Hello again! Here's the next section of the story, all spruced up with grammatical corrections. Please read and review—thanks!
Section 2:
Okay, so before all you readers form a line and start picketing about it—yes, Luke Skywalker is in this story. In fact, he plays a crucial part in it, at its most desperate moments.
But, yeah, I know—I'm not interesting enough for you to wait.
After all, I'm just a simple businessman in the Outer Rim, trying to make a living. Nevermind that I'm being hunted for having information that could change the balance of power in the galaxy. Forget the fact I was just in a horrible blaster fight, where I lost two crewmembers—I'll remember their names eventually, I swear!—and where another crewmember heartlessly betrayed me. Oh, and that I just witnessed my brother run a suicide mission to save my life, and now I'm in the clutches of an evil bounty hunter, on my way to one of the most ruthless crimelords in the Outer Rim.
Yeah, but we need Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master, to make his appearance, or this story is fodder. Okay, I get it—you want the blue-eyed, shaggy-haired, pretty boy. I've already told you he's not that nice in person, but whatever. I guess you'll just have to judge for yourself.
Moving on...
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By the time I woke up from the stun blast, I was tied from my forehead to toenails to one of the back seats on the bounty hunter's ship. The rope was tight and scratchy, and I pondered with a bit of panic what would happen if I needed to pee.
Not that the trip would take that long. We were heading to Fayla the Hutt; she worked out of the planet Arami, and that wasn't too far from Ryloth. As that thought struck, my panic only intensified. Peeing in my trousers didn't seem nearly as dire as it had just a minute before.
It took less than a day to reach Arami and as Rowisk finished peeling away the rope from my body, his two crewmembers already had blasters set between my eyes.
"Don't try anything," he insisted, and we exited the ship.
Inside Fayla the Hutt's lair, I walked, observing the place. The walls were crafted from clay, miniature bronze statues of ancient Hutts protruding from the walls like metallic ghosts. Gamorrean guards were perched at the corners of every corridor, and Twi'lek and Rodian slaves—men and women—were scattered about the place, and dressed as dancers and waiters.
We passed into Fayla the Hutt's chambers. The two-story structure was layered by more bronze statues, and far too many people, cramped together on platforms and steps. At the center of the room lay Fayla the Hutt. Compared to other Hutts, she was remarkably thin; if I had to guess, perhaps only weighing half a ton or so. That was unusual since Hutts considered heavier weights as a status symbol. I suppose she preferred the ability to drag herself around instead of showing off her wealth. As Rowisk shoved me forward, Fayla began slithering to meet us.
The room possessed bad lighting—Hutts had better eyes than humans and poor lighting gave them the advantage. Still, the few skylights above allowed me to see Fayla the Hutt's face. Her skin was tan and green with spots on it that resembled large moles if on a human. A beaded headdress crowned her large head. She pointed at me, and spoke something in Huttesse that I barely understood.
"He says he doesn't have it anymore," Rowisk replied. "We searched him and his office. Nothing."
Hutts weren't the most expressive species, but their powerful voices compensated for that. Immediately, a wave of profanities bellowed from the female Hutt's lips.
The Bothan gripped down on my arms, and told me, "She says to tell her where the datacard is, or die."
I shook my head. "It was destroyed."
As the words formed in my throat, an image of my brother crossed my mind. He had died for me, and now I was about to die anyway. The galaxy loved irony, it seemed.
Another spew of words surfaced from Fayla the Hutt's mouth, and Rowisk translated, "She's not happy, Tasric. She says she'll torture you herself if you don't start talking."
"I'm not lying here!" I shouted to him and Fayla. "My brother took the datacard, and then blasted off of Ryloth. The ship exploded. End of story—"
"There was no explosion," Rowisk snapped back. "There would have been security crawling all over the place, trying to clean up the debris. There was no debris when we left, unless your brother was on the other side of the planet."
I held my breath. If there was no explosion, then Paiden hadn't been destroyed. He was either captured by the Mon Calamari ship, or...he managed to fix the hyperdrive and escape. Could he be at our rendezvous point?
Fayla barked some orders and waved her hand as if to say, 'follow me.'
