As one of the entertainment destinations of the Outer Rim, Vorzyd V was the kind of world that offered everything from shamelessly overpriced luxury to the cheapest of dregs. Ganner and Azlyn had come dressed for the latter, and while Ganner didn't feel quite comfortable in the battered bounty hunter's armor he'd donned, Azlyn acted surprisingly at home in the hers. She'd explained it was the same one she'd often worn while working undercover in the capital city Efavan, but he suspected it was more because the helmet and visor concealed the scars on her face.

They'd arrived in a tramp freighter selected to be unremarkable and made their way to Efavan's dregs. The neighborhood was called the Warrens and it sat in low land between the more refined Old Bronzan district and the tasteless glitz of Casino Lane. Ganner hadn't travelled the dirty corners of the galaxy as much as some, but this place reminded him of Coruscant's midlevels without the lure of a pretty skyline above.

Azlyn had insisted she'd still know her way around the place, but he caught her hesitating at intersections of narrow streets and once she backtracked entirely. Eventually, however, she led them beneath an awning, through sliding doors, and into a place Ganner had never expected to go.

It was a restaurant, outwardly typical for its long tables and benches, but every occupant was a Barabel or some other very carnivorous alien. Best Ganner could tell, none of the slabs of meat they were consuming were particularly cooked. The sight of so many sharp-toothed jaws tearing raw, bloody flesh made his stomach turn and with effort he kept his eye on Azlyn's helmet as she led him to the back counter, behind which a pair of reptilian chefs were preparing a nauseating meal.

Azlyn rapped knuckles on the countertop, drawing attention. "Is Kresla here?" she asked through her helm. "Tell him Jamdar wants to talk. He knows I'm coming."

She'd told Ganner that Kresla was a local information dealer and petty crime boss; she hadn't explained what kind of front business he ran. The Barabel chefs snapped something fast between them; then the one closer to the back unleashing a spine-chilling roar.

A door in the ear of the kitchen opened and a broad-shouldered, blue-scaled Barabel stalked toward, tail swaying high in his wake. The reptile's eyes nictated as he took in Azlyn, then Ganner. Then his tail smacked noisily on the tile floor and he unleashed hissing laughter. Ganner looked anxiously back at the restaurant; none of the patrons seemed to notice.

"This one thought you were long gone, Jamdar," said the Barabel.

"I've had some tough scrapes but I'm still around." Azlyn gestured to Ganner. "This is my partner, Sefu." They were both using old code-names.

"Greetings. Come back to my office."

He pushed open a swing door in the counter and let them into the kitchen. Ganner and Azlyn followed his tail as he took them into his back office, which looked disarmingly normal with its wood desk and shelves full of flimsy and datacards.

The Barabel sat on a bench, tail spilling to the floor, and asked, "What brings you back to Vorzyd?"

"We're looking for some information," Azlyn said as they took an opposite bench. Apparently a place with primarily reptilian clientele had no need for chairs with backs. "You've been keeping an eye on the casino bosses, I assume."

"This one has to, given his work," Kresla nodded. Azlyn had explained that besides running his carnivore's restaurant he was also top of the food chain among criminals in the Warrens. For an interstellar criminal syndicate the opportunity for profit in this neighborhood was minor, so his activity was mostly ignored by Black Sun nextdoor.

"Picked up any big rumors on them recently?"

Kresla made a low hissing noise. "You'll have to be specific."

"Okay. Have you heard anything about how Kagar Aynes, the guy who took a shot at the empress on Bavinyar, was a Black Sun employee? More specifically, that he worked for Perlemian Security?"

Kresla's vertical pupils narrowed. "Where did you hear this?"

"My current employers. They've got a bone to pick with Black Sun and are looking to exploit that little fact. Assuming there's something to be exploited."

"Vigo Pleshchai is no fool," the Barabel hissed. "I do not see why he'd attack the empress. The risk is too great."

"Right now Coruscant is a mess and everyone's pointing fingers," Ganner said. "If Black Sun did set the thing up, they've got off free and are enjoying the chaos."

"Perhaps. Perhaps." Kresla's tail twitched.

Azlyn leaned forward. "I know you used to keep a close eye on Pleshchai. Tell me you haven't lost your edge."

"This one has not." His tail smacked the floor.

"How closely have you been watching him? Do you have any of his men on your payroll?"

"That is too risky. There are other methods."

