Chapter Seven

Zekk manipulated the controls of his personal fighter, sending the StealthX screaming out of his hangar. Though the stealth functions weren't operable at the moment, he still preferred the more ominous craft to the older-style X-Wing.

He was bound for Jagged Fel. Too much was at stake to risk Jag revealing the truth. Both Saba Sebatyne and Kyp Durron were in the same region, and Zekk had never liked either very much; a favor that he sensed was returned.

Soon enough, though, that wouldn't matter. He could see where Jacen was going, even if the only remaining son of Han Solo could not. There was going to be a time when he would need to get out, get away, and take Jaina with him. He would soon be strong enough to control her on his own, without Jacen's help; and he intended to take advantage of that. He would find a world, obscure and well-populated, and he would rule it, with Jaina by his side. They would both be happy, and she would love him; but Jagged Fel put that dream at risk. So Jag had to go. It was a loss that Zekk would not mourn.

Zair considered the question carefully as they rocketed along the avenue. "What do you want to know?"

Jag smiled wider, satisfied. "Anything you can tell me; I haven't seen or talked to her since before Tenupe. But I know her, and I know what she's made of. If there's any Jedi that I can trust not to reveal me to Jacen Solo, and believe my account, she's the one."

Zair nodded. "All right. But there isn't a whole lot to tell.

"Saba – that's her name, right? – Saba was tracking the same case Kyp Darl-uh, Durron was. Rumors of some renegade with weird powers, and unexplained things happening with local politics. Unrest and political sleight-of-hand; that kind of stuff. According to Master Durron, Saba had been tracking a different set of incidents than him, but he expected their paths to cross sooner or later. He told my boss to cooperate fully with her if she showed up, and gave us a description. Other than that, there isn't really a whole lot – he thought she was in a nearby system, but didn't know for sure. It was just a passing thought, anyway; he wanted us to be ready to help her if she needed it. Sorry there isn't more, Jag."

Jag sat back in his seat, thoughtful. "Was there any way to communicate with her? A comm code, a message center, anything?"

"Nope."

"Stang. I guess I'll just have to trust to luck, then. I can't risk contacting her through the Jedi Temple…there's bound to be a watch out for--" Alarm suddenly flashed through his features, and he jerked upright. "Zeph, take a different road. Drive erratically."

Zeph asked, "What? Why?" even as Zair and Raal simultaneously commented, "He already is."

"Zekk! Zekk had a flag out on me; he knows where I am! He might want to check and make sure that my conditioning hasn't broken yet…and if he comes here, we'd be in trouble!"

"But Jag, we're days away from Ossus."

"He could be nearby on a mission. I need to get off-planet, and you need to make sure you're above suspicion."

"Us?" Raal asked. "We're not in any danger. We've done nothing wrong, and our superiors will confirm that we're-"

"Do you honestly think that matters?" Jag's voice held a note of scorn. "Do you really think a Jedi would care about something that far beneath him?"

Zeph spoke up, "You mean a Dark Jedi."

"What?"

"You mean, 'do you really think a Dark Jedi would care about something that far beneath him.' Don't you?"

"What's the difference? Jedi have a history of disregard for such trivialities as local laws and officials. But yeah, I guess you're right"

"What about our lead?" Zair asked. "Remember Karlin, at the Blue Howler? We still need to find out who attacked you, and why. It wasn't Zekk or Jacen Solo, either; that captive clearly identified a woman. If someone else is in on this, you need to know who."

Jag drummed his fingers on his knees, thinking furiously. "All right. We raid the Howler, grab this Karlin fellow, and then I need to get out of here. If I were you guys, I'd request a leave of absence. Take a vacation someplace. But don't be here when Zekk arrives. Besides, I could think of a female Jedi who was under the same influences Zekk and Jaina were, and who had a lot more reason to trust Jacen than either of them."

"We'll discuss it after we raid the Howler, Jag" Zair replied. "And since it's only a few blocks from here – slow down, Zeph! – we'd better start thinking about that now instead of later."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

An Ugnaught stood at the bar of the Blue Howler, sipping his drink. The short, wispy-haired creature peered disconsolately at the bartender, slurring slightly as he held forth in his own language. The tender, who had no idea what he was saying, nodded sympathetically; after all, he was a paying customer. His false sympathy turned to confusion when the Ugnaught reached into a robe pocket and extracted a holo of the ugliest being the man had ever seen, sobbing hysterically. With an apprehensive and slightly muddled expression, the man poured the Ugnaught another drink, then moved away down the bar.