We passed the chambers, into a smaller room adjacent to it, and as I surveyed the place, my pulse jump-started. Chains dangled from the ceiling. In the corner was a simple stone stove, pokers sticking out from its opened door. A stench of burnt flesh reeked the air, and as Rowisk tried to shove me forward, I was already trying to back away.
"Wait a second," I said as Fayla pointed to a set of chains that would fit me just perfect. "I'm not lying here—I don't have the blueprints! Torturing me isn't going to make them magically appear!"
This time, Fayla replied and her words were as clear as Basic.
"It will not make you feel better!" I screamed as my arms were raised, the wrists locked into place.
Fayla flipped on the stone stove. It began heating instantly, a bright amber illuminating from its center. I swallowed hard. "I'm a hairy guy, you know," I explained. "Almost as bad as a Wookiee. You'll have the stench of burnt flesh and burnt hair consuming this place. You really want that?"
"We'll deal with it," Rowisk replied.
Fayla played with the pokers, and then removed one from the stove. At its tip was a solid circular metallic disk, already orange from the heat.
"Okay!" I exclaimed. "I don't have the datacard anymore, but my brother still does. Just let me go and I'll contact him, and get you those blueprints myself, all free of charge."
My proclamation didn't slow the Hutt from slinking to me with the branding tool. She barked something, jabbing the air with the poker.
Rowisk translated for her, "Where is your brother now?"
"Just let me go," I replied, "and the blueprints are as good as yours."
"Where is he?" the Bothan insisted.
Sweat layered my brow and just about every other body part. They'd kill him if they found him. Then again, they were about ready to torture me. Fayla lifted the poker to my face; its heat whiffed through the air like a camp fire. It was so close, I had to cross my eyes just to see it correctly.
"Tell us, Arvis," Rowisk ordered.
I didn't want to say it—it was against every survivor's instinct I possessed. But as the words shaped my lips, I couldn't stop them. "I can't tell you."
"Oh, yes you can," Rowisk replied.
There was silence; Rowisk moved beside Fayla, facing me. There was a sigh, and then he opened his hand to the Hutt; without a word, she passed him the poker.
"Hey!" I screamed as the poker was lifted to my bare forearms. "Isn't this a little extreme? I mean, it's just a Death Star. Ancient stuff! You can build better with some durasteel plates and a couple blaster canons nowadays."
"Sorry, buddy. This is gonna hurt some."
The poker inched forward, the heat consuming the air between my arm and the metal like someone slowly pressed a needle in my arm. I shut my eyes—
An explosion.
With a shout, Rowisk jerked forward. The very tip of the poker flicked across my arm and bounced away. I shouted, snapping open my eyelids. Son of a...!
Another explosion.
Dropping the poker, Rowisk grabbed Fayla the Hutt's hand, and they fled the torture room. I inspected my arm. There was a red dot about the size of a fingernail. And it stung something nasty, like the worst sunburn ever. Damn Bothan.
I couldn't think about that. I had to get out of my cuffs, out of that room, and out of Fayla the Hutt's palace before someone remembered me, and decided it was just easier to shoot my sorry behind rather than continue interrogations.
Really good con artists, smugglers and pirates could get out of a pair of handcuffs with the ease of removing bracelets from their wrists. Unfortunately, I didn't possess that skill. So, as another explosion boomed inside Fayla the Hutt's palace, I grabbed a hold of the chains connected to my cuffs and pulled.
Lifting my body off the ground, I rolled my legs upwards until I was an upside-down human ball. With my legs, I thrust all my body weight into the chains.
"Come on!" I shouted as the explosions ceased, and was replaced by blaster fire. And screaming. Yeah, there was definitely a lot of screaming now.
I dared a peek outside the torture room's open doorway. Random Gamorrean guards charged by, releasing horrid snorting battle cries that sounded as if they were ready to burst snot all over their enemies. Twi'leks ran past my line of vision; Rodians made a strange, almost hissing sound as they tried to flee. There were glints of white, and although they had only lasted a heartbeat each, I recognized the shine. Stormtrooper gear. Blaster bolts followed swiftly enough, and there was the sound of bodies smacking floor.
Something else bellowed through Fayla the Hutt's palace. Above the sound of dozens of blasters and the shouts of Fayla's personnel. A woman—a woman letting out a horrible, shrilling battle cry.