Kresla rose from the bench and walked over to his desk. He opened a drawer, fished through it, removed a datacard and slid it into the projector on his desktop. Two-dimensional images projected in front of them, showing a view of some fairly lavish hallway. He tapped a button to speed through the recording, and a handful of beings zipped by. Several times the view itself shifted angle and direction.

"You sliced into one of his security cameras?" Ganner asked.

"One of his droids," Kresla corrected. "Pleshchai has been buying many recently. He does not trust flesh-and-blood staff."

"Are you sure he won't find out you've got eyes there?" asked Azlyn.

"This one has only sliced one droid, and not one of the ones allowed into Pleschai's office. Those he runs regular software checks on. Technically this droid monitors the public parts of his casino, but it is usually stationed near the hallway leading up to the executive level."

"So you can see if anyone you know is paying Pleshchai a visit," Azlyn said. "Could be useful."

It didn't seem like much to Ganner and he tried to hide disappointment. "Can we review these records?"

"You have one standard hour." Kresla turned for the exit to the kitchen. "And no, you cannot make copies. This one owes you a favor, Jamdar, but it only extends to far."

"This is good enough, Kresla. Thank you," Azlyn smiled.

The Barabel gave a noncommittal-sounding hiss and left the room.

Ganner looked to Azlyn. "Is this good enough? You said you had a few other contacts you could try, right?"

"Yes, but none of them like me as much as Kresla." She sat down at his desk and looked at the hovering holo-image. "Any idea what we're looking for?"

"I don't know. Maybe Aynes."

"I doubt Pleshchai would take him into his office, but you never know. At least we can get an idea who's coming and going from the vigo's office. If we can identify his lieutenants we might find an opening."

Ganner didn't know what kind of opening they could pry without the Force, but he sat on the bench beside her and began reviewing the footage. Even played back at high speed it was a long and mostly boring process. Watching the feed in reverse, they recounted Pleshchai's visitors for the past week. Individuals who came and went frequently were clearly the vigo's lieutenants. Special guests always had a droid escort. They marked out four individuals as lieutenants- two humans, a native Vorzyd, and a stocky Jeodu- and planned to ask Kresla about them later.

The guests were harder to keep account of. Anonymous bodies shifted in and out of the executive wing and were never seen again. Kagar Aynes wasn't among them, but that was no surprise. The record was nearing completion and a wave of weariness overtook Ganner. They'd come a long way and learned nothing about Antares' death.

Then one body flicked across the holo and Ganner stabbed the pause button. He had to rewind several seconds to bring the Itkotchi fully into view.

"What is it?" Azlyn asked. "Do you recognize him?"

Ganner leaned close to stare at the face framed by curved horns. Breathless he said, "Eshkar Niin."

When Ganner had last encounter the former Imperial Knight he'd been Darth Havok, and his face had been laced with the red and black of the Sith. The unmarked visage before him now recalled the Niin who'd helped train him over a decade ago.

"Are you sure?" asked Azlyn. "It could be another Iktotchi."

He remembered that she'd never met the man, either as Knight or as Sith. "It's him. I know that face, no matter what color it is."

Through the shock, an elation filled Ganner, and with it a firm sense of purpose. Azlyn put it to words. "You think he's still Sith. Even with the normal face."

"He couldn't walk around freely unless he took that tattoos off." He stored his eyes off Havok and looked to Azlyn. "We know the Sith were involved. Now we need proof."

"And how do you plan to get that?"

"Havok asked Pleshchai to assassinate the empress. Pleshchai probably tasked one of his lieutenants, and they would have put Aynes on the job."

"That's plausible."

"Black Sun would want to be as circumspect as possible, but they'd need to use those people at least. We need to figure out which lieutenant oversees Perlemian Security. I hope your friend can help us with that."

"Kresla's not my friend. But I think he'll point us in the right direction."

"And we'll take it from there."

Azlyn's eyes narrowed beneath the lenses of her helmet. "What do you plan to do, Ganner? We're talking about Black Sun lieutenants. They won't be easy to get to, and they won't give up information easily."

She didn't have to add that they no longer had the Force to help them. "These people helped the Sith kill Antares," he growled. "We know that now. I'll do anything it takes to get proof."

Whatever Azlyn saw in his face, it killed all argument. She inclined her masked head in a nod.

-{}-

Things had been clear once. Marasiah had been able to tell the right choice from the wrong one as soon as she'd made it, and she'd never second-guessed herself. Faith in her purpose and the Force had been enough. That seemed so long ago she no longer remembered what it was like.

