The view is incomparable.

From out of his chromium-framed guest room window, Obi-Wan looks down at all of Taris. Intentional, for sure: Billions of souls living and breathing and dying on and below the skyscraper-clad surface down there, all of them looking up at Solan and Hosha Tath as if they are divine elect. Pretentious, arrogant, certainly: It is beautiful up here, nonetheless. Despite morning smog from the lower levels seeping out of transit tunnels and soiling the fading dawn, sunlight in glittering infinitude shines across the sea of metal and glass that stretches to the horizon. Towers of silver and grey jutting up defiantly from the surface like so many standing stones, primeval, eternal. Taris is ancient, polluted, and scarred, but throughout its messy and bloody past, it is still proud.

The door chime sings. Obi-Wan straightens out his robes and runs his fingers through his beard. Best to look somewhat presentable, at least. He and Anakin have not yet met the Taths despite staying for an evening and overnight, but the Echani majordomo who met them on the landing pad, Bal Vigaro, has promised breakfast with the nobles. Everything has gone smoothly so far. No reason to stray now.

It is neither the Taths nor the majordomo at the door when Obi-Wan answers, however. Anakin walks in, looking the freshest Obi-Wan has seen him in months. Sometimes a shower and good sleep—and on these beds fit for an emperor, at that—can do wonders in wartime. "Huh. Your room's nicer than mine," Anakin says, looking around.

"Says the man used to starships and battlefields," Obi-Wan says. He sweeps his hand across the room's glitz: Corulag marble-crafted statuettes, crystal glassware from Christophsis, an authentic watercolor painting of Killik mounds from Alderaan's foremost artist, potted moon's grief blossoms from Tython (live ones, at that), gold and ivory and onyx and amethyst. Together it's probably worth enough to buy a cruiser, and this is just the guest room. "Envious?"

"My quarters have their share of nice things too, you know. Pretty gracious hosts, putting us in rooms like these."

"Yes, well," Obi-Wan begins before closing the door with a wave of his hand, "if you really want to be impressed, you should've seen how many hidden bugs and listening probes I cleared out of here last night."

"Funny. I had that same problem in my room."

Obi-Wan motions away from the window and closes the shutters, bathing the room in darkness. "The majordomo said he'd collect us for breakfast, but he didn't say exactly when. I don't know how long we have. Please tell me you didn't just go to sleep after last night's musical entertainment."

"And miss out on getting into some trouble?"

"Please tell me you didn't do that, either."

Anakin smirks. "I had a…covert…look around the place. Sounds like you did too, so why don't you go first, Master?"

Obi-Wan strokes his chin and nods. "We know Ternon Tath had contact with Dooku. I wanted to see if his family was doing the same, so I got into an access terminal in one of their security rooms."

"Security didn't notice you?"

"Anakin, please. Anyway, I didn't get much—and I didn't have much time, given that I snuck in during a shift change—but I did find out that this estate's routing an enormous amount of power to a communications array located on the south tower. When I tried to get into the comms system, I ran into a wall of encryption."

"Hm. I'm guessing they're not just encrypting all their comms to keep out scam artists and thieves."

Obi-Wan shrugs. "I've no idea. A few minutes before you arrived, however, I contacted Rex and Ahsoka. They're headed there now to investigate."

Anakin nods. "At least they're staying productive."

"Yes, and we should do the same. Tell me what you found."

A smile. Oh, that looks like trouble. "The Taths have a treasure vault," Anakin says slyly.

Obi-Wan sighs. "What did you do?"

"I just had a look inside. Nothing crazy. I may or may not have had to re-wire the security feeds for an entire wing of the estate in the process."

"So much for avoiding trouble."

"Hey, we're not going to find out anything by sitting around. Anyway, the vault itself was just a big place. A lot bigger than the one on Empress Teta—but it was what was in it that was so juicy," says Anakin. "They had an old collection of lightsabers in there."

"What?"

"That's not all. A whole bunch of stuff from the old, old days of the Republic, along with at least a few other Jedi artifacts I got the gist of—a seeing stone, what might've been a holocron, you know—and more. Some decidedly-spiky looking things that seemed…well, actually, felt…like the Dark Side."

