Gevern Auchs' battered ship would do them no good, so before going down to Balmorra they rendezvoused with Starlight Champion on the edge of the system. They pulled everything they needed to from the crippled vessel: Supplies, weapons, data cards, seven surviving Skiratas and one prisoner.

Arlen was there at the airlock as they carried it all through. He watched them pass, one after another. When his daughter stepped through the portal she was still encased in the red beskar'gam she'd borrowed from her cousin. She carried underarm the T-visor helmet she'd not yet worn and her lightsaber dangled from her belt, clanking mournfully against her metal thigh-plate. When she saw her father she stopped in her tracks; Arlen looked down at her, face tired and blank but eyes mournful. Then he bent low and embraced her, arms over hard armor, cheek against cheek.

Tamar watched them but stood apart. She wanted to intrude but knew she had no place here. She should have never agreed to take Marin with her after Broken Moon. She should have sent her daughter off with Arlen. What had happened since could never be undone, and it had changed the girl's life forever. No one should have had to experience what they had over the past few days, not a forty-year-old woman and especially not a fourteen year old. Mandalorians bragged their kids were adults at fourteen but it was a lie. Jedi, Mando, it didn't matter. Fourteen was still a child.

The other Skiratas and their cargo passed behind her. Dorn lingered, uncertain what to do or where to do. He had Galaset with him, stripped of armor, ankles and wrists in stun cuffs. The Kerestian observed the scene for a moment, then announced in a tired voice, "Will you lock me up or do I have to watch your family drama?"

Dorn pistol-whipped the back of his head but Galaset had a thick skull; he barely flinched. Arlen pulled away from Marin and stepped forward, interposing himself between his daughter and the prisoner. He looked Galaset in his small yellow eyes, then said, "I don't suppose you knew your Mandalore was working for a Sith."

"I didn't, actually." Galaset glanced at Tamar. "Ask your woman. She used her Jedi powers to look inside my head. She knows the truth."

"He's right," Tamar said. Arlen looked at her for the first time. She'd expected reproach but his eyes were still so tired, so sad. "He didn't know about the Sith. Doesn't know who hired him to attack the Chiss either."

"Well," Arlen said, "He can tell that to them. Marin, you know the backup storage chamber, the secure one?"

"I remember." She stepped out from behind him.

"Lead the way. Show your uncle where he can keep our guest for a while." That surprised Marin; she looked a question and her father said, "Please. Go to the main hold after that. Your mom and I will be down in a second."

She nodded and started out of the hold without looking back. Dorn hit Galaset again, more for his satisfaction than the Kerestian's pain, and the prison shuffled after Marin. When they were gone the first thing Arlen asked was, "Whose armor? Ninet's?"

"She took a hit."

"I saw that. She'll be okay?"

"Yes. Giving it to Marin was her idea. We thought... The plan was to take Retor together, our ship and Kragal's. Retor got the drop on us, but I guess that's what you'd expect from Sith. He pounded our ship, Kragal knocked his out with an ion canon. He tried to board. You saw the rest."

"Who died?"

"Nobody you knew. Nobody Marin knew, not for more than an hour." She added, "Nine people, total."

"I'm sorry. Really." He put a hand on her, the spot between armor plated at the base of the neck.

"I know. Thanks." She didn't shirk it away. "I shouldn't have dragged Marin along."

"You had no idea this would happen. And I was the one who suggested she go with you, remember?" She hadn't. It had slipped her mind. Arlen squeezed her shoulder a little and added, "She's a good kid. Tougher than she looks. She's seen a lot but she'll get through this and-"

"Arlen, no." She had to pull back. "You don't know the rest of it."

He awkwardly let his hand fall to his side. "What else happened?"

She could only say it: "Marin killed Gevern Auchs."

Arlen stared, his jaw dropped. It was so rare to see him speechless.

"Auchs grabbed me and Dorn on Chorax. Ninet and Marin escaped. They sneaked into his ship, then found the place they were interrogating us. Auchs was standing right next to me with his beskad sword and that was the first thing Marin saw when she blew the door. I don't think she even meant to kill the chakaar… Just protect me."

He closed his mouth, closed his eyes, took a deep breath. She could feel it all wash over him: shock, regret, anger at Tamar and at himself for not keeping their little girl out of this mess entirely. But she wasn't a little girl anymore, even if she'd been one at the start of this mission, which she hadn't. Now she was something else, something none of them knew, least of all Marin herself.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wish this could all be different."