A flash of movement near the door caught his eye, and he looked up in time to see five beings enter the room. One Ewok, three human males, and a female human strode into the bar, weapons raised. Their torsos were festooned with powerpack bandoliers, and more weaponry hung from their backs and hips. Light body armor, the type favored by local security forces, protected the humans; the Ewok wore a pair of ancient stormtrooper greaves, sawed in half, strapped around his stubby legs. In addition to this decoration, the protective front cowling of a Empire-style speeder bike was somehow attached as a breastplate to his fur. As the bartender opened his mouth to protest, subtly stepping on a silent alarm that was linked to the rooms of his more shady tenants, the Ugnaught in the corner wailed aloud in fright and started shrieking, holding his holographic picture in front of him like a talisman. Undecided, the bartender looked from the new group to the Ugnaught, unsure of which to yell at first. His customers twisted around in their chairs in the hopes of witnessing the fight, and were visibly discomfited by the sight of the five fighters in the doorway, who were in a defensive formation covering every corner of the room.

The Ugnaught drunk continued to jabber, becoming more aggressive as he wound himself up. The holograph was now being shaken at the newcomers, accompanied by periodic jabs at the rest of the Howler's customers. Even as they began to growl in anger, fingering weapons, the Ewok brought matters to an abrupt conclusion by drawing his blaster and, with a sneer of contempt, blasting a hole in the holo.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Jag should have been prepared. He, Zair, and Raal had fanned out in a diamond formation, with Zeph in front, sandwiching Tarfang. Unsurprisingly, though, Tarfang disrupted their plan – to talk their way upstairs and break into Karlin Zyber's room once they were up there – by drawing yet another one of his miniature blasters and blowing a hole through a holo that an Ugnaught was clutching over in the corner. Even as the echoes faded, the tearful creature looked up with a venomous expression and launched himself at Tarfang, stubby arms outstretched. Tarfang accepted the challenge with a howl – it was so incoherent, Jag wasn't sure if it was a warcry or a mating call, though circumstances seemed to point to the former – and threw his blaster to the side, cocking his own small fists and wading in to the fight. The loose blaster struck a chair and discharged, singeing the few hairs remaining on a nearby Weequay's head.

Every plan they had laid had just gone out the window. Jag abandoned their tight formation and charged wildly up the stairs, with Raal and Zair following. Zeph remained behind, throwing himself into the fray with Tarfang, trying to stay between the door and the stairway, attempting to keep them both clear. Jag lost sight of them as the stairway turned, and he found himself in a long hallway, with doors spaced at equal intervals throughout. Even as the trio reached the top of the stairs, most of those doors flew open and disgorged a variety of sapients. Some were dressed in nightwear; some in street clothes; some in nothing at all. They ranged from Bith to human to Shistaven, and back again. They were at varying levels of alertness, varying heights and strengths and relative fitness levels; but they were all armed, and all dangerous-looking.

He never hesitated. Even as the tenants of the Blue Howler looked up in alarm, he let loose a flurry of stun bolts, sending the blue streaks whipping into the crowded hall, temporarily incapacitating several. Zair and Raal, working as a team, let loose their own weapons, adding their stun bolts to the melee. As the hall's occupants began to recognize their danger and fight back, Raal grasped a Czerka Headbanger that was slung across Zair's back. When he felt her touch, Zair bent almost double and turned sideways, allowing Raal to, without disentangling it, swivel the weapon and let loose a stream of the ultra-heavy bolts rip into those foolish enough to have remained in the hall. When all their opponents had either retreated into the hallway or been stunned, Zair and Raal moved forward again, with Jag taking the rearguard in case anyone tried to shoot at them from the safety of a room. As luck would have it, Karlin Zyber's room lay at the very end of the hall, which meant that the trio had to advance all the way down it. The doors on either side proved to be a serious threat, since the lodgers could shoot from cover inside of the room. Both Jag and Raal took minor flesh wounds, and Zair had the surface layer of skin burned off of his left arm by a near miss.