After the results for the senate speaker vote came in, Marasiah had put out a bland statement in support of the vote, secured herself in her office, and told Astraal Vao to refuse all visitors. Within the first few hours her poor aide had to turn back her uncle two senior admirals, and four Imperial-sector senators.

The senate had elected Tem Brighton as new speaker with almost fifty percent of the votes. Eldon had come in second while Kormesh and Rey'lya had, as predicted, split the so-called 'moderate' vote, which turned out to have been a small pool from the start.

She didn't turn on the news-nets; the thought of all those smug commentators and angry guest speakers revolted her. When the sun started going down over Galactic City she opened a link to Astraal and asked whether anyone was still trying to see her. Astraal reported that, for the moment, things were clear.

Marasiah acted quickly. She left her office and, with only two guards to shadow her, made her way through the palace complex's most secure and private hallways until she'd reached the wing that housed the Jedi Order, or what it had left behind. The surprised sentry, a confused young Bothan in padawan's whites, stammered when he saw her but quickly relayed her request.

Ten minutes later she sat in one of the Jedi's dark meditation chambers, perched cross-legged on a cushion facing the Jedi Grand Master. Nearly three meters of muscle covered in grey-brown fur, with claw-tipped hands and a long face that ended in curved tusks, K'Kruhk's fearsome looks belied his wise and gentle nature. She felt more comfortable sitting before him now than she would with any Imperial.

"Thank you for seeing me on short notice," she told him. "I'm sure you must have been busy."

The Whiphid heavy breath seem to resound in the dark room. "Not so busy as I once was."

"Of course. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Empress. And my condolences for the loss of your husband."

Just thinking of Antares hurt, but she said, "Thank you, Grand Master."

K'Kruhk said nothing. His small eyes were hidden in the dark and she closed her own, completing the traditional mediative posture. It did nothing to bring peace.

"Do you meditate still, Grand Master?"

"I do."

"Is it… effective without the Force?"

After considering he said, "It does not enrich me like it did. But it's still necessary to find stillness within one's self, even if the Force doesn't speak to you."

"I'm no longer sure the Force speaks to me either."

She heard him shift on his seat. "You feel you're losing your connection?"

"Not like you did. The problem is in my heart, not my midi-chlorians. It's… difficult to feel the Force as I used to." She swallowed. "It's very hard to trust it."

"I know your grief is great, but the Force is still the Force. It moves around us and guides us-"

"So was it the will of the Force my husband die?"

After a tense pause K'Kruhk said, "Even when it spoke to us, the Force did not explain. It simply is."

"That's not an answer. Did Antares die because the Force willed it? Or because he was cut off from it?"

"I simply don't know. I'm sorry."

She was letting her anger get the better of her, and Marasiah struggled to calm herself. She breathed deep and steady like she'd been taught, and finally said, "You've heard the results of the senate election."

"Yes."

"Are you please with them?"

K'Kruhk asked, "Are you?"

Of course he'd throw it back at her. "No," she said, "But I'm not sure any other outcome would have been better."

"Do you feel the senators who voted for Brighton were disgracing your husband?"

She restrained the urge to lie. She's come her to get advice, not obfuscate. "I do. I don't believe Brighton was involved in the attack… but some of his people may have been. Half the senate dismissed that out of hand because they didn't want to believe it. If someone does prove Derrol set me up to die, a lot of them would try to absolve him."

"You think they hate you that much?"

She'd never thought of it so personally. "They hate what I stand for. They want me and the Knights and everyone around us gone and they don't care how it happens. If it got them what they wanted they'd embrace murder and call it righteous. My uncle was right. I should have stopped the election. I should have never agreed to a senate in the first place."

She was getting angry and tried to call herself. It was so hard; when she'd rejected her uncle's call to stop the election she hadn't even been sure why she'd done it. Maybe it had been the Force guiding her, or maybe she'd been acting irrationally out her grief and rage. She couldn't tell one from the other anymore, which was the core of her problem, and talking to this wise ancient Jedi Master was bringing none of the clarity she needed.

As fast deep breath racked her chest K'Kruhk asked, "Why did you agree?"

She could barely remember the days after her father's death, when she, K'Kruhk and Stazi had signed that treaty. Weakly she said, "To preserve the peace."

"Preserve it? Or create it?"

Coruscant aflame, a lightsaber in her father's chest. "Create it," she whispered.

"You have kept that peace for three years. It's for the good of the galaxy that you've done so. The galaxy needs you to keep the peace, still. I see no one else who could do it."

She opened her eyes and looked at his dark form. "Do you mean that?"