"Stang it… Auchs had family, didn't he? Those Mando blood-feuds… Who else knows?"

"Me, Dorn, Ninet. And Galaset."

"He's not seeing the outside of a prison cell once I get him to the Chiss. But… Does anyone even known Auchs is dead?"

"Probably not, but they'll figure out soon. Whether they'll trace it to the Skiratas, I don't know, but this could set off a succession war anyway. Galaset says Auchs was trying to keep his thing with us quiet, but you never know who might find out. Listen, nobody else will know Marin killed Auchs. Dorn and Ninet will never tell. Mekr and his kids don't know and if I tell them to they'll keep quiet about Marin ever being here. So that's it. No one else will know. Even if Auchs' people come after us they won't come after her."

"Your family's not the only ones I've got aboard," he sighed, "But they're people we can trust all the same."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on. Let's get to the hold. I picked up some friends along the way."

He tugged her lightly by the forearm and started down the hall to Champion's largest cabin. As they walked she remembered that he'd just flown out of a mess too. "By the way, what's been going on in Imperial space?"

He sighed again. "The fighting at Bastion's over for now. Veers fled to Yaga Minor. We're looking at a civil war."

"Fierfek. If things are getting worse we should keep Marin off Bastion."

"Well, that was sort of the plan regardless."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it's a long story but I think I overstayed my welcome in Imperial space."

She grabbed his arm and stopped him. "Arlen, what are you talking about?"

His eyes were sad but he shrugged her off and kept walking. "I'll explain later. Like I said, I've got some friends waiting."

When Tamar followed him into the hold she understood exactly what he meant. It wasn't every day you saw a dozen beings, six in brown Jedi robes and six in Mandalorian armor, lined up on opposite sides of the room and staring each other off. It was even rarer than none of them were reaching for their weapons, though a few on both sides looked pretty tempted.

"Udesii, vode," Tamar said, holding up both hands. "We're all friends here, right?"

Mekr's scarred face was twisted in a sneer but he crossed his arms over his chest, hands nowhere near his guns. "If you say so. I'm guessing these jetii are here to help us bag a Sith."

"Crudely put, but accurate," said a grey-furred old Bothan.

"Master Saav'etu and her team know what needs to be done," Arlen explained.

"Are we trying to capture the Sith or just kill him?" asked Marin. She stood next to Ninet, closest to the Jedi line but not with it.

"Ideally we'd take him captive, but I don't want to risk it. We need to take him out in a way that involves as few civilian causalities as possible."

"Are we even sure he's there?" asked Dorn.

Arlen nodded. "I just got a call from Chance Calrissian. He's on Balmorra now and reports Retor is attending the conference. Chance also swung us an invite, so we'll be able to set Champ down with no problem. After that we'll have to track Retor, wait until he's in private, and attack. Chance gave us info to help on that too."

"Search and destroy, then," grunted Mekr. "Sounds good to me."

"He's going to be super-wary after what just happened," Ninet pointed out. "Are you sure we'll catch him off guard?"

"No, but we have to try. He'll be even harder to get to when he returns to Kuat or one of his starships."

"We're ready, Dad," Marin said. "We all are."

Arlen stared for a moment at his daughter in that red armor. He took in the determination on her face and the pain she was bleeding out in the Force, and Tamar felt him grieve a little more. After what she'd seen, what she'd done, they couldn't just order Marin to stay safe aboard the ship with Ninet.

Like the rest of them, she needed be there to end it.

-{}-

Balmorra had a galaxy-wide reputation as an over-industrialized wasteland of a planet cannibalized by greedy defense corporations. There was some truth to that, but the manicured gardens and handsome ivory buildings in which the convention was being held were proof that pleasant of places were available even here, at least for those with credits to burn.

Damien Corde was usually a man of more modest pleasures, but his work for the Empire had had him masquerading as a classier man on a few occasions. He knew how to wear the suit, how to nibble on roving plates of rare foods, and how to look with casual condescension on the servants who went around offering them. No droid servants at this gathering, he noticed. A little surprising, given how many automatons were assembled in Balmorra's factories, but he supposed using flesh and blood servants, all of them attractive young females from a dozen different humanoid species, was another element of luxury.