With my arms, I lifted my body upwards, bearing all my weight into the chains and pulled hard. Something rumbled above me. The clay beam holding the chains cracked slightly, mushrooming dust into the air.
With a cough, I put all my weight into it again. Again, the clay beam quaked, and then again. On the third try, the beam cracked all the way.
My back thumped the floor, my arms and legs flopping outwards like they were made of bags of water. My hand caught the tip of the poker still on the ground.
With a yelp, I wrenched my hand away—damn!—and then rolled to my knees. I jumped up from the floor, and raced to the open doorway—
Gliding in front of the only exit, a figure blocked all the light from Fayla's main chambers. The torture room became as black as, well...a torture room was already pretty-dark, but this made it ten times worse. Like a cave or a moonless night; you get the point.
The creature was at least as tall as a Wookiee, but its mass—it wasn't lanky or furry. Although I couldn't see its face or body, I could make out its silhouette, and it wasn't like any I had seen before. Across its bulky torso, there were at least five arms, some with hands, some that ended in a spike-like bony tip.
It possessed no feet; from the knees, the legs parted into three separate limbs, each ending in spikes similar to several of its arms. Behind it, something was swinging...eclipsing the tiniest bit of light that still managed to seep into the room.
A tail. Like its legs, it was split near the middle into three sections. With each swing, there as a whoosh. Whoosh—whoosh, through the air like the appendage was too heavy to be that fast.
And it was fast. And strong. And probably deadly.
I was in some serious trouble.
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Of course, I survived this traumatic experience; otherwise, how could I be writing this now? I wanted to point that out in case you were worried.
So there I was, in Fayla the Hutt's torture room. Blaster fire was erupting across the palace like a river from a cracked dam, and in front of me stood this two meter-tall creature with more body parts than three people should possess. It didn't have any weapons, none that I saw, at least. But that didn't mean it couldn't haul me off the ground and rip me apart like an angered rancor to an Ewok.
As blasters continued blasting and people kept on screaming, the creature finally opened its mouth. "Are you Arvis Tasric?" it asked. It was a woman's voice.
I gave her a once-over, and then replied, "No."
"Then I should have no quarrels ripping you to pieces."
"In that case, I meant yes."
She stepped forward, her tail's three ends snapping into place together, creating one solid spear-like tip. I lifted my hands. "I said yes! What more do you want?"
"Where are the blueprints?" she asked, pointing her tail at me as if to strike.
I shook my head. "I—I don't—"
The lunge was so fast, I didn't even realize the woman had me by the neck until I was clear off the floor. From half a meter in the air, I got a good look at her...and really wished I hadn't. Whatever species she had been once was no longer relevant. Her face and body were cloaked from head to...um...feet-spikes, with scales. Resembling bark, they were in no set pattern, like someone had burned them to her skin with their eyes closed. The tiniest bit of skin that was visible between the scales appeared infected and in desperate need of soap.
In her mouth, her teeth were shaved into spikes and appeared to be made from the same horrid bark-like texture. A greenish-ooze was leaking from the tips of her lips, and she seemed as interested in this fact as a four-year-old picking their nose in public. To top it off, it stank. Imagine sulfur and rotting meat stirred together in a pot. Dangling from my neck, I didn't know which issue distressed me more: the fact that I could hardly breathe or the fact that any breath I got was saturated with that.
I tried not to vomit as she shook me.
"I don't have time for games!" she screamed. "My servant told me you possessed the ancient Death Star blueprints. You shall give them to me now!"
Her servant—it had to be Legs. She had said her master was a woman and the creature in front of me technically qualified. From Fayla the Hutt's chambers, blasters and screaming gave way to the sound of footfalls. And a humming noise...several hums. The blasting raged on.
The creature wrenched her tail a few centimeters from my face.
"You will give me what I desire!" she screamed.
Coughing, I replied, "I'd love to. I really would. But I'm about to lose consciousness and—"
"Do you dare mock me?" Her grip tightened.
"No! I'm just getting ready to die over here, and that makes it sort of difficult to—"
She lifted me higher. "I am Empress Chyleal! The future ruler of the galaxy! You will answer me, inferior one!"
Although my vision was blurring, I still managed to cock an eyebrow at her. "Say that again?"
"I am Empress Chyleal—leader of the Empire Forgotten, set to overthrow the New Republic and restore order to the galaxy!"