"I do. You were brought up to rule, but you are no tyrant. You strive for fairness, even in grief. And you learned from your father's weakness as well as his strength."

She stared at that face, alien and inscrutable and veiled in shadow. She probed him in the Force as she asked, "What do you know about my father's weakness?"

"I know he was prideful. And vindictive."

If anyone else said those words, even her uncle, she'd snap back. Instead she muttered, "He loved me."

"He had light and dark in him. So do we all. You've seen those parts, Empress, and you've always tried to keep balance. Even now."

She exhaled. "Is that what I'm doing here?"

"You wanted counsel," said K'Kruhk. "I'm only reminding you of what you've always been. And still are, no matter what you've lost."

The confidence he emanated twisted her heart. She didn't deserve that kind of trust. She'd failed too much already.

"What you deserve does not matter," the Jedi said. "Only what you do going forward."

She looked at him again. "Master Jedi, are you-"

"I see only with my eyes. I hear with my ears. But that is enough." His great, old body rose from the cushion. Standing before her he said, "Take as long as you need, Empress. You'll always be our guest here."

She watched him go and watched the door shut behind him, leaving her alone. Marasiah found she was trembling. Her chest tightened and she keeled froward, and her hands went to her face. Specks of wetness shone faintly on her palms. Tears, now of all places. She'd held them in since Antares' death because she'd needed to convince others that she was still strong, but mostly to convince herself. There was no one here to see her and she bent forward, rested face in hands, and finally let them come.

-{}-

Sepvis Ulahn, the Black Sun lieutenant in charge of security for the Vorzyd V casinos and beyond, was a stout middle-aged human, paunched and homely but well-dressed and accompanied at all times by at least two flesh-and-blood bodyguards. He moved freely among the casinos and was often seen on the gaming floors, which made him easy to track but more difficult to get access too.

Azlyn and Ganner took turns shadowing him all day. Because of her facial scars and breathing apparatus, the former was easier to spot and so she mostly roamed outside the casinos and mapped the terrain. To Ganner two things became clear. One was that he'd never get close enough to Ulahn to place the tiny tracking device he'd brought. The other was that if he shadowed the man much longer, his guards would notice and get suspicious.

It was getting dark when he withdrew from the Laughing Luxe and joined Azlyn on the wide promenade running down the middle of Casino Lane, walled on either side by towering buildings and garishly bright advertisements. It was likely Ulahn had a long night ahead of him, but the gangster had so far been using the main entrance when he visited casinos, and he'd be easy to spot when he moved next. They retreated to the speeder bikes they'd brought along from Coruscant, swift models used by Imperial scouts and spies. They split up and began flying inconspicuous loops up and down Casino Lane, one of them keeping an eye on the Laughing Luxe at all times.

Ulahn stayed there longer than at any of the other casinos, and Ganner was started to get weary when he finally disembarked. He went instantly alert when he saw the man and his bodyguards board an elegant and expensive open-topped speeder, take into the air, and begin moving away from Casino Lane.

They'd already decided a plan for tailing him. One hung behind him on speeder-bike while the other stayed ahead of Ulahn, and when the gangster took a sharp turn they swapped places so neither trailed him for too long. High buildings spread out on all sides of Casino Lane and it was like tailing a target through the skylanes of Coruscant, only here you could look down and see solid ground.

It looked like Ulahn was heading east for Old Bronzan, to his home or some other engagement. They made their move before he passed over the low-slung Warrens. Ganner was the tailer and when the path was clear he drew a long-barreled projectile rifle and gripped it in both hands. Looking through its night-vision scope he marked the bodyguard sitting behind Ulahn in the speeder's back seat.

"Azlyn, do you have the driver?"

"I've got him," her voice whispered in his ear.

"Three," he whispered, "Two, one. Mark!"

They fired at the same time, Ganner from behind and Azlyn from the flank. Each rifle propelled a single metal dart loaded with electric charge. Ganner's took his target at the base of the neck, was Azlyn's came in from the side and stabbed right beneath the collar. Both guards jerked for two seconds before going limp.

Ulahn, still in the back seat, immediately bent over to the driver's side and tried to grab hold of the controls. Before he could do anything Azlyn's bike crashed in from the side, knocking the speeder off-course and nearly tossing Ulahn out for a fifty-meter drop. Ganner slammed him from the other side and activated magnetic clamps built into his bike, locking him in place with Ulahn's speeder. The gangster drew a blaster and spun on Ganner first. Without fear or hesitation he lunged. The blaster went off in Ulahn's hand and Ganner felt the energy bolt skid across the armor on his flank without punching through. He tackled the man, threw him down onto the passenger's seat, and quickly wrenched the pistol from his hand. Ulahn tried to throw a punch but Ganner deflected it with his forearm, then whipped the gangster's forehead with his own gun.