As he wandered the grounds of an expansive and manicured garden, walled off and surrounded by elegant hotel-towers and the broad front face of the convention center, he wished Veers had given him more practical instructions on how to find Retor of Kuhvult. He'd assumed, on his way here, that it would be simple enough to find one of the galaxy's richest beings, but there were so many other rich beings here and they all either knew each other or were in the process of schmoozing. Damien had been waylaid by two gabbing SoroSuub executives for five minutes before breaking free and continuing on his search.

The search was aggravating, all the more because there was some place else he'd rather be. Before setting off for Balmorra he'd commed Valera. She was still down on Bastion and had listened to him spin another yarn about how he'd be away from the capital on business again, for how long he couldn't say, though it might be longer than ever before. She'd read the severity in his voice and understood. As a farewell she'd given him one last surprise: on her last trip to the doctors she'd been told that their child was going to be a girl. She'd planned to hold onto this information, to tell him in person, but under the circumstances she'd decided to do it now.

A daughter. Somehow that made it all the more real, and everything that followed all the more awful. On the ride to Balmorra he'd watched the events over the capital with shock and horror. He'd tried calling Valera but no message had gone through. They said there was jamming and downed communications equipment messing up communications with Ravelin; they also said fighting had taken place in the city, causing extensive damage and racking up uncounted casualties. In all the jobs he'd done, all the times he'd trusted in his superiors or other agents to keep him alive, he'd never felt as helpless as this.

As he wandered the gardens and maneuvered around all the chattering suits his eyes were drawn to one body far bigger than the others. The Hutt on that repulsorsled must have been ten meters from head to wiggling tail. He wandered toward it, more curious than anything; he'd thought a gathering this prestigious would filter out the overtly criminal elements.

As he got closer he started circling around from behind the Hutt to get a better looked at the beings it was talking to. The bloated alien was rumbling on in slurred but accurate Basic, saying, "I cannot tell you how grateful I am for the invitation, Chairman. I applied for attendance once before, oh, forty standard years ago, and I was refused."

"Well, I admit I had some extra strings I could pull," a voice said: deep, smooth, familiar.

"And I am grateful! Because they gave no explanation for their refusal. But we all know the reason. Rank prejudice. Unthinking assumptions about my business based solely on species. I had a mind to bring them to court for it, but the Alliance wouldn't pass better anti-discrimination legislation for another, hoom, fifteen years..."

"Well, I'm very glad that's in the past," said Retor of Kuhvult. He was standing in front of the Hutt with a glass of wine in his hand, dressed in those folded Kuati robes and smiling the superficial smile of the rich. Next to him was another human with darker complexion in a nice business suit, plus a pair of gaunt, pale Muuns.

The second human turned to the Muuns and said, with the air of a man eager to change the subject, "So I have to ask, what's been happening on Muunilist the past day or two?"

The two aliens exchanged looks, and a part of Damien really was curious as to what was happening in the financial center of Imperial space, but he took the opening to slip in between the Hutt and Retor.

"Chairman, it's so good to see you!" he said, grinning. "It's been weeks since we last talked."

Retor's eyes lit on him and he returned the easy smile. "Ah, Mister Blackmor, welcome. I wasn't sure you'd make it."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for all the ryll on Ryloth. It's not often we get so many people of this caliber in the same place at once."

The other human leaned in and extended a hand. "How do you do? I'm Chance Calrissian and this is my partner, Volgma."

"Charmed," the Hutt rumbled.

Damien shook Calrissian's hand and looked back to Retor. He didn't want to dawdle but he didn't want to step out awkwardly either. "Chairman, are you free right now? There's something I'd really like to speak with you about before my presentation this afternoon."

"Of course, I have the next hour free." Retor looked at the others. "If you'll excuse me, friends, I have some business I need to talk to Mister Blackmor about."

"Of course," said Calrissian. "Maybe we'll talk later."

"I'll see if I can spare the time," Damien said, and eagerly let Retor lead him through the crowd. The servants and suits who'd clustered around him on all sides, he noticed, cleared the way for the chairman like a succession of opening doors.

It would be good to keep up appearances until they were in private, so Damien said, "I'm sorry for interrupting like that, but I figured we'd best connect as soon as possible. I trust I didn't inconvenience you?"

"Oh, not at all. Thank you again for coming."