Oh, now I got it. An Emperor wannabe—well, Empress. It might have been the lack of oxygen or lack of blood-flow to my brain...or perhaps Empress Chyleal's 'I just ate bantha fodder' breath, but as I dangled there, a belt of laughter somehow managed to spill from my lips.
That didn't help my circumstances. Apparently, she took the laughing as more mocking, (which was understandable now that I think about it), and then I was slammed into the ground. My back met floor, and my head bounced on the dusty clay surface like a small metal ball dropped thirty stories onto stone.
My arms flung outwards; I released another yap. That damn poker caught my left wrist again. I retracted my arm back to myself, cupping my right hand to the new burn mark.
"Pile of Hutt slime!—"
"You shall answer me now," Chyleal screamed again. "Your Empress demands it!"
"Okay, okay!" I yelled back. "Just stop thrashing me!"
"Your attempts to stall me will fail. The Jedi cannot stop me—the New Republic cannot stop me—what makes you think you're capable?"
"I don't think I'm capable! Believe me—I'm the least capable person in the galaxy."
"You will not hinder my quest. The New Republic will crumble, and my Empire will rise through the ashes and rule the galaxy with the iron fist it deserves!"
"Were you ever dropped as a child from a substantial height?"
The world was blackening. That probably wasn't good.
"Tell me where you put the Death Star blueprints!"
From the strangulation and concussion I was experiencing, things became disoriented. Maybe I just didn't care anymore. I couldn't hear anything except my own voice and hers, and I couldn't recall what a good lungful of oxygen felt like. Nonetheless, she had asked me, and as I gazed upon her face with my glazed-over pupils, any trepidation I had possessed flew away like a mynock from an asteroid.
"My brother has them," I declared. "He took them to save me. It seemed like a good idea at the time."
She shook me as if I was falling asleep. "Where is he now?" she asked.
"He's flying my ship to our hidden base. It's the largest mining tower in the deserted regions of Kessendra on Kessel. There—you happy now?"
With that, the woman-creature released me. Standing tall, she watched as I began coughing like my throat was cloaked with a gallon of mucus I was trying to hack up. From behind her, the sound of blasters and screams had been drowned out with a humming. It was a familiar hum, like something I had heard in holothrillers, but never in real life.
"You have served your Empress well," Chyleal told me.
"Glad to hear it," I coughed out.
Then, just like a typical 'I am the ruler of life and death', the creature raised her tail. The three joints merged again into one solid spear and pointed at my chest. Then, it chucked downwards—
Scared for me, aren't you? It's okay to admit it—it's a pretty traumatic situation. There I lay, beaten, tortured, and about ready to meet my end, when a flash of green blazed across my vision.
The humming sound I had heard in the distance was suddenly just millimeters from my face. A neon green lit up the room. Chyleal's tail flailed backwards, smoke fuming from its scales like a hot pan being dowsed with ice water. The appendage didn't break, however. Whatever it was made of, it was strong enough to withstand a lightsaber.
Then a hand snagged my upper arm. "Get up," a man's voice told me.
My feet scrambled to find footing. The man pushed me back, forcing me to stagger to the room's wall. My head thudded into clay and then the beam of green light swung forward.
Chyleal hissed at the intruder, her tail arched over her head and her five arms opened as if waiting for a strike. Her opponent, dressed in a dust-covered chocolate robe, was only half her size. His sandy blond hair was combed back, his saber held steady in his grip like a painter holding a brush.
I didn't have to see his face to know who it was; let's face facts, if you didn't recognize Luke Skywalker the instant you spotted him, then you had spent your entire life in a cave, on a desolate planet, under a gigantic rock with your eyeballs and eardrums removed.
Shock plagued my senses, paralyzing me as I witnessed the battle unfold. Chyleal's tail plummeted downwards. The saber pivoted, and ricocheted the scaly thing a good half meter. Chyleal staggered back a step, her eyes blazing hatred like the things were blasters ready to let loose a couple red beams.
It was Skywalker who attacked next. With his lightsaber, he swung forward with a speed and flow I hadn't seen except on the holonews. The saber danced across the air, striking the creature across an arm, then the torso. Chyleal hollered something awful, but she wasn't cut down. Just like her tail, the thick scales across her body seemed to be protecting her.