By that time Azlyn had jumped into the speeder as well. Half-laying atop the slumped body of the driver she grabbed the controls and pushed them well of the skylanes. She nudged them toward the nearest skyscraper, now mostly dark for late evening, until they tapped against its vertical face.

"Who the kark are you? What do you want?" Uhlan hissed. He was still struggling against Ganner even though the stronger man had him pinned and both wrists in a vice-grip.

"Kagar Aynes. Bavinyar." Ganner leaned close. "That was you, wasn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. You bastard, do you know who I am?"

"That's why we're here," Azlyn said. "You sent him to kill the empress, didn't you?"

"I said I don't know-"

Ganner released his left wrist long enough to punch him in the stomach. The man retched and flailed out with his free hand but all he did was scrape Ganner's armored chest-plate. He punched the man again, in the face. Knuckled cracked on cheekbone; pain shot through his clenched fist but he didn't care. Pent-up anger found release and he punched the man again.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Uhlan hacked up flecks of blood and maybe a tooth. "What do you karking want from me? I'm a middleman!"

"It was your boss, wasn't it?" Ganner grabbed both his wrists again and squeezed them tight enough to hurt. "Pleshchai told you to set it up."

Uhlan's face contorted in pain but he managed to say, "I'm not gonna do something like that on my own. Whole plan was karking crazy! We should've never done it!"

The gangster's selfish regret made Ganner angrier. He released both wrists and punched the man in the face, one-two. Uhlan held up both hands to block the next blows but Ganner shifted to his stomach and punched him through his suit.

"Who are you people?" the gangster gasped. "What do you want?"

"Tell us about the Sith," Ganner snapped.

"Sith? What the hell are you talking about? I-"

Ganner couldn't take more obfuscations. He grabbed Ulahn by the collar of his overpriced suit, pulled him off the seat, and half-threw his body over the speeder's edge. Pinning the man's hips on the window-ledge, Ganner grabbed the back of his skull and pushed it down, forcing Ulahn to stare at the fifty-meter drop as his body hung close to tipping.

"Wait! Wait!" the man squawked. "I don't know any Sith! Pleshchai told me to do it, he didn't say why! He never says why! I just do what I'm told!"

Before Ganner could do say he felt Azlyn's hand hard on his shoulder. He looked back; her masked face shook furiously, telling him to hold off.

That wasn't good enough. This was their best chance to find the ones really responsible for Antares' death. Ganner slammed Uhlan's head forward and smashed his nose against the outside of the speeder's passenger door, breaking it and smearing blood across the glossy hull. He grabbed the gangster by the hair, pulled him shrieking back inside the speeder, and dropped him back on the passenger seat.

"I swear I don't know!" the man said through a mouthful of blood. "I never-"

Before Ganner knew what he was doing his hands were around Ulahn's neck. The blood-smeared face gasped for breath and he squeezed harder, savoring the ugly man's pain and the fragile feeling of his windpipe beneath overlapped palms. Finally Ganner was in control over something, finally he could give back some of the pain and helplessness he'd been given again and again by Havok and Pleshchai, by the Mandalorians who'd kidnapped him and Maladi who'd used him a tool to destroy everything he'd ever loved.

Suddenly Ganner was choking too. A metal-wrapped forearm pressed against his windpipe as Azlyn threw herself at him from behind. Tipping the whole weight of her body backward, she managed to pry him off the gangster.

His hands felt empty without something to crush between them. Ganner shirked her off, spun on her, but she grabbed both his fists before he could bring them down.

"Dammit, Ganner, stop! This isn't you!"

He couldn't see her eyes but the choking in her voice stopped him. He'd never given into his rage like that, not in his life. He looked at both fists and opened them. Fragile fingers trembled until he clenched them again.

"This is no good," she told him. "We can take him back to Coruscant. Maybe get something more out of him."

"He doesn't know about Havok."

"He knows something. It's the best proof we have. Let's get to the spaceport and-"

Suddenly laser blasts strafed above their heads. They threw themselves down on top of Uhlan's moaning form and watched a single airspeeder swoop down on them. Its searchlight blasted in their faces and voice called out, "Surrender now! Hands up!"