He was tempted to ask how Retor knew his most recent code name; possibly the man was also Veers' contact to the Mandalorians and had heard from Auchs or Galaset. That was something else he could ask later.

"I trust we're going somewhere private," Damien said.

"Oh, don't worry, I have half a floor in one of the hotels reserved. We can get quite comfortable there."

"I'm glad to hear that. I have to say, I've had a less-than-enjoyable ride here."

Retor sighed, "Mister Blackmor, I should tell you stories."

-{}-

Arlen wasn't used to crisp business suits and the one Yaqeel Saav'etu had found on hastily procured was also a size too small for him. He wanted to tear the thing off, or at least undo two latches on his collar before it choked him, but he kept up the presentable appearance as he and the Bothan Master worked their way through the crowd of mingling business-beings in the garden. Yaqeel actually looked more professional than him with her graying fur perfectly groomed and her traditional Bothan robes flowing elegantly behind her. The other five Jedi, also in formal wear, were scattering through the crowd, searching with their eyes as much as the Force for their target.

His biggest worries when wandering into the crowd was bumping into Retor of Kuhvult suddenly, or being spotted by the Sith first. Quite possibly Retor could sense the seven Jedi in his midst already; he'd certainly know Arlen by sight and understand his purpose. He was frankly a little surprised Retor had kept his appointment at this conference after his near-fatal battle with the Mandalorians, but he supposed being lord of the military-industrial complex had as many responsibilities as being a Sith.

Despite his tall statue and bald pate, Retor would still be tricky to spot amidst all these people moving in and out and around the garden's manicured hedges. Someone else was much easier to find, and one he did Arlen cut the straightest line possible to Volgma the Hutt.

Chance was there too, and he and his business partner were speaking with a pair of bankers. The Muuns' small eyes widened when they spotted him, maybe with recognition; Arlen was the most well-known Jedi in the Empire after Davek's wife.

Chance, though, immediately pulled Arlen in for a shake and backslap.

"Good to see you, friend," Chance grinned. "I was wondering when you'd make it."

"Yeah, well, a lot of stuff happened on the way here."

"I'd love to hear about it, but I've got stuff for you first." Chance looked over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, gents, but I've got to catch up with my friend here."

"Ah, your friend-" started a Muun. "Is that-"

"Vuffi Raa. Haven't you heard of him? Owns a very impressive missile factory on Denon. Come on, Vuffi, let's talk."

Volgma was about to rumble something but through better of it. Chance dragged Arlen to a quiet spot against a hedge-wall and Yaqeel followed.

"Vuffi Raa? Wasn't that some annoying droid your dad owned?"

"I dunno, it was the first thing I thought of."

"Gee, I'm flattered." Arlen sighed. "By the way, this is Master Saav'etu."

"Charmed." Chance nodded at the Bothan then turned back to Arlen. "Retor is here, but he wandered off. You just missed him by ten, fifteen minutes."

"Wandered where?"

"I don't know. Sounded like he wanted to have a private talk with the guy."

"What guy?"

"I don't know. Said his name was, um, Blackmor."

"Blackmor?" Memory rattled. "About my age, short blond hair, fit-looking?"

"Yeah, that sounds right." Chance frowned. "Who is he?"

A man whose live capture might determine the course of history. His mind did fast recalibration. This was no longer a search and destroy mission, this was a search and retrieve, and the precious cargo they needed to grab was currently in the hands of a Sith.

"Listen, I've got to ask," Chance said, and leaned in close. "Retor of Kuhvult. A Sith. Karking really?"

"He just killed a whole shipful of Mandalorians with a lightsaber and some Force lightning," Yaqeel said grimly. "We've seen a recording."

"Yeah, but… Retor?" Chance wagged his head back and forth. "I've known him for twenty years! He's a… Well, he'd not a great guy but compared to some of the other sleemos running megacorps he's not bad. Back when he was on Coruscant we used to go drinking. We used to play sabacc together!"

"Well, I guess even Sith Lords have hobbies."

"But I always beat him. How does a Sith keep losing card games?"

Arlen sighed; they didn't have time for this. "Maybe he lost on purpose. Maybe he was using you, maybe to get to me."

"Yeah, but… All this time?"

"Chance, in the five total minutes I've had to spare in the past few days, I did some thinking. Remember that first time we went to Broken Moon? Remember how Krux knew we were coming?"