Obi-Wan scowls. "Felt?"

"Whatever they were, I could sense they were alive in the Force. And they were all surrounding what must be the biggest kyber crystal I've ever laid eyes on. Thing was the size of a speeder."

"That's—"

"I'm not even done. I managed to dig into their cargo manifests. Not too long ago they received a huge shipment from Empress Teta. In fact, it was just a little before I got there and found Hosha's dear brother dead."

Obi-Wan drums his fingers atop the polished wood of a bedside table. "Looting old Jedi sites. Or Sith sites, if your feelings are true. Supersized kyber crystals were used in ancient days by the old Sith for superweapons, supposedly. Hm. And maybe murdering Ternon on top of that, although that seems like small-time crime in light of this. That's quite the mess you dug up."

"See? A little trouble goes a long way. It certainly makes that artifact back on Empress Teta look a lot more suspicious."

"It's not conclusive just yet, although we're going places," says Obi-Wan. "Still, I don't want to confront them with any of this until we've had a chance to speak. I want to know who they are. What they do. Breakfast is a start. So don't go pulling out your lightsaber until we've had a chance to talk. And to eat. I wouldn't mind seeing what their breakfast table's like, given the state of these rooms."

Anakin smiles. "Never missing the chance to enjoy the little things, are you?"

"In the middle of a war? Not on your life."

A half hour later they are seated around a private dining table topped with so much food that Obi-Wan thinks it could provide a meal for a clone trooper brigade. Braised shaak roasts, stuffed jubba-hens from Tynna, a platter full of a dozen different rare cheeses from Agamar, dew-kissed solar celery from Rattatak. The aromas of meats and vegetables and sun-ripened fruits sweet and savory and everything wonderful that Taris beyond these walls is not. Obi-Wan half thinks that they should put off investigating the Taths for a day—or two, or three—just to partake on whatever the nobles have in their larder. And yet still it is only them and the majordomo, Vigaro, around the table, the Taths yet to arrive.

"The smell alone could mellow a gundark," Obi-Wan notes as he looks over the culinary fineries. "Your chefs have outdone themselves for our sake, majordomo. I should've brought a gift."

The Echani smiles carefully and holds up his hand. Everything about Bal Vigaro is measured, precise—his movements, his speech, even the slow, steady way he blinks and the deliberate, almost dainty, way he walks. It is as if he was crafted in a workshop and now revolves on a puppeteer's strings. "Your company alone is a gift, Master Jedi. To meet an esteemed member of your order is an honor few in the galaxy will ever have."

"I don't know. We have a way of getting around," says Anakin.

Obi-Wan smiles politely, but he shoots a dagger-stare at his companion. Proper words at the breakfast table, Anakin. Try not to upset them. "The décor. The cuisine. It's enough to make the finest artisan blush. I would love to learn a thing or two from the masters of the house. Better Jedi than me could tell you that our temple on Coruscant could use some finer touches."

"I do apologize for the wait. Master Solan and Mistress Hosha are quite busy in a number of different affairs, both here on Taris and in their business interests galactically."

"It is no trouble at all."

At the top of a granite-inlaid spiral staircase at the far end of the room, a wooden door creaks open. "Wait no more, Master Kenobi," a summer-breeze voice ripples in from above. "Your compliments alone are enough to make this woman blush."

The moment Obi-Wan sets eyes on her, she is, he thinks, one of the most beautiful people he has ever seen. Waist-long, willowy white hair rippling like the surface of a lazy brook. Elegant, silky dress of Tarisian purple running to her ankles, one side exposed to her upper-thigh, a hint of energy and power peeping out from beneath all that noble modesty. A face that could make Master Windu renounce his Jedi vows. Then those eyes, so alien yet strangely alluring, without pupil or iris, no color save for an endless white so deep a man could fall into them and never escape.

Hosha Tath in the flesh. The majordomo stands abruptly, offering a sweeping, exaggerated bow, left foot back, right foot forwards, one hand to his chest, the other stretched out. "If I may present—"

"I believe they know who I am," Hosha says, winding down the staircase with the grace of a dancer. Every step perfect. "Masters Kenobi and Skywalker. Heroes of the Republic in this horrid war. More esteemed guests we have never had."

