused everything." He shook his head, chins waving around erratically.

"Yeah," Cassidy said, grinning. "But who can tell at a distance, I'll take it. I've got a long Dewback ride to Mos Eisley. Maybe it'll scare off the lowlifes."

"Haw haw haw, sure, I'm closin' up, need anythin' else?"

"Nope, got it all."

They bargained good naturedly about the price of the items and settled on 50 credits for the whole lot. The fat man waddled to the door with him, all the while grinning like he'd eaten the... well just about anything considering his appetites. Cassidy let a smile play across his face as he heard the door seal behind him and mounted his dewback, dragging the floating bike across the Jundland Wastes, he reveled in his good fortune. It might have taken him months to build a lightsaber from scratch. This one would be good as new in no time.

Night travel went without incident, the dewback was slow and they weren't particularly far out into the wastes yet. As the sun rose he found shelter from the heat under a leaning rock formation and from the wind as the rocks jutted out on all sides.

Reason dictated that it was best to refit the aging blaster, but love and familiarity led him to the lightsaber. Painstakingly, he disassembled it and cleaned out the fine sand. He discarded the burned parts and replaced them from his cache of circuitry from Tosche station and the salvage store. A new power cell, a feedback regulator, a new activation switch, and it was almost complete.

Cassidy had once assembled a lightsaber from all blaster components and the handle of a short vibro-axe, but it had been a miserable thing that overheated from long use, required an overlong handle and could only cut through up to an inch of durasteel without shutting down. It had still been enough to get him out of a prison camp with a full garrison. In a pinch, a lightsaber crystal can be made from the focusing crystal of a blaster, but they were always flawed and would make an inferior weapon.

Cassidy chuckled as he took the focusing crystal from the Sniper rifle. He could feel throught the force how perfect it was. The high cost of blaster-sniper rifles was partly due to the fact that for true long range accurate shots it was necessary to have a focusing crystal of rare perfection. One in 1000 crystals were sorted out from production by electronic eyes. These were the Class 0 crystals. Class 3 crystals were used for holdout blaster pistols, class 2 crystals went into military pistols, carbines and mass production rifles; class 1 crystals went into expensive sporting rifles and standard quality sniper rifles capable of very good accuracy at medium range. Long range snipers with class 0 crystals could make precision shots at 2 kilometers. This crystal was easily worth 1000 credits and it would make a great lightsaber crystal.

Finally it was done, Cassidy activated the Lightsaber and saw that the blade was a near-invisible translucent blur, the same color as a sniper-rifle bolt designed not to give away the sniper's position. It hummed happily as he waved it back and forth. He loved the balance of the handle. Whoever had lost it had known which end of the lightsaber was dangerous...what color had it been? He felt it had been a deep green. Rebuilding the lightsaber had been important to him for another reason. One needs to attune oneself to the force to build one, and he always needed to re-attune himself after his...blackouts.

Cassidy had lost count of how many times he died, he no longer knew (if he had ever known) why he always left the force, not as a wraith, but to enter a body near death, whose spirit had departed. He was a Jedi Master, probably from his first life on, but while his identity and talents remained unchained, his personal memories were subjective and confused. Through it all he pursued his purpose, to serve the force and the balance of the force. Life required death and light required dark and dominance of one over the other could only lead to terrible consequences. Strangely though, few people ever saw it that way. He had been called a Rebel, a Grey Jedi, a loose cannon, and perhaps he was. He had fought tyranny and corruption (and law and order) on thousands of worlds for thousands of years and through it all one fact remained.

Having finished his lightsaber, the Jedi Master slept.

Six hours later he was awakened, not by sounds but by a presence. He reached out with the force, five beings, their minds were primitive and clouded with rage and hatred. They were sand people. Silently he waited, the nearest was a mere 2 meters from his shelter. Cassidy exploded from his shelter, past the startled Tusken Raider and rebounded back off the rock formation facing it. His lightsaber hissed to life and he cut the dismounted Bantha rider in half just above the legs. He let out a warcry in imitation of a Krayt Dragon and the others scattered as the sound combined with their compatriot's scream.