"Yeah. We figured what's'name, Greshk, tipped him off."

"But we never found out, remember? Greshk was dead by the time we got back to Coruscant to confront him. Suicide, they said. But who was taking us back and knew we were after Greshk? Retor. Who else could have known you were going out to Broken Moon with me? Retor."

Chance shook his head. "You remember all that? That was seventeen years ago."

"Well, I got a kid out of it so it's still kind of a big deal. Listen, did you check what I asked you to?"

He nodded, expression clear. "Yes, I did. Had to bribe a hotel clerk, but I found out he's staying on the south half of floor seventeen on that hotel right there." He pointed to an elegant mid-rise looking down on the garden. About twenty floors, white exterior, broad blue-tinted windows.

"He's rented half the floor?"

"I was surprised he didn't take the whole thing. Listen, I had to talk to him for a good ten minutes. Actually Volgma did most of the talking, but what if he read my mind? What if he knows you're coming?"

"We have to go after him anyway. And don't worry, we brought plenty of help."

"So you're going? Now?"

"We don't have time to waste," said Yaqeel.

Chance's eyes got the grave, questioning look. Arlen slapped him on the shoulder and said with fake confidence, "Don't worry, we brought enough people to handle one rich guy."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't worried about you," Chance said, more fake bravado. "If you kill him, what does this do to my contract with KDY?"

"Don't you have lawyers to figure that out?"

"Yeah, but they're not used to seeing clauses voided by Sith Lords."

"Get better lawyers, then. Later." He patted his friend on the shoulder and hurried back through the crowd as quickly as he could without drawing attention. Behind him Yaqeel reached out with the Force to touch the minds of the other Jedi searching the garden, but Arlen had to do more direct communication.

He fished his comlink out of his too-tight jacket pocket and asked, "Tamar, you getting this?"

"Load and clear."

"Get ready to move. I've got a location."

"Great."

"Not great. Turns out we've got a change of plans too..."

-{}-

The real name of Veers' agent was Damien Corde. That was one of the first thing Kroan pried from his prisoners' brain, and it took more effort than he was used to. As the moff had once bragged, Imperial spies had tougher minds that normal vermin's.

But in the end, he broke. Corde slumped in the chair Kroan had bound him to, a simple straight-backed one mildly incongruous against the softer, more luxurious sofas in the hotel's living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on the gardens far below. Clear sunlight fell through, highlighting the smeared sweat and fresh bruises on Corde's face.

Kroan gave him another backhanded slap and the spy straightened. His eyes rolled up to catch the Sith Lord's and Kroan could feel angry defiance coming off him in the Force. At first there'd been just confusion. He'd believed in Corrien Veers with an earnestness as amusing as it was pathetic, and his mind had stubbornly refused to accept that he'd been delivered to anything but safety. That Veers actually had intended to shield his man added delicious irony to it all.

"That's right, Agent Corde," Kroan purred and squeezed the man's chin with three strong fingers. "There's no helping you now. You're going to tell me what I need to know, whether you want to or not."

"You…. What are you?" he panted.

Kroan pondered telling him the truth. There'd be no harm; once their talk was over he'd kill Corde. He'd already made arrangement to dispose of the body. Still, he felt there were better ways to play with the man.

"Your dear Moff Veers sent you to me because he thought you were keeping secrets," Kroan lied. "Are you keeping secrets, Agent Corde?"

"No… No secrets. He wouldn't…."

"Of course he wouldn't give you up." Kroan slapped him again. "Just like he wouldn't arrange Avaris' assassination. Just like he wouldn't drag the Chiss into a war to help the Empire."

"No," Corde waved his head stubbornly back and forth. "He didn't kill Avaris. He couldn't have."

"Of course he did. Veers has wanted to run the Empire for a long time. Don't pretend you didn't notice. I helped him then and I'm helping him now. I'm helping him get rid of you."

Kroan could feel horror take hold of the battered man. He could feel Corde's spirit crumble. All vermin told themselves fictions to make it through their petty, pointless lives. This spy had told himself he was a loyal servant to the man who'd return the Empire to greatness. Now the lies were being stripped away and he was realizing, painfully, that the man was just a power-hungry killer and himself a fool.

His agony was delicious. After all he'd been through in the past few days, Kroan deserved to savor it. He took a deep breath and ran a hand softly, almost fondly, through Corde's hair.