After shooting a glance at Anakin—who, by Obi-Wan's estimation, looks ready to renounce his vows himself—Obi-Wan steps forward and bows. "Mistress Hosha."

"And," the majordomo interrupts, sweeping his arm back towards the staircase, "the most high Solan Tath of Arkania and Taris."

Hosha's cousin is exactly what Obi-Wan expects out of an Arkanian noble. Superhumanly tall. Hands clasped passively behind his back. That same willowy white hair, those same bottomless eyes. A subtle smile playing out on his lips. Not a blemish on his skin. Almost flawless in appearance and swathed in a tight grey and purple outfit that shows off a well-built musculature beneath that starry visage. "Masters Jedi," Solan says. Unlike Hosha he does not bother with the stairs: Part of the staircase retracts and Solan steps off, floating down to the ground as if using the Force to soften his landing. Like a Jedi.

No, Obi-Wan corrects himself. Not like a Jedi. Remember: Arkanians are master scientists. Solan could have all manner of breakthroughs and works of genius hidden away inside that outfit.

"A most unexpected and welcome meeting, this," Solan says, striding up to the table so quickly—and yet with such a slow gait—that it threatens to throw Obi-Wan off of his concentration. It doesn't help that the Arkanian's face never turns away from his own. How can he see where the Arkanian is looking with no color in his eyes? "Amid our time of chaos, the Jedi Order is a pillar of stability and a light for all of civilization. If only we could say the same for the rest of the galaxy. Even here on Taris the Clone Wars inch closer by the day." Before Obi-Wan can respond, Solan levels his hand at his chair. "Please, sit. Our meal awaits. Let us talk as colleagues, not as strangers. I am sure we have much to discuss."

After digging into the meal and exchanging small talk and pleasantries with the Jedi, Solan wastes no time in getting to the heart of the matter. "I will be frank, Masters Jedi," he says, setting down his utensils and clasping his hands atop the table, "as welcome as your visit is, I am surprised to see you on Taris. Our planet is a ranking member of the League of Neutral Systems, and, the instability of Mandalore aside, our coalition is dedicated to seeing this war through peacefully. We have no wish to invite to Taris the sort of madness and devastation that has plagued Onderon, Umbara, and so many other worlds these past three years."

Obi-Wan shoots Anakin a look. Careful, careful. It is time to reveal the first of their cards, but they must be sure not to lay out the whole hand. Bit by bit. Pick away at the Taths' defenses. Probe them for weaknesses. Find out what they know and what they intend. It will certainly not be easy. "Unfortunately, it is by association that we are here," Obi-Wan says.

"Association?" Hosha offers, swirling half-drunken wine around her goblet. "You wished to see us in particular, I take it?"

"Spot on," Anakin says.

Please just let me do the talking, Anakin, before you blurt out that you dug around in their treasure vault all night. "We had few places to turn," Obi-Wan says to Hosha. "It's, in fact, about your brother."

Hosha laughs. Like chimes tinkling in a spring wind. "Ternon," she chuckles, taking a drink. "Something bad then, I take it?"

Solan frowns. "My cousin is something of a bad-faith actor in this family," he murmurs. "He has always been one to consort with unlawful actors and flirt with the dregs of society. It's crass."

"You don't know the half of it, cousin," Hosha says, resting her hand on Solan's.

Obi-Wan suppresses the urge to raise his eyebrows. There is something…off…about the way Hosha lays her hand on her cousin's. Something strange about the way she leans in to him and laugh. Leaning too closely. Laughing too earnestly as she begins a story. It's almost intimate. "A man who has it in him to associate with the likes of the Haxion Brood clearly inherited the worst of our genes."

"Your brother worked with pirates?" Anakin blurts out.

"A ghastly affair years ago," Hosha says, waving his concern away. "This was before my parents died, and before they forced him off of Taris. He was always envious of Solan's prestige. Ternon sought to get into Tarisian politics, and thought the best way to do so was to hire killers to deal with local rivals. Sordid mess."