The raider at Cassidy's feet was down but not out and he swung his Gaffi stick, catching him in mid-thigh with the middle of the handle, he never saw the result of the blow as the lightsaber came down, bisecting his head.

"Argh!!! You dirty, stinking sand-bastard! That really hurt!" Cassidy limped back to the place where he'd spent the night to gather his things. "Teach me to fight with creatures too stupid to die. Give me humans, or Bothans, or Devronians any day. I hate this planet."

He packed the rest of his things onto the Dewback and swung with a lot of effort and little grace into the saddle. "Come on Fairy Princess," (this is what he had named the 4 ton monster) "Haul that pretty tail of yours."

For the rest of the ride he slept in the saddle, stopping only to re-tune the blaster (now it would perform 50 better than original specs) and finish repairs on the speederbike. Two days later he was in Mos Eisley.

He sold Fairy Princess only 6 minutes after arriving in town, fixing the stablemaster with a stare and extracting an almost generous price. So it was that he arrived at Makka Mor'al's space junkyard on his rejuvenated speederbike. He strode into the office.

Makka was a Bothan, one of the top salvage men in the business due to his innate talent for finding out about the best salvage and make a claim or strike a deal before his competitors. Cassidy knew he got the top components and knew just how to turn his natural skill with machines into a job.

Cassidy took a seat in front of the Bothan's desk and struck a relaxed posture, waiting for the Bothan to recognize his presence. The canine humanoid sized Cassidy up for a long moment.

"Who are you?" He asked finally.

"Who I am is not very important, but call me Cassidy. I'm you're new components installer." Cassidy gave he what he always felt was a winning smile. The Bothan frowned.

"It so happens I do need a mechanic to install parts. How did you know? No, don't tell me, you guessed."

Cassidy nodded, maintaining the winning smile. The Bothan continued.

"What qualifies you to work for me?"

This was just the question that Cassidy wanted to get to.

"You want to hire me because I'm the best installer of illegal modifications on this planet or any other. Hidden weapons, smuggling compartments, anti-scanning tech, transmissions-jamming, shield boosters, you can pretty much name your pleasure." The Bothan smiled.

"How do I know you're not an imperial agent?"

Cassidy was ready for that question, sort of.

"Come on, you're a Bothan, if I was an agent you would have been throwing hydrospanners at me before I got all the way in the door. If you weren't two steps ahead of clumsy law enforcement like that, you wouldn't be here." The Bothan smiled and nodded.

"If you are so good, why come looking for work here?" This was the crux of the matter. Cassidy smiled.

"My needs are for more than just money. I need to be paid in hardware, primarily. I can do jobs that couldn't otherwise be done and all I want in money is 5 of the total take, 10 if I have to rebuild the parts. The caveat is that I intend to cannibalize a starship out of your scrap yard. ou sit on more merchandise than anyone on this planet and you don't leave it out in the sandstorms to rot away. You've got a played-out mine just outside of town and it's got enough space to store Mos Eisley with room left over for Mos Espa. I can live in the mine, sleep in a shuttle cockpit or something." The Bothan pushed a short stack of papers across his desk.

"How many cubic meters of scan-shielded smuggler storage can you put in this stock YT 1000 freighter?" He asked simply. Cassidy did a few quick mental calculations.

"About 93. Get more greedy than that and the inside will look too much smaller than the outside and you'll have to dump every time you're boarded." The Bothan stared at him.

"Now I know you're blowing sand." Cassidy smiled triumphantly.