Nonetheless, the lightsaber continued to whirl through the torture chamber, catching dangling chains and Chyleal's scaly skin, and sending the stench of burnt ozone—and strangely, wood?—into the air. Then the Jedi shouted over his shoulder to me, "Get out of here now!"
I didn't require more incentive. Rolling to my knees, I practically dove out of that room, and into Fayla the Hutt's main chambers. The place was empty now, except dead servants, guards...and Fayla the Hutt. She lay near the back wall, Rowisk beside her. On his burgundy suit, there were at least three blaster burns; to Fayla, a puncture wound pierced her forehead like something had burrowed into her skull. It was about the same size as Chyleal's spear-tail.
From behind me, there was a whoosh, and then the sound of Skywalker's saber as it hummed harmoniously in the air. Deeper into Fayla's palace, I heard people barking orders, but it was too distant to determine who they were. Friends? Enemies? I had no clue. All I knew was that they were getting closer and I would be directly in their path. Standing in the center of the chambers with corpses surrounding me, I hopped nervously in place, trying to figure out where to go, what to do. On one hand, I had a Jedi there, capable of creaming anyone that could attack me, and I certainly didn't want to confront an unfriendly face in the palace. On the other hand, those footfalls were getting louder.
"Uh, Jedi Master," I hollered towards the torture room, "you mind hurrying up in there?"
No reply—just hissing and humming, and no mind to me and my current problem.
I swallowed hard. "I'm not trying to be impatient," I yelled. "It's just that, I think someone's coming and I'm not sure if they're good guys or bad guys, or something in-between, and I think you'd be a much better judge—"
I trailed off. In the torture room, all noise stopped. In case you don't know this, abrupt silence in the middle of a battle is always a bad thing. And I was right; from the doorway, a burst of energy exploded. Like a fluke two-second storm, a gust of wind caught my body, knocking me to the floor. At the same instant, Chyleal went flying. Out of the doorway, into the main chambers, she soared through the air like there was a repulsor device mounted to her back, and then crashed into a platform next to Fayla the Hutt's body. And stayed there.
Eyes rolling, I flicked a glance towards the torture room just as Skywalker was racing from its entrance.
"I thought I told you to leave!" he shouted as he charged my direction.
Lightsaber hilt latched onto his belt, Skywalker snatched my right arm and yanked me upwards like I was a two-year-old he was ready to scold. In the same instant, the footfalls I had been hearing shifted from being distant to being very damn close, and then Fayla's main chambers lit up with red sparks.
I barely got a look at the attackers—some masked stormtrooper-looking weirdoes with a strange, re-imagined Imperial symbol on their chests. Why do all these Imperial wannabes go back to the stormtrooper fashion trend? From what my brother has told me, those uniforms were about as helpful in battle as taping pieces of paper to your body and thinking that would stop blaster bolts. The plates are supposed to stop any legal firepower used, but when everyone is sporting illegal heavy blaster pistols that seared right through, then what's the point? And the helmet was a horrible, clunky thing with bad visual range and itchy interior fabric.
Anyway...
At such a close range, Skywalker sent each blaster bolt that soared our way back towards its owner. But there were at least a dozen of those stormtrooper wannabes stuffing the main chambers now, and as Skywalker pulled me behind him, I could hear the footfalls of others charging our way to help their comrades.
With Skywalker tugging at me, I stumbled forward until my feet found flooring, and then fled Fayla's chambers with the Jedi Master. We rushed through the central corridor, passing dead Gamorreans, Twi'leks and another dozen species that I had just seen alive minutes before. Some of the stormtroopers pursued, but Skywalker's lightsaber kept them at bay. Most seemed interested in assisting their fallen empress more than battling us.
As the number of attackers dwindled and Skywalker's grip on me remained like a durasteel wrench, I jerked my arm. "Do you mind?" I said.
He didn't release me. With a groan, I flapped my arm up and down like I was trying to get airborne. Finally, the other man pushed me away, but not before his irritated gaze flashed my direction. "If you want to live through this," he said, "you'll do exactly what I say for the next ten minutes. Do you understand?"
Running beside him, I snorted. "Okay—whatever."
"Do you understand me?" he insisted again, his tone horribly serious.
"I said I did. What more do you want—a urine sample?"