"All in the past," Solan mutters. "It is no shock he secludes himself to a Separatist-controlled world now. It would not surprise me to learn he consorts with those rebels. The Republic has no place for degenerates."

Anakin looks perturbed. "You're talking about family."

"Family is what you make of it, Master Skywalker," Hosha purrs, leaning in to Solan again. "My brother proved it is a fragile thing."

"Yes," Obi-Wan murmurs. It is time. "Yes, he did."

Solan does not miss the intent. "I take it you have word of more trouble, Master Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan nods and looks down at his hands. "Ternon is dead."

Silence falling like winter. At last Solan turns his head away. Anakin fiddles with a belt loop. "That is unfortunate," the majordomo says.

Despite just a minute before lamenting her brother's exploits, Hosha looks as if she's been stabbed. "Dead?"

"In his home," Anakin says. "I found him."

She grits her teeth and clenches her fingers around her goblet. "How did he die?"

"He was garroted. The only answer that makes sense is murder."

"I see," Hosha murmurs. All at once she is in motion, lurching up from her chair, spinning on her heel, and striding towards the nearest door. "Excuse me, Masters Jedi," she says in a choked-up voice. "Please feel free to enjoy the meal."

In another moment she is gone. Solan sighs. "Despite their differences," he says slowly, "my cousin loved her brother, dearly. For all of Ternon's flaws, I believe Hosha held on to hope he would one day come around and become a better man."

And yet just a minute ago you said the Republic has no place for his like, Obi-Wan thinks. "I can only offer my condolences," he says instead. Bit by bit. They are playing a game, and Hosha's acting is just one player's single move. He doubts—highly doubts—that the news of Ternon's death is a surprise to the Taths.

"Did he have enemies?" Anakin says. "Do you have any idea of who might've killed him? Or wanted to kill him?"

"He had many enemies. All men of power have enemies, from Chancellor Palpatine to Count Dooku," Solan says. "But this is most concerning. Our family as a whole has its share of foes on Arkania. All noble families on our homeworld do. If they were the ones to strike at Ternon, then they could surely strike at myself and Hosha next."

"And why would they do that?" presses Anakin.

"Power. Wealth. Influence. Even just petty revenge for something that might have happened centuries ago. Arkania's politics are a competition, Master Skywalker, and they stretch for thousands of years. They reach across the galaxy. Even here to neutral Taris. In truth, my homeworld teems with corruption. I dream of building a better galaxy through science, through civilization, but I cannot do that on a place so infested as Arkania," says Solan. "Sadly, it seems like the galaxy is following in my homeworld's footsteps, only with open war instead of the political gamesmanship and subterfuge I am accustomed to. It is all one nasty business."

Obi-Wan nods. "That it is. And that is what the Jedi Order stands against. We are fundamentally peacekeepers, Master Tath. If we can make this situation right, we will do our utmost." And if we can find out why Ternon was consorting with Dooku—and whether you're doing the same—we will do that, too.

Vigaro clears his throat. "Perhaps," the majordomo says, "another venue would be most appropriate to continue this conversation? It seems breakfast has taken on a rather dour tone."

"That would be best," Solan agrees. He stands and adds, "Masters Jedi—perhaps you would like a tour of our gardens and our public forum? You can see the beauty we have cultivated here on Taris, and the work we still have yet to do."

"Marvelous idea," Obi-Wan says. "Anakin?"

"Great. Sure," says Anakin.

"Wonderful. Please, follow me."

Before they leave the breakfast den, however, the nearby door opens once again. Hosha stands in the doorway, her cheeks dotted with black streaks of smeared makeup—artfully done, Obi-Wan thinks—and holds up a hand to stop them. "Master Kenobi. Master Skywalker," she says, her voice still gurgling with grief—feigned or not. "I fear I have not been a gracious host."

"You should rest," Solan says. "Your brother is dead, Hosha. Mourn him. I can handle affairs here."

"I must agree," Anakin says. "If you need anything, my lady—"

She shakes her head, stands at a resilient posture. Back straight. Head held high. "I must keep going," she says, "and the best way I can avenge my brother's fate is to assist your investigation into his murder. That is why you are here, is it not, Masters? Then do not deny me this. Let me accompany you."