"Not at all. The interior will have to be redesigned, but you can put large spaces here, and here, smaller spaced containers in these places. (he indicated each place with a dot from a pin) the anti scan plates can be fitted in small sections throughout the ship, causing scattered data and no suspicious hardpoints. The smaller gear will allow you to let the 'casters pull from heavy duty standard wiring, rather than requiring a dedicated circuit, those can get you into trouble. The best bit is that if you have to dump the big containers due to potential boarding you have only dumped HALF your cargo. That should allow you to break even on a spice run that would have otherwise garnered a massive loss. Inspectors will never find the small compartments without destroying any sensitive cargo in the process." The Bothan closed his mouth, realizing suddenly that he had had it open.

"That's very impressive, if you can do work that tight I know a hot shot smuggler that wishes he'd had those compartments a few weeks ago." The Bothan made a dismissive gesture and continued. "Honestly you are perfect for what I need. You have the job on your terms. One thing you need to know if you are going down there. Those mines are a huge system, dating back space-knows how many thousands of years, undoubtedly much of it natural. Also, they are filled with a relocated and lost Clone Wars supply dump. There is so much stuff that I hope to live long enough to safely move a small fraction of it." Cassidy practically drooled.

It was two days and three complex jobs before Cassidy got enough time to practically survey the starship hulks down in the caverns. The rooms were huge, it reminded him of a salt-mine he had seen on Utapau. starship hulks that had been new models in his last life sat in various states of disrepair. His usual specialty was light-freighters but this time he concentrated on the outdated snub-fighters. He used an equipment hauler to move an ARC170 and a Z-95 Headhunter into his work area. These two fighters could serve as the basis for a new fighter while he pulled weapons and components for it from others.

Next to his work area he set down a CR-20 troop carrier and unceremoniously gutted it to provide space. In it he put a cot, a food warmer, and a vid player where he could access the free public data nets to catch up on history.

The history was not encouraging. Chancellor Palpatine was now emperor. The Jedi were betrayed and murdered. Weapons of war fit to dwarf the Republic's great military of the Clone Wars held every system in terror. And yet there was some kind of rebellion. It wasn't exactly explained, but it was widely hinted at in a disparaging way by the imperial propaganda.

His short respite ended quickly as word about the quality of his work spread among locally based smugglers and bounty hunters. He had a stack of orders waiting for him up at the Bothan's office.

More and more he stayed in hiding as he worked, allowing the freighters to be brought in to him and taking his instructions through droid intermediaries. It took him a month to rewire the Z-95 cockpit for the new specs and equipment he anticipated. It took him over a week to totally rebuild a hyperdrive with a rating he estimated at .83, and another two days of his free time to totally reprogram an R-2 Astromech droid to understand and operate the craft. Considering his usual luck with programming, he'd be lucky if the droid was merely eccentric rather than totally insane.

In six months, Makka was raking in more money every month (and sometimes in a week) than he had made in a year before Cassidy's arrival. Cassidy was also a rich man, though he never checked his accounts to see. Cassidy settled on 50 of his waking hours for the Bothan's work, and 50 for his own. Increased free time was compensated for by his building of tech droids to help him.

In his seventh month of work, while looking for a com-encrypter, he found something that set his heart beating nearly out of control. A full set of armor for a clone commando team. For a moment he was back on Mygeeto. The operation was a mop up, he and his clone troopers were reporting victory when he overheard an order, "Execute Order 66" and his OWN TROOPS started shooting at him. He ducked instinctively, made a mad dash for his starfighter, was halfway in the cockpit, reaching for the button to activate his shields...pain, falling, the barrel of a blaster rifle, and darkness.

Cassidy found himself shaking, three hundred meters from the supply box with the armor in it. lightsaber in hand. He shook his head and used his jedi relaxation techniques to clear his mind.

"So that's how it went down. Well, what goes around, comes around."

After composing himself fully, he went back to check the armor, what he found amazed him. This armor wasn't good armor, it was the best! Cutting edge Katarn-class Commando armor and it was all spotless. Cassidy donned the commander's uniform, then put on the helmet and activated the suit, reading the heads-up display and toggling to system specs. Cassidy was impressed. The suit featured armor that was actually resistant to blaster fire up to light cannon rounds. It was no payback for 19 years as a disembodied spirit, but it was a down payment. From that point on, Cassidy wore the armor at all times when not bathing or sleeping.