The spy shuddered beneath his caress. "I don't… understand… What are you?"

Kroan smiled with honest fondness; this fool was giving him well-deserved pleasure. "For an old-style Imperial, Agent Corde, you should know. The Empire you love was once of an empire of the Sith."

Some vermin didn't even know what the word meant, but Corde did. More awful realization bled through the Force and showed on his face. Kroan was tempted to toy with him a little more before ripping his mind apart and seeing what Veers was plotting behind his back.

A loud crash sounded behind him. He spun and looked around: an entire section of the ceiling had fallen in and smashed onto the sofa on the far side of the room. Chalky dust filled the air but Kroan pushed it aside with a thought. At the same time he felt the three beings standing before him, all Jedi grim with determination. In the middle, wearing powder-coated black trousers and a white shirt unbuttoned in the front, was Arlen Fel.

In savoring Corde's pain Kroan had lost himself. He'd let his guard down.

He sensed more Jedi too, closing in. He called his lightsaber to his hand ignited it, but as Fel approached he threw out a blast of Force lighting. The Jedi caught it on his saber while the other two knights- a human woman and an orange-blue Togruta- charged.

At the same time the wall to his right burst open under another push of Force energy. He felt it coming and blocked the debris that went flying his way. Three more Jedi charged into the room, a Bothan in the lead.

The group of Mandalorians had been a challenge but they'd been vermin. A group of Jedi presented another level threat entirely.

He backed to the window. The Bothan's group was moving right for Corde, still strapped in his chair, half-conscious and confused. Kroan realized in an instant that they were after the spy and knew he had to stop them, even if he couldn't fight off all six thereafter.

He threw another blast of Force lightning. The Bothan blocked it with her saber but the two knights behind her were caught off-guard and knocked back, energy sizzling over their bodies. Kroan leaped back to Corde, saber held high, ready to deny the Jedi their prize with one easy sweep.

Before he brought the blade down he sensed it. The Jedi ducked to the ground as one. Kroan spun to face the windows and raised a shield of Force energy just as they exploded in a rain of glass, punched through by laserfire.

-{}-

They'd repelled down from the rooftop in one smooth motion. Marin used the Force to smooth her descent but she wished it could smooth her nerves too. The beskar'gam felt heavy and tight all around, secure but constraining the way a plain Jedi tunic never was. The T-visor helmet squeezing her head rasped with her own breath and her mother's voice was loud and scratchy as she gave orders to the five other Skiratas who'd come with her to take down Retor.

The Mandos around her were thinking of vengeance for their dead. Marin could feel that clearly through the Force. All she wanted to do was fight with her parents and protect them, even as she knew they'd protect her more. She couldn't sit this out, though, not after everything that had happened. Not after the people- the family- this Sith had killed.

When they fell down to floor seventeen, boots against the narrow white ledge of the floor-to-ceiling windows, Tamar called for guns out. Marin had just brought her saber but the other Mandos drew out pistol in one-handed grips, pointed them at the glass straight ahead, and fired right before the man with the red saber could decapitate the prison in his chair. He raised one hand instead, blocking the glass shards and laserfire that tore through into the hotel room. With five Mandos firing at once even the Sith struggled to block them, and he shifted his red saber to deflect more shots back.

Retor was a swirl of colorful Kuati robes as he danced back from the spy, battling back a rain of rifle-fire as he did so. He stopped right beside a Jedi struggling to stand and cleaved him through the waist with a single blow. Marin felt anger from the other Jedi but nor from her father, who bounded across the carpet of shattered glass to meet the Sith.

Their bodies nearly collided; their sabers clashed. Red and blue flashed and sizzled as they spun around the room. Master Saav'etu could only jump out of the way. Tamar called for the other Mandalorians to hold their fire lest they shoot Arlen.

"Marin!" she snapped. "Get the package out of here! Go!"

She tore her eyes off her father and Sith Lord and saw the spy they'd been hunting since Broken Moon. His face was bruised by the beating Retor had given him but it was the same man. Marin hurried over to him and sliced his bonds with a few quick flicks of her lightsaber.

"I'll take him, Mar'ika." Suddenly Dorn was behind her. He bent low, scooped up the spy, and threw him roughly over his shoulder.