Solan sighs. "If it would not trouble you, Masters Jedi—"

"It is no trouble at all," Obi-Wan says. "Please, my lady."

She smiles. "Thank you," says Hosha. She grips one hand around Anakin's arm (she has an eye for things, Obi-Wan thinks) and takes a deep breath. "Shall we go, then?"

"Ugh. It stinks down here."

"What did you think, that it was going to smell like flowers? It's a sewer, Tam. There's feces and corpses and worse in that water."

Tamri tiptoes around the stream of orange-red liquid gunk flowing down the claustrophobic sewage tunnel. Light flickers from off-yellow industrial wall mounts, their glow so weak that it is hard to see more than a few dozen feet ahead. Scab-ridden rats (at least Sae hopes they are only rats) scurry by their feet. Sae cannot even imagine what it smells like. She tightens the straps on her breath mask and paws at the filth gathering on her sleeves. She seems to have grown a whole mycelium colony on her arms since entering the sewers. But this is way forward. It's the only way to ensure this plan goes off with no casualties. Everyone goes home safe. Try not to think about what it is making that horrible squirting noise by your left foot.

Leaning down next to the channel of industrial waste, Tamri tips a pebble into the fluid with her toe. "I think it just melted."

"Stop. You're going to burn your toe off," Sae says. She swats away Tamri's hand from where she fiddles with her mask. "And stop touching that. I don't know what kind of vapor that gunk's giving off. You breathe it in and you're going to turn into a toad."

Tamri laughs. Her eyes scrunch up. A genuine smile, even down here. Wow. "I don't think toads like industrial…whatever this is."

"Then substitute toad for whatever kind of awful animal you don't like. We're not down here to take chemistry samples. Keep your eyes peeled."

"Falco said no one comes down here."

"Yes, and for all we know that information's outdated. We might turn the corner and find General Grievous. Just stay sharp, okay?"

"Okay."

"I mean it."

"Okay. Got it, Master. Really."

They push on. Squelch-squelch. Slime and detritus decomposing underfoot. After turning down a smaller passage to their right, Tamri says, "You don't like toads?"

"What?"

"You said toads or whatever animal you don't like. What's wrong with toads?"

Sae looks at her apprentice as if Tamri's lost her mind. "It's just the first thing that came to my mind. And they're covered in sores and bumps and things."

"Wow. Didn't know you had a least favorite. I thought you didn't care about animals at all."

"Excuse me?"

"It's just…when we were on Nar Shaddaa during that Exchange foul-up years back and that baby blurrg was in the alley, you were just rolling your eyes at it and grumbling that I shouldn't feed it."

"It was a blurrg. Those things are dumb as rocks. They're not cuddly. Some animals are stupid. Some aren't," Sae says. She groans. "Gah. We should've just gone in the front and gotten shot by battle droids."

Despite Sae's caution, no one comes to stop them. If anything larger than a rat lives down here, it either has fled at the thumping of their footfalls or swims in the toxic waste. There is just the darkness. The flickering lights. The oppressive tunnel. The faint neon hue of the river of waste bathing the walls. No, this is not a place for life. This is a corridor where death breeds, a hollow of endings. The veins of industry-savaged Belderone ferrying liter after liter of liquefied miasma to its gear-churning heart. The Jedi are protectors, but there is nothing to save here. Nothing to do but escape and let the droids have this dying husk of a planet.

When they near their infiltration point, Sae puts a hand on Tamri's shoulder and stops her. "Something moving ahead," she whispers. "I can hear it."

Tamri removes her lightsaber from her belt. "Droids?"

"Dunno. Stay quiet. Stay behind me."

Sae creeps along the wall, her cloak smearing with ooze. Bit by bit. Careful, careful. She cannot afford to err. She cannot let anyone else die because of her. No, no, do not think about that. Think about the mission. Think about Ossus.

She rounds the tunnel corner, her lightsaber deactivated but in hand. Yet there is nothing. No toxin-corrupted monster, no battle droids, no great foe at the end of the dark tunnel to confront her. Is it just her imagination? Above her is the durasteel grating leading to the impound yard. Undefended. The clones were right. "That's it."

"That went smoothly," Tamri says.