When they reached the end of the hallway, Jag once again leapfrogged to the lead, taking up position outside of the door to the room. Raal and Zair dropped easily into defensive positions, weapons aimed down the hall towards the irate patrons of the Blue Howler. Jag holstered his two pistols and withdrew a Verpine shattergun from it's back holster. He calmly checked the slug in the chamber, then patted his side-access weapons to ensure that they were easily obtainable. He withdrew a soft, pliable strip from a pouch in his combat vest and slapped it against the top edge of the retracting door. Working quickly, he pressed a detonator into the makeshift charge, and stepped back. He took three paces back, pressed a wrist control, and charged forward. The explosive charge detonated, billowing out a huge cloud of smoke, and the door hissed upward just as Jag barreled through. He dove into a forward roll, aiming sideways to get out of the doorway, and came up with the Verpine extended, ready to shoot. Two men stood with their weapons still aimed at the doorway, guarding a second, inner door that Jag assumed led to the bedroom. As they reacted to his presence, he triggered the Verpine, and all three guns went off at once.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Zeph wondered what was happening upstairs. The thought did not hold, since he was forced to duck as a chair came crashing down on his lightly-armored back and he had to defend himself. Tarfang had – probably intentionally – triggered a full-scale brawl, and it was up to Zeph to make sure that he and his companions could exit when they needed to.

The way out was blocked by a seething mass of enraged citizens, all busily engaged in bashing away at whoever was nearby. The fight, which had started out as Ewok-supporters vs. Ugnaught-supporters, was now a free-for-all. People who had originally started out on one side now assaulted their erstwhile allies, and – as far as Zeph could tell – there were about thirty-five 'sides' at present, with more being created every minute as other patrons, bored with merely watching, joined in. Along the far wall, ten or so sat watching the others clash, enjoying themselves thoroughly as they cheered for strangers and laid bets.

Zeph had three goals in mind – to avoid getting his head smashed in, avoid permanent disfigurement, and find Tarfang. Since the average patron was taller than the Ewok by a meter or two, and perfectly willing to take a swing at any available target, this was proving difficult. Also, Zeph's progress was hampered by people who decided he looked like a prime target, or people who were too caught up in the fight to care. Dodging the chair on the backswing, he leapt onto the back of its wielder, thereby placing his sightline above the others and confusing his opponent. This enabled him to see Tarfang, over in the corner, still pummeling the Ugnaught; but it had its downside, too. From his high vantage point, he was the most visible one in the room, and that proved disadvantageous. A veritable hailstorm of bottles, boots, and other assorted debris whizzed towards him, and he was struck solidly in the face by a Kowakian monkey-lizard. He had no clue what the beast was doing in the bar, but it quickly expressed it's displeasure and leaped, screeching invective, for the ceiling.

Zeph fought his way over to Tarfang's last position, but when he reached there, all he found was the Ugnaught. The last few hairs on its head had been pulled so hard that small red spots surrounded the base of each one, and it exhibited every sign of being very, very sore come morning. Tarfang was nowhere to be seen.

-------------------------------------------------------

Jag's shot hit one of the two mercenaries, sending him staggering backwards into the refresher, crashing to the floor. The two bolts aimed at him both hit to the left side, one so close that it send a spray of long, sharp splinters into his hand, where they lodged, jutting out from his skin like the needles of a Worxian Spiner. With his right hand, he fired again, missing the merc but blasting a good-sized hole in the wall where the hyperaccelerated magnetic projectile hit it.

Both combatants dove/rolled for cover, and wound up behind a chair and a toppled table, respectively. The mercenary aimed his bolts so that they splashed off the edges of the table, hoping to catch Jag coming out for a shot. After watching the bolts flash by his hiding place for a moment, Jag turned around, guessed the approximate location of his target, and blindly shot straight through the table, triggering four rounds into the area he guessed his opponent occupied. The gunfire ceased, and he cautiously peered through the resulting holes. All that was visible was the destroyed chair, with an outflung hand and a blaster rifle sticking out past one end.

Satisfied, Jag stood and turned his attention to the bedroom door. On the other side of that door lay another key, a key that would hopefully unlock the secret of who wanted him dead. Besides the obvious, of course. He crossed the room and pressed his ear against the wall to the left of the door, listening for any clue as to the whereabouts of the room's occupants.