Seven months after first taking his job, Cassidy had just sent notice that his ship was nearly ready and he was ready to resign. His tech-droids could continue the work with the aid of a good living engineer. While Makka was very sorry to lose him, he agreed to take the droids in exchange for keeping the Grand Army materiel a secret. Cassidy convinced him that it was all far too distinct and far too hot to move under imperial noses.

Cassidy was making last-minute checks when his proximity alarm went off. Rushing to a monitor, Cassidy saw a platoon of storm troopers en route to pass within a kilometer of one of the small back exits to the mine-system.

In a more logical frame of mind he would have let them pass, certain that they had nothing to do with him, but he had spent too long alone, with memories of the life taken from him on Mygeeto pouring back. He had only one thought when he saw that white armor.

Cassidy grabbed his blaster pistol, (his lightsaber was already on his belt) and ran for the exit that he knew would give him an ambush point on the approaching platoon.

Commander Jaquim Narah of the Desert Sands Theta Squad slapped at the air-conditioning unit of his suit. It was working but barely and he managed to get just enough cool air to yell at his troopers to double-time now that they were close to the city.

"Faster you slugs! Or I'll have you transferred to Mod Terrik's squad. MOVE!" The squad actually moved. Mod Terrik was just the sort of grandstanding spacebrain that would get you killed one way or another.

Something was going seriously down in Mos Eisley and if a firefight hadn't started, it would. Commander Narah would never get there.

As he passed what seemed to be another of the innumerable sand-drifts, something exploded out of it. An armored man firing a blaster pistol took out nearly a third of the surprised and weary platoon with precision shots before they could react. Commander Narah could hear his Com Specialist screaming "...under attack, rogue storm trooper, Delta Squad...repeat...rogue storm trooper." Narah could tell it was no such thing, the armor was all wrong, but he had no time to correct the man before the radio was shot and the man was in amongst them cutting them with...

Commander Narah fired but his shot was deflected into Sgt. Borun. A moment later he screamed as his hand flew from his arm. He realized dully as he was kicked in the chest and fell flat on his back that he was the last of Theta Squad left alive.

The man stood on his chest and Narah's mind cleared enough to hear him screaming. "Why did you betray me!? How did you know I was here!? Who sent you to kill me?!"

Narah wanted to cry, this was so stupid, so insane, "LOOK! I'm not here for you! Zeta Squad just vaped some rebels at a moisture farm, we're here to get some kid and a couple of droids! I don't know who you are, man!"

Cassidy's mind became clear again. He had not been gripped by the dark side when he attacked these men, but memory relapse was almost as bad. He needed to get off this planet.

"You want my advice, Captain? Trade uniforms with one of these troopers, desert and join the rebels. Can't be any worse than what you'll get for having your command wiped out by one man." Narah nodded feverishly and the man disappeared.

Narah thought for a moment as he cradled his lost hand. He'd never command again with a robot hand and a history of failure. He'd be lucky not to be branded a traitor. He found a corpse with only a blaster-shot to the neck as a wound and donned the armor, switching suits with the cadaver. He cut off the man's hand with a combat knife and a grenade on the corpse, making sure not to destroy the insignia, the only identifiable part of him left at the scene would be his own hand. He'd leave this barren rock from Mos Espa, maybe he would join the rebels, why not?

Cassidy set one of his painter droids to repaint his armor (He did not appreciate being mistaken for a storm trooper) and went up to Makka's office wearing a backup suit (the Commando captain's) under his cloak.

Makka stood up and shook his hand, speaking first.

"I want to say it will be tough to lose you."

Cassidy shrugged. "The techbots I modified for you should do most of the work if you get a halfway decent engineer to take over and supervise them. I'll contact you off and on in case you need consulting work."

Makka nodded. "I found a Calamari engineer, he's good, but he has bad gambling debts and he's agreed to come work for me here for a signing bonus that will keep him breathing. Where are you going?"