"Too smoothly," Sae says, fretting.

Tamri looks up. "What is it?"

"Maybe it's just me," says Sae, "but I have a bad feeling about this."

She takes a hold of the service ladder beneath the grating. Takes a deep breath. Then she climbs. Hand-over-hand, bit by bit. When she reaches the grating she stops Tamri below her. "Let me take a look first," she whispers. Then she takes a hydrospanner from a pocket in her robes, pulls out several screws from the grating, and pushes it aside as if moving a baby. Careful, careful. Pulling off her breath mask, Sae breaths in the fresh air—aah, pollution—and peeks over the lip of the sewer entrance.

There, to her right: The Into Evening's Call, a ZH-40 Tribune-class light freighter. Not bad, by the looks of it. From Lendon and Neelotas's description, Sae had expected some piece of junk of a ship rusting in the impound yard. But the Evening is far from junk: It's hardly missing paint, probably no more than twenty years (at most) out of the shipbuilding yards. Far more than just serviceable. If the mercs are as good pilots as Lendon Rust claims they are, they'll have no problem getting this thing to Ossus.

Assuming, of course, that they get out of the impound yard first.

Easier said than done. Apart from the ship and the acid rain downpour still continuing on from the previous night, Sae notices one other point of note: There are a lot—a lot—of battle droids standing guard.

She ducks beneath the sewer lip and swears. "That is not what the clones said," she hisses.

"What's wrong?" Tamri says, eyes wide, pulling off her mask in a panic.

"A whole shipload of droids, that's what," Sae says with a grimace. "At least three dozen around the ship."

"What kind?"

"Most of 'em are just normal battle droids. I saw at least one destroyer and one crab, though. Augh. What a mess."

Tamri looks worried. "Just for an impound yard? Did they catch word we were coming?"

"We can't think about that now."

"What do you want to do? Wait for the clones?"

Sae shakes her head. No casualties. No blood on her hands. She won't have it. Not anymore. "We can hold our own," she says. "I need you to draw fire. Stay defensive. Take cover when you can. I'll get around them and destroy the closest droids. Then we stick to the plan and push any reinforcements towards the forward gate shed."

"Master, I really don't like the sound of this."

"Yeah, I don't like the look of it. But we can do this. You can do this. Remember your training. Remember all the bad times we've gotten through," says Sae. "Trust in the Force, Tam. Let it flow through you. And let it carry you through this fight."

Tamri closes her eyes and nods. "All right."

"Then ready yourself."

"I'm ready."

Sae draws her lightsaber. "Well, then."

She yanks the grating away and pulls herself up onto solid ground. The droids do not react. Do not notice. Sae creeps along towards the nearest, the destroyer droid, its shields down. Take advantage now, before it can get combat-ready. Nearby, one of the battle droids—a scarlet-shouldered security unit—radios in to distant comrades. "There's nothing here. That captured Republic officer's admission is worthless." After static comes in so loud that Sae can hear it, the droid nods to its wrist communicator. "I understand sir. Yes sir. I'm on guard, sir. Roger-roger."

Five steps from the destroyer droid. Four. Sae readies her lightsaber.

Then a blue blaster bolt lances out of the sky, strikes the destroyer's head, and blasts the droid apart.

"What? Sniper!" screams the security droid. "Everyone, get down!"

The clones. The overwatch team. They're keeping her safe. Sae stands. Raises her saber. Thumbs the switch. Her yellow blade hums to life as the security droid looks her way.

"Jedi! Shoot! Everyone, shoot!" the droid shouts.

No sooner have the words left the droid's vocabulator than Sae slashes its electronic innards out, splitting the droid in two. She hurdles over its dismembered, still-walking lower half, twists, and gores a super battle droid as it raises its wrist to fire.

"Master! Behind you!"

She turns to find a battle droid's rifle aimed squarely at her face. Lightsaber raised. Defense. Deflect.

Then another lightsaber hums to life, and Tamri's green blade takes the battle droid's head clean off.

No time to say thanks. Sae whirls, intercepts a blaster bolt with her saber, and reflects it square into the chest of a battle droid running at her. Beside her, Tamri evades a flurry of fire from a super battle droid before slashing at it once, twice, reducing it to a falling pile of metal rubble. "There's more coming!" Tamri shouts.