He was at first puzzled, then amused, to hear frantic sobbing coming from the other side.

------------------------------------------------------

Zeph fought his way to the edges of the melee, seeking a respite. He came out on the side of the fight closest to the bar, and vaulted neatly over it. He had no sooner landed and dropped below the level of the bar than a blaster shot rang out, and a bolt shattered bottles behind him. Unsurprisingly, this fight had just gotten uglier, and degenerated past just fists and elbows.

Rolling onto his back and drawing his weapon, Zeph looked left, towards the end of the bar closest to the stairs. Clear. He looked right, towards the door. Tarfang was seated on the bartender's chest, a bottle in each hand. With one bottle, he whacked the tender over the head; with the other, he slaked his thirst. Zeph groaned and crawled over, taking the bottle from Tarfang's hand just as he was about to smash that one, too, over the head of the now-unconscious bartender. The Ewok chattered angrily, but replaced the blaster when he saw who had interrupted him. Zeph took a long pull at the bottle, then lobbed it over the counter towards the hullabaloo in the middle of the room. Grasping Tarfang's elbow, he tugged the protesting Ewok towards the door, pausing long enough to drop a credchip into the unconscious barkeep's hand.

"Zair! Come in, Zair! Exit One is unfeasible, repeat, Exit One is not viable! Any ideas?"

--------------------------------------------------------

Jag blew through the door like a wampa through a snowdrift. Even as the dust settled, he triggered the two Verpines he now clutched, sending their accelerated rounds into the closet – where the automated clothing station blew apart, releasing a flurry of smoking and scorched shirts into the air; and into the ceiling, sending an avalanche of pulverized building materials crashing down into the floor.

He paused, amazed, at the sight before him.

He could only guess that it was Karlin Zyber; after all, the facial characteristics and the identifying marks that he had memorized from the PlanSec databank had mentioned nothing about Zyber's shebs and lower legs. The pudgy man had tried to climb through the ventilation shaft, only to become stuck halfway in. Now his legs stuck out of the shaft, wiggling frantically, and his sobs of fear and frustration echoed eerily through the winding metal pipe. Shoving the Verpines into their holsters, so that the butts stuck out above his shoulders, Jag grabbed hold of the feet and pulled, ignoring the screech of protest and the sound of fingernails clawing at durasteel.

Zyber popped out of the chute and landed facedown on the floor, shoulders shaking. He lay there, making no effort to rise, until Jag laid a hand on his shoulder. At the touch, the fat man rolled over and swiped a vibroblade at Jag's stomach; only a quick hop backwards saved him from being cut badly. Karlin attempted to leap to his feet, but was hampered by his ample gut. Instead, he rolled to one side and scrabbled to his feet, swinging the vibroblade wildly in Jag's direction, his sky-green bathrobe flapping crazily about his excessive girth.

Jag rolled his eyes and moved in.

The first kick landed on Karlin Zyber's left kneecap. The big man howled in pain and clutched it with one hand, placing his forearm directly in the path of Jagged Fel's next kick. Hobbling forward, he once again attempted to disembowel Jag, but Fel slipped easily inside the assault, landing a crushing blow to the man's midsection. Through some miracle, Zyber remained upright enough to make one more feeble slash, a cut that drew blood along Jag's right arm when he blocked. Angry now, Jag hit Zyber once more in the gut, then landed a lightning-quick combination of blows to Karlin's stomach, kidneys, and right eye, which quickly swelled. To finish him off, Jag spun away from the fat outlaw, chopping down viciously at the hand which held the knife. The bone broke with an audible snap, and he howled in pain, dropping the knife. Jag had already launched a kick, though, which caused the man's howl to cease; the toe of Jag's combat boot landed squarely between Karlin's legs. A soft gasp of pain escaped the man's gaping mouth, and his skin turned a pasty green color. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed, insensate, on the floor.

-----------------------------------------------------

Jag wiped his arm off on Zyber's bathrobe and triggered his comlink just in time to hear Zeph's report.

"Zair, did you hear that?"

"Aye."

"Can either you or Raal assist?"