The other man didn't turn back to me, which I didn't mind. I was already sick of his 'I'm a hero of the galaxy; therefore do as I say' drama, anyway. In front of us was the lead entrance to Fayla the Hutt's palace. The large door had been blown right off its hinges, leaving the thick metal slab just laying there. Daylight filled the archway like it was leading us to safety.
From behind, a battle cry bellowed; I recognized it instantly. Chyleal.
"Didn't you kill her?" I shouted at Skywalker.
"It'll take more than a Force push to kill her," he replied.
"Then go back in there!" I snapped back. "Chop her head off or something!"
"There are at least two dozen armed guards around her now. That makes it a little more difficult for me to go back and start chopping."
I released a groan. "Oh, come on—I know what you can do! I've seen that holothriller they did about you—uh, what's its name again?"
He sighed as if defeated. "Luke Skywalker and the Jedi's Revenge."
"Yeah, that's it. So go back in there and start 'revenging'!"
"Okay, first off, 'revenge' is not a verb. And, second, that holothriller is—"
There was another battle cry.
"Forget it," Skywalker muttered, and then his left hand vised around my arm again. He banked right, forcing me along. Into a muggy corridor we darted. The light from the outside switched to that of the dim palace's clay walls, and I groaned.
"This is the wrong way!" I told him. "We need to get out of this place—"
Finally, the Jedi did stop. With a slide of his boots, he spun around, and lifted his arms. From behind us, there was a rumble. I whipped around in just enough time to watch the front of the hallway collapse on itself, leaving a pile of debris between us and the central corridor.
"What was that about?" I questioned. "We had practically escaped this place!"
When I turned back to Skywalker to demand an answer, his eyes were already locked my way, his shorter stature not lessening the intensity on his expression. I took a step back.
"I know who you are," he declared. "I know what you were trying to sell. And I know you now have a very dangerous enemy who's determined to take it from you. So from this point on, you'll do what I say without question until we can figure out how to get off this planet."
My mouth dropped. "Figure out? Didn't you come here with a fleet? Dozens of Jedi, waiting for us somewhere close by?"
"The fleet's in orbit, fighting off Chyleal's battle cruisers. I had six other Jedi with me, but they're scattered across the palace, trying to save anyone they can from Chyleal's troopers. And then there's you." He gave a disapproving look, and then started running down the corridor again, just assuming I'd follow.
I told you he was a jerk. With a roll of my eyes, I did the predictable, and raced towards Skywalker as he headed further into the narrow passageway.
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As I caught up with the Jedi Master, I asked him how he knew who I was, what I had in my possession (previously had in my possession), and the connection to Chyleal. He explained that a New Republic security force had been tracking the Empire Forgotten for months now.
It started off as a couple Jedi Knights were investigating some leads in the Outer Rim, and when those turned out to be valid, the security force dove into the job. Lucky for them, Chyleal was "not exactly subtle," as Skywalker put it, and her organization wasn't difficult to hunt down. I was wondering why the New Republic had taken such an interest in that region of the Outer Rim.
"About two weeks ago," Skywalker explained as we ran, "there was a lead to Chyleal's whereabouts, and Admiral Nesmah asked that I join her squadron. We were closing in, when, out of nowhere, Chyleal's entire fleet skipped out of the Roon system, and we intercepted a message sent to her from a Twi'lek about Death Star blueprints." His eyes caught mine, and annoyance was radiating from them.
"Okay, fine," I said, gasping for air. "I was slightly naïve in my business affairs this time around. I'm big enough to admit it."
"You were planning on selling the designs to the deadliest weapon in the galaxy."
"And I'm really sorry about that. It was a stupid thing to try, and if I ever get another datacard with an ultimate weapon's blueprints on it, I promise to hand them over to you in person. Just get me out of here alive—okay?"
Although the Jedi was breathing heavily, I still detected a sigh escape his lips. "Where are these blueprints now?" he asked as we whipped around a corner.
The hallway wasn't much of a hallway anymore. It had mutated into a more cave-like tunnel; the walls were moist with water, and only a few dim bulbs illuminated the place.
"My brother has them," I replied as I watched my footing. "If he survived above Ryloth, then he's heading to Kessel."
"Why Kessel?"