"See 'em," Sae says.

Touch the Force. Reach out and embrace it. Let it flow through you. Then wield it as a weapon and smite your foes.

With the Force she grabs hold of a sensor probe on a YG-1070 transport impounded nearby. Focuses. Grits her teeth. Concentrates. With all of her might she wrenches it free from its corroded mounting and hurls it like a javelin at the reinforcements peeling around a mountain of scrap. The missile splits a pair of droids in two and hits another pair as it impacts, throwing up a geyser of droid parts into the air.

She opens her eyes to see the crab droid scurrying towards her and throwing up a wall of fire. Sae ducks behind one of the Evening's landing struts. "Tam? The droid? Sometime, maybe?"

"On it!"

Tamri may not be as strong in the Force as Sae, but she has her moments. She pulls a downed battle droid's blaster to her and aims. As the crab droid launches a barrage at Sae, Tamri steps forward and, like a gunslinger from an Outer Rim cantina, unloads at full-auto at the droid's leg joints. It keels over, screeching in binary as Tamri races forward and plunges her lightsaber into its forward processor.

Creative trick. Must've picked it up from Obi-Wan. "That's it," she shouts, moving out of cover as the crab droid keels over and dies in a shower of sparks. "Drive them back to the shed," she adds, pointing ahead of them where a low-slung shack of corrugated durasteel and pieced-together duracrete looks ready to fall apart. "Overwatch team should've gotten down by now."

"Got it!"

Sprinting around the scrap mountain, Sae comes face-to-face with another squad of droids hurrying in from the front gate. She cuts the first down, pivots, and reflects a bolt into the head of the next closest, launching the head from its shoulders. This is not a simple guard contingent for an impound yard. In the fleeting moments between hacking one droid up and launching her saber at another, Sae's mind returns to the security droid. Captured Republic officer's admission. Rastic. The one captured by bounty hunters. Idiot bent under pressure.

Tamri ducks behind cover. Earth and sweat paint her face. "There's too many," she pants, rising up over the steel beam she hides behind to send a pair of blaster bolts flying off in wayward directions. "Where's everyone else?"

"No idea," Sae says, her lungs heavy. Keep going forward. Keep going. "We just have to—"

She's cut off as the shed erupts. Flame belches from the shack and engulfs the droids nearby, knocking down a whole squad with the shockwave. Sae grabs Tamri and ducks under cover as the fire washes over. "Supposed to give us a signal," she snarls. "What are they doing?"

Tamri peeks over the cover. "I don't see them coming out," she says, her voice rising.

"What?"

"Brunt and Turner were supposed to deactivate the impound codes and then get out of there. I don't see them."

Sae clenches her jaw. No, no, no. "Stay here," she says.

"What?"

"I'm going over there."

"Master, there's a ton of droids there."

"Stay here!"

As soon as Sae vaults over their cover, however, her problems swell. The low roar of sublight engines churns over her as a droid gunship circles around, pelting the position where the shack stood just a minute ago with laser fire. One of its turrets turns and focuses on Sae.

"Oh, great," she murmurs.

As the gunship wheels on her, an explosive grenade arcs through the air and slams into its frontal cowling. The droid ship lurches, turns. So slow. A missile zips in from Sae's left, striking the gunship's underwing rocket payload and igniting the warheads. The whole vehicle bursts into a ball of flame, spiraling down before crashing into a nearby building in a furor of fire and broken steel.

Neelotas sprints past Sae, a rocket launcher resting on his shoulder. "C'mon, wizard!" he bellows. "Ship's open!"

Evening's ramp lowers behind Sae as the droids from the front gate press closer. "Tam!" she shouts. "Time to go!"

"What about Brunt and Turner?"

"Get on the ship, Tam! Now!"

Falco slides in beside Sae. "Can't raise my men," he says. Blaster burns scar his armor's shoulder plates. "Got Hawke behind me. Brunt and Turner aren't responding."

"Shed went up," Sae says. "I didn't see them."