"Neg on that, Jag. We're trading heavy fire with the locals here, and can't advance."

"Come on in, then, and bar the door behind you."

"Roger."

"Zeph?"

"Here." The young man's voice was taut with frustration

"Can you and Tarfang get out?"

"If he doesn't decide he wants to stay and play."

"Do what you have to, short of permanently maiming him. Meet us on the north side of the building."

"Roger that, Jag. Out."

Jag strode towards the outer room of Karlin Zyber's suite, leaving the unconscious man behind. Raal and Zair backed through the outside door. The two of them were holding the door of the room across the hall as a shield, trading fire with the various individuals in the hallway. The shield wouldn't fit into Room 62, so they abandoned it, leaving it as a blockade.

Jag knew that the residents of the Howler were unlikely to follow; this was clearly none of their fight, now, unless they took offense at being rousted out of bed. Chances were high that most of them would simply go back to bed, especially since non-lethal bolts had been used.

After a brief conference, he triggered the comlink again. "Zeph? It's Jag. Are you on the north yet?"

Silence greeted him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Zeph snapped off the comlink and looked at Tarfang. Tarfang was busy at the moment; hearing the battle raging across the taller bar was frustrating him to no end, since he was too short to see over. Zeph grasped the Ewok by the hand and tugged him down the length of the bar, past the smashed crockery, towards the door. Tarfang protested at first, but stopped when Zeph pointed out that Jag had completed his mission, and that another interrogation would be coming up. This attraction won Tarfang over, since he had enjoyed the last one immensely, and he followed compliantly, though he did pause every few feet to hurl detritus over the bar towards the fray.

A problem arose when they reached the end, and the fight became visible. Tarfang gazed at the scuffle, a misty look appearing in his eyes, and began to push towards it. Zeph had anticipated this, though, and grasped the Ewok firmly by the back of his bandolier, lifting him bodily off the floor and sprinting through the door onto the street outside.

"You little furry womp rat! Have you got any sense at all in your head?" Zeph shook Tarfang vigorously, avoiding the Ewok's flailing attempts to escape. "I swear, sometimes I think I should just shoot-"

The rear bodyplate of Zeph's armor was suddenly pulled away from his body. Dropping Tarfang, he turned to face the new attacker; but only made it partway through the turn. He was lifted clear off his feet, much to his surprise and Tarfang's delight. He fought to defend himself, but found that his attacker was much too strong; and when he the invisible attacker shook him wildly, he lost most powers of thought. After a moment, he was set, none too gently, on the ground. The moment he regained his balance, he went for his pistol, spinning to confront his attacker.

He froze when he felt an emitter nozzle pressed to the side of neck.

"Thiz one would not advize you to finish that, human. Though Tarfang iz by no meanz weak, I would still defend him; after all, we have made killz together, he and I."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Zeph, are you there? Kriff, answer me! We need help getting out of here!"

The improvised barrier, composed of Room 61's door, and Room 62's furniture, was shaking apart under the pounding it was receiving. Outside, the enraged tenants were firing into it, seeking to disintegrate it through sheer firepower; and succeeding.

Jag, Zair, and Raal had retreated inside of the bedroom with the unconscious Zyber. They had barred the only door, though the lodgers outside had not yet broken into the outer rooms. Aside from the door, the only possible exit was a balcony that overlooked the street, one story down. If Zeph didn't respond in the next few minutes, they would have to utilize it and hope for the best.

Jag changed his mind when the outer barricade fell apart with a crash.

"Time to get out of here, folks! Zair, you drag Zyber outside. Raal, you stay here and cover our door. I'm going to look for a way down."

They split up, each going about their assigned tasks with a speed born of desperation. Zair hauled the deadweight Karlin outside, while Raal knelt behind a desk, facing the door, which was now starting to glow red. Jag cast about the room, looking for anything he could use; his eyes caught the bedsheets, but there was no time to waste in tying knots. Lifting a Verp off of his shoulder, Jag started blasting away at the anchoring supports for the bed. The bed still retained its anti-grav field, which was designed to be soft and yielding; and Jag planned to utilize that.