"It's our rendezvous point, in case a business dealing goes sour. I think we're soured here."
Skywalker made a face.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," he said. "I was just thinking that never has one of these situations required a trip to Naboo or Ithor. It's always a place like Kessel."
"I didn't really have you in mind when I arranged my emergency plans."
I waited for a retort, but there was none. Instead, Skywalker paused, slowing his pace; a shadow lingered on his features like an unpleasant realization had struck him.
I stopped running. "What is it?"
"She's not pursuing us," he muttered, his eyes unfocused. "Like she knows something."
Uh-oh. I swallowed hard.
Skywalker faced me. "Does she know? About your brother?"
That knot in my throat just didn't want to go down. I swallowed again. "I was a little disoriented," I explained. "I may have slipped out a few details."
"Like what?"
"Oh...the planet's name—the city. The exact mining tower." I smiled uneasily.
Skywalker didn't return the grin. With a hand to my arm—again—he lugged me forward. His comlink was going wild just a few seconds later as he explained to Admiral Nesmah about the rendezvous point.
"We're dead locked with her fleet," the admiral replied. "No one on either side is getting away from this fight anytime soon."
"I'll head out now," Skywalker told Admiral Nesmah. "Can you get a shuttle down here to gather up the other Jedi?"
"We'll send one as soon as we get a chance to breathe up here. It might take awhile."
"I'll take the Jade Sabre to Kessel. If I hurry, I might beat her there before she gets a chance to reach Paiden Tasric."
"We'll meet you there as soon as we can. Good luck, Master Skywalker. May the Force be with you."
"And you as well," Skywalker replied, and then shut down his comlink. Tugging me along, we turned another corner—
There, in front of us was a docking bay. It might have belonged to Fayla the Hutt, but the place was cramped with bystanders who seemed surprised as we emerged. As we slipped through the last bit of tunnel, I shot a glimpse behind my shoulder. Beside the opening was a door, metallic on one side, and rock on the other as if someone had glued a boulder to a metal plate. Across one of its edges, the metal was charred. A secret passageway; the Jedi had ripped it apart like tearing a piece of bread.
"This way," Skywalker called, and I returned my attention to him.
In the center of the docking bay was a ship with a pointed front end, and not appearing like any design I had seen before. Tailor-made, perhaps?
"This your ship?" I asked.
"My wife's," Skywalker replied. "The Jedi and I used it to land here, and followed the passageway into the palace while Chyleal's troops detonated the front entrance."
We started towards the boarding ramp when my mind caught up with me. I forced my arm away from Skywalker's grip. "Hold on, " I said. "I told you what you needed to know. You don't need me anymore."
Skywalker tilted his head as if perplexed. "We're trying to save your brother."
A shiver jostled up my back. I wasn't sure what it was—worry, guilt, fear—something unpleasant for certain. The problem was, I wasn't really sure if it was for me...or my brother. Maybe both. Either way, Skywalker was waiting for a reply and I had one ready for him.
"Let's be logical about this," I explained. "I want my brother back, safe and sound, but what can I do that you can't? You're a Jedi—I'm a businessman. I'll tell you anything you need to know, but there's no way I'm going to be able to help you."
"You're not leaving my sight. That means you're coming with me."
"Isn't it un-Jedi of you to put an innocent man in the line of danger?"
"Innocent being the word here." The other man sighed. "I suppose I should just say it, so that way it's completely clear."
I frowned. "What's clear?"
"Arvis Tasric," the Jedi Master proclaimed, "under the laws of the New Republic, I'm placing you under arrest for the solicitation of stolen military records with the purpose of selling it for malicious acts of violence against the government."
"What?" I gaped at him. "We didn't steal anything! We found it—"
"Any records pertaining to the Death Star's design are considered classified information by the New Republic, and you have violated the laws protecting them from public use."
He waited for me to say something. Do something. As I stared at the Jedi Master at the bottom of his shuttle's ramp, a wave of certainty washed over me. I was certain there was no way I could argue myself out of this one. Not with a Jedi.
With that, I stepped up the ramp, Skywalker following behind.
"I hate you," I whispered over my shoulder.
"Not as much as you'd like to think you do."
"Okay, that—that right there—makes me hate you even more."
A moment later, the ramp closed and the ship's engines were being brought online.
End of Section 2 of 4