Falco shakes his head. Sae can't see what expression he makes from behind his commando helmet, but all she can imagine is the same feeling she has felt so many times before. Another one dead. Another one gone on my watch. She is feeling it again herself. "Falco, get on the ship with us," Sae shouts over the sound of destroyer droids rolling up. "There's nothing more to do here."

"Not without my boys."

"They're—"

Falco grabs her arm. "You have your mission, Jedi," he says, "and I have my men. Go. Go."

Sae grimaces. Rises. Cuts another droid down with her lightsaber and sprints towards the ship.

From the rear gate runs Lendon, a whole pack of droids behind him. He trips, falls. Spins in the air, aims his twin blaster pistols, and shoots down the nearest two attackers. Behind him comes Hawke. When he trips, it is not because of the ground. "Chief!" Hawke shouts.

Falco gets to his feet, rifle ready. "Get over here, soldier!"

"Chief, go!"

A destroyer droid unfolds right behind him. Hawke has only enough time to turn and fire a single impotent blaster shot into its shield before the droideka empties its arm cannons into him.

"Hawke!" shouts Falco. But there is nothing more to be done.

Lendon Rust scampers towards his vessel. "Time to make our great escape, Jedi!" he shouts to Sae as he races about the ship.

Sae tries one last time. Three is better than four. "Falco!" she shouts from the ramp. "Soldier, get over here! That's an order!"

"Not this time," Falco says, arcing a rifle-launched grenade into the eyes of a crab droid and blasting it into metal splinters. "Get out of here. I'll hold the droids off. Go. Now!"

"Falco!" shouts Tamri from behind Sae.

"Go!"

Sae grabs Tamri as the girl tries to hurry off of the ramp, her lightsaber alight and ready. "Get us airborne!" Sae screams up the ramp.

"No!" Tamri shouts. She deflects a blaster into the droid nearest the clone commando. "Falco!"

The freighter roars to life beneath Sae's feet. Sublight engines bloom with exhaust, sending a pair of battle droids flying. And the ramp closes. Closes on another life. Closes on another four Sae cannot save. Closes as Tamri struggles against her grip, as Falco, a soldier alone, a clone doing his duty until the end, engages droid after droid that closes in.

And then the ramp is closed.

Tamri screams. Sae lets her go and races to the cockpit, past holds and rooms she scarcely sees. "Rust, Lam! Get us going!"

The thrusters kick in and the Evening blasts skyward. Sae makes it to the cockpit as the ship burns through Belderone's lower atmosphere, air aflame all around. Lendon holds tight to the controls as he jabs at a board of buttons to his right. The ship's frontal window stretches above and below the cockpit, and beneath her feet Sae sees Belderone fading away into the brown, toxic cloud cover. Somewhere down there a clone is fighting for his life.

"Vultures!" shouts Neelotas from the co-pilot's seat, his scanner full of red dots. "At least a half-squad of fighters bearing in from orbit."

"Gonna outrun 'em," Lendon says, grimacing.

"Get us into the hyperlane," Sae says.

"What do you think I'm doing?" the Zeltron snaps. To Neelotas he says, "All power to engines and deflectors. We're running, not shooting. Keep them busy while I get the coordinates punched into the hyperdrive."

"Out of gun range for now," the Nautolan says. Then he shakes his head. "We got a hostile missile lock."

"Jammers, now!"

"Too late! Missiles out!"

"Flares!"

Neelotas slams buttons to his right. "Flares out!"

The Evening rocks as the countermeasures blast out. "Just a few seconds," Lendon says as the ship bursts through the upper atmosphere into space, blackness and stars all about, the blue-grey glow of Belderone lighting the scene. Orbital stations blink like fireflies. "Just a few more seconds."

Sae grips the back of Lendon's chair. Neelotas looks ready to explode. At last he slaps the console. "Missiles took the flares! Fighters're still coming in, though."

"We're clear," Lendon says. He yanks on a handle above him. "Punchin' it!"

The stars dilute. Space fractures. Light overtakes the cabin, and the Evening lurches into hyperspace.

Sae lets out a slow, overdue breath, crouches down behind Lendon's chair, and covers her face with her hands. Another one. More losses. How many more of these can I take?