"I'm headed for Corellia. I've got a friend there." Cassidy felt bad for any Calamari that got stuck living on Tatooine. Makka nodded.

"Makes sense. A guy like you could make a bundle, outfitting those Corellian shipyards' products." Cassidy nodded somberly.

"Makka, there are some dead storm troopers out by exit 319 from the mine, I closed the exit, they're blaming a rogue trooper, just don't go out there 'til it's all blown over. Remember what I said about that military hardware. I'm going to get involved with these rebels. If they ever get big enough to pay for good hardware. I'll call you and try to move it all off your hands at once for a fair price." Makka nodded agreement.

"Good idea. I never liked the idea of the Imps tracing government property back to me. Illegal ship mods is one thing, being found in possession of several thousand imperial tons of Government hardware is more than my life is worth."

After a friendly farewell, Cassidy left.

By the time he got back, Cassidy's armor had been repainted, a dark red, nearly black in low lighting. The helmet had been painted a lighter, more striking crimson. He put his backup suit (after painting it matte black) in the storage pods of the ship.

The ship was a masterpiece, so well integrated and fitted that while technically an ugly, it looked like a new design that owed inspiration to the earlier designs. In more ways than one, it was. From a distance it looked like an ARC-170. Up close one noticed the ARC's triple S-Foils (6 total) were redesigned, uniform and modern like the double S-Foils of the X-wing (totally new manufacture from scrap) each of these ended in a heavy laser cannon. The ARC 170s massive sublight engines remained (converted to fusion), but 4 small Incom fusial-thrust engines were also added for emergency thrust and extremely high-powered maneuvering. Shield strength was tripled, and in addition to the 6 laser cannons, two ion cannons were mounted in the nose, on either side of the central torpedo launcher. The cockpit and astromech slot had been totally refitted, with the cockpit interior identical to the Z-95 (as the seat, controls and instrument panels were FROM a Z-95) and the slot perfectly fitted to seat his reprogrammed astromech droid, R3-P47, with an armored hatch that closed over his compartment, protecting the valuable droid. The main hyperdrive unit, rated a speedy 0.83, was backed up by a tiny class 16 hyperdrive. The sensor array was compact but fit for any advance recon ship. Cassidy wanted to kiss it.

Cassidy lovingly went through pre-flight protocols and flicked on the repulsorlift engines. A few musical notes from his speakers (he had reprogrammed the voice box of the R-3 to speak binary through music, so that he sounded like a Saffirese Gytarr player) told him that everything was go as the ship lifted gently off the floor. The shaft directly in front of and above him irised open and as he touched the controls the ship shot up it and flew clear of the cavern into the desert air like an anti-ship missile from a silo. He gained speed as the silo closed behind him, once again shielded from view and Cassidy's new ship vaulted toward space.

As Cassidy had sat meditating between sleep and wakefulness, the night before his departure from Tatooine, he had sought in the force for the soul of his friend, the only Jedi master of his former life whom he had called friend, Qui-Gon Jinn. He found Qui-Gon for just a moment, seeing his smiling face for an instant before it was blotted out by another vision.

In his meditation he saw the younglings of the temple as he had seen them last before he joined the clone war. The vision changed and they became older, falling back, fighting bravely and dying at the hands of Anakin Skywalker and the 501st Legion. Pain and deep sorrow lanced Cassidy's soul as he remembered how he had loved the younglings of the temple, of the many he had pulled aside to teach them some truth about the living force.

His meditation broke then and he was on his feet. "TRAITOR! MONSTER!" He screamed. "You killed them...killed them all...for nothing..." He fell to his knees and cried, tears dropping into the ancient caverns dust. The spirits comforted him, soothed his spirit and asked only: "Remember us, don't let us be forgotten."

Miles above Tatooine, a film of crude oil-paint burned from the hull of the deadly heavy fighter, displaying its' name to the galaxy.