A burst of Force lighting pulled Marin's attention away. She saw her father knocked back, energy sparking over body. Saav'etu and another Jedi charged but Retor forced them back with another blast they caught on their sabers.

Then he pivoted, saw Dorn and the spy, and thrust out his hand. Marin knew what was coming. So did Tamar. They called on the Force to block the gust of invisible energy that would have picked up Dorn and his captive and thrown them out the window into seventeen-story plunge. As it was the Mando was knocked off his feet and the prisoner spilled out on the floor, but they didn't fall.

By then Arlen was back attacking. So was Saav'etu. The two masters came at Retor from either side and he could barely fight both at once. The Bothan's blade skimmed his shoulder and he let out a groan. He spun back in another swirl of robes, toward the window, and when he had a seconds' distance between him and the Jedi, he unleashed another blast of Force energy. The masters struggled to deflect it with their sabers; at the same time the Togruta Jedi who'd come with Arlen tried to lunge in from the side.

Retor stopped his burst of lightning long enough to duck her thrust. She overextended and he took off her head with a horizontal swipe. By then the two Masters were on him again, backing him toward the shattered window. Retor released more lightning but the Jedi caught it their sabers and pressed back. Marin watched as crackling energy reached back and ran across Retor's face. It danced over his scalp, seared his skin, burned darkness beneath eyes that went bloodshot as she watched.

And then he was flying back, through the open window. The remaining Jedi ran to the edge. Marin joined the Mandalorians, a few of whom pulled out their rifles and shot downward at the ball of sizzling blue that fell toward the greenery below; slower, Marin thought, than it should have.

Then the energy winked out. Faint smoke rose from the cluster of ornamental trees that ringed the base of the hotel. Marin heard shouts from the gardens beyond.

"He's still out there!" Her father said and plucked a comlink from his trouser pocket. He immediately barked into, "Chance, he got away! Tell security they need to find him, now! Yes, Retor of Kuhvult!"

He shut off the comlink, swore, and took in the scene around him. A carpet of broken glass glimmered in the sun-bright hotel room. Two Jedi lay dead. Dorn was just how rising to his feet and hauling the battered prisoner over to a couch. Marin bent over and brushed it clean of glass. Her uncle threw him down.

Tamar wrenched off her helmet, shook hair from her sweaty face, and told Arlen, "We're both too old for this osik. You know that, right?"

-{}-

Once somebody picked him off the floor and sat him up on a sofa, the world around Damien started to make sense. He didn't like what he saw. After what Retor of Kuhvult had done to his mind, after what he'd been shown, he didn't think he'd like the look of anything again.

Whatever Retor had done to him had turned the world into a mess. He tried to focus on the blurry sights and muffled sounds. It was better than thinking on what Veers had done to Avaris, to the Empire. To him.

He was a career spy. He knew he was expendable. His job was to be more loyal to the Empire than the Empire was to him. This hurt more than it should have. It was betrayal: professional, personal.

He heard footsteps and new voices. He lifted his head and blinked some clarity to his vision. The man with the short dark beard. The black-haired woman with Mandalorian helmet tucked underarm. He knew them from before. The darker man was new.

The woman nodded at him. "Chance."

"Tamar."

"Been a while."

"No offense, but I hate it when we run into each other."

"None taken. I hate it too."

The darker man looked at the lighter one. "I just got off the comm with the police. They can't find Retor."

"He just fell from a seventeen-story window in a ball of blue lightning," the woman said. "How could they miss him?"

"I don't know, but they say there's no trace of him."

"Shabla unbelievable."

Two more people came into view: a furry Bothan, another human in armor. Red plates, shorter, helmet off. The figure leaned close to Damien and her face came into better focus. She was just a girl. Soft dark eyes met his and went hard.

"Any idea what Retor was doing with his guy?" asked the dark man.

"No, but it didn't look pretty," the woman said.

"Probably just a warm-up for what the Chiss lined up," the bearded one said.

"Wait..." Damien rasped. Just when he thought it couldn't get worse, it did. "You say… Chiss?"

"That's right," the girl said. Her voice was as hard as those eyes. "We've been looking for you for a long time."

The girl pulled back, between the woman and the bearded man. The latter looked down at Damien but spoke to his friends. "We need to get him back to my ship before security comes and starts asking questions. My aunt's going to want to talk to this guy as soon as possible."