When Zair returned, he took Raal's place covering the door while she helped Jag haul the bed out onto the balcony. Jag's Verpines took care of the flimsy railing, and together, they stood the oversized bed up on end, so that the underbody and the internal workings faced the street. They stepped back, and Jag threw a piece of the patio furniture – a sensichair that was designed for the more…ample…beings of the galaxy – at the soft, yielding repulsor. The impact was enough to tip the bed over, sending both pieces of furniture plummeting to the ground below. The bed bounced once, but wound up upright; the chair hit the sidewalk and broke.

"Zair! Get out here!"

The PlanSec official came out, gun still covering the door. Pieces of it had fallen off, and the improvised barrier was now the only thing holding it in place. Jag motioned Zair to jump off the roof, which he promptly did, landing easily on the bed, and rolling off. He retrieved his weapon, which had bounced in a different direction, and slung it over his shoulder.

Jag turned as the door shrieked in protest, Verpine's out and aimed. Curious pedestrians gathered just in time to see Raal deliver a swift kick to Karlin Zyber's midsection, rolling him off the balcony and onto the bed. Her aim was poor, though, and the fat man proved to be too much for the bed's repulsors; he bounced off the antigrav field and hit the sidewalk, groaning. The holographic image of a soft, comfortable cushion flickered and faded, and the bed's circuitry began to spark.

The bedroom door snapped in half. Jag pushed Raal towards the edge of the balcony. She overbalanced, but managed to direct her leap enough to land on the unhurt side of the bed; which began belching smoke the moment she crawled off. As the first lodgers came into the room, guns emitting red flashes, Jag withdrew a Chiss vape charge –which was highly illegal—from underneath his jacket. He armed it for four seconds, threw it back into the room, and turned, sprinting for the balcony.

As he reached the edge, the vape charge went off. There was no explosion, no fireball; simply an enormous pressure wave that reached out in a circle around the charge, and disintegrated everything in it's path. Jag's feet left the balcony even as it's supports vanished, and he leapt out into open space, yelling.

Before he hit the ground – a crushing impact that would have snapped his legs, feet, and most likely his spine – he felt an invisible, gigantic hand grasp him. His fall halted, and he hung, suspended in midair. As he was lowered to the ground, he looked to his right and saw the giant figure of a female Barabel dressed in Jedi robes standing a dozen meters away, hand outstretched.

As his feet touched down, the Barabel smiled. "It iz good to see you again, Jagged Fel. I waz concerned about you, but did not expect our pathz to crosz again."

He smiled back, feeling genuine relief seep through his body, relaxing his taut muscles and calming his mind. "Hello, Saba."

---------------------------------------------------------

They sat alone in a corner of the crowded PlanSec station. Jag held a self-heating cup of caf; Saba eyed the Kowokian monkey-lizard, which had somehow tagged along with the arrested patrons.

"It's good to see you, Saba."

She regarded him intently – or at least, he thought she did. Barabels were blasted hard to read. "When did you leave the Chisz military, Jagged Fel?"

"After Tenupe."

"Ah. That explainz much. I tried to contact you, once. Cem replied, asking if I knew where you were."

"You're not supposed to know about a shadow child of the Fel family."

Saba shrugged, an oddly human gesture. "Wyn tellz many secrets."

Jag snorted. "That's the truth."

Saba bristled. "You challenge me to – nevermind. I still have much to unlearn."

"Well, you're making progress, apparently."

"Thiz idle talk is nice, but it haz no bearing on our conversation. Zeph told me you wished to talk with me, but did not reveal why."

"I need two things from you, Saba. The first is simple; I have something that I need to warn you about, and which I would like to hear your advice on."

Saba's forked tongue shot out between her black, pebbly lips as the Kowok came leaping past, pursued by an irate protocol droid. "And the second?"

"I need to know the name of the Jedi who manned the port gun turret in the Millennium Falcon during the Battle of Tenupe."

Her attention focused entirely on him as he finished the sentence, and she gazed at him even more intently than before. "Why?"

"I have unfinished business with that Jedi. Something I need to do. And by extension, I have unfinished business with the entire Jedi Order."

Jag stared, unblinking, as Saba studied his face. "What will you do to thiz Jedi? And what do you plan to do to the entire Jedi Order?"

His voice was calm, reasonable. "I am going to ruin that Jedi. And I am going to destroy the Jedi Order."