If these were Pleshchai's people, they were dead. Even local cops were probably in Black Sun's pocket. Ganner whispered to Azlyn, "Get the bike. Go."

"What about you?"

"I'll be right behind you."

"Ganner-"

"Go!" he shouted and reared to his feet, bringing Uhlan's blaster with him. As Azlyn threw herself onto the speeder bike and released the magnetic clamps, he fired madly at the speeder hovering above them. The response was a volley of laser blasts, one of which took him in the chest-plate and knocked all breath out of him.

Through the roaring in his ears Ganner heard Azlyn's bike whine to life. He felt for the handle to the passenger's door behind him, found it, and twisted. The door fell open and he fell further, plunging back-first into the night. As he dropped he instinctively searched for a calm center, and with it the Force he could use to slow his deadly fall.

But there was no Force, and no calm either. He felt a long moment of mindless panic as Ulahn's speeder shrunk to a tiny black box high above him, and it seemed ridiculous that this would be his final sight before oblivion.

Then something slammed into him, hard. Ganner felt pain explode in his side as he knocked against Azlyn's bike. She reached out and briefly grasped his hand at the wrist, nearly stopping his fall, but his weight was too much for her and he slipped from her grasp.

Ganner fell again. His body was angled almost upright now and he looked down to the ground just before he met it. His left foot impacted first and he heard bone shatter right before blinding pain took him. He was only vaguely aware as Azlyn pulled him onto the saddle of her speeder bike.

"Just hold on," she told him as she kicked the vehicle to motion, "We're getting the hell out of here."

He barely heard her, but he sensed that they were getting clear from danger. That was good, but he felt neither relief nor anything besides raw, brutal pain.

-{}-

When Havok reported his discovery to Nihl, the Dark Lord was just as stunned, and just as certain that they needed to get to the bottom of Saarai's intentions on Coruscant. In truth they knew little about the young Chagrian. Darth Wyyrlok had trained her entirely by himself, and they had to assume she'd have learned her traitorous father's ability to manipulate and scheme.

Therefore, Havok had tasked his spies to follow her relentlessly. After several days the results were inconclusive. While Porat Derrol spent his time in the senate hall, his wife remained almost entirely in their apartment. She received several visitors per day, and while not all their identities had been verified, they seemed to be associated with other senators from the Alliance bloc, like the Senex sector's Nelloran and Bormea sector's Kaige. As yet, they'd been unable to tap into the apartment's communication line, but Havok doubted whether anything important passed through unencrypted. Whatever else Saarai was, she'd be careful.

From the limited information they could gather, the Sith appeared to be fervently working behind-the-scenes to advance her husband's career and political causes. Havok knew there had to be more than that, but he saw no way to learn what.

After several days' indecision Havok knew he had to act. He'd become so used to Sith subterfuge that he didn't immediately consider a frontal approach. Once it seemed the best option, he mentally mapped several strategies before deciding on one that properly balanced truth and deceit.

Thus, when his spies told him that Derrol was leaving the senate building for home, Havok approached the apartment building in his speeder bike. Scouting the area with his macrobinoculars, he confirmed that the security operative staffing the parking garage at the tower's base was a mere droid, and so he'd affixed a high-grade sensor-scrambler to his bike that would cause the guard's photoreceptors to burst to static as long as he was within a twenty-meter range. If he'd had the Force Havok could have obtained the same effect, but mere technology sufficed.

Havok slipped his bike inside the garage without any problem and parked it in a shadowed corner. He stayed there and watched as several more speeders slipped through the ferrocrete maw after flashing identification for the guard droid. He waited until the speeder he'd marked as Derrol's slipped through the gate, climbed up one level, and came to rest in its parking spot.

When the senator stepped out of his speeder and started for the entrance to the apartment complex, he jerked in visible shock at the sight before him: a middle-aged Iktotchi dressed in dour brown Jedi robes with a lightsaber dangling from his belt. Havok held his hands palms-out and unthreatening.

"Who are you?" Derrol hissed. His hands were frozen at his sides and he didn't seem poised to grab a weapon.

"I'm sorry if I surprised you, Senator." Havok did his best to affect a Jedi's manner, aloof and slightly indignant at being seen as a threat. "I'm Ektar Laes."

The senator's eyes darted to the lightsaber. "You're a Jedi? Really?"

Havok gave a benign smile and folded his hands over his stomach. "The Temple sent me to speak with you in private."

"You could have come to my office."

"I think you'll appreciate that this conversation is off-the-record."

"So you ambush me here? How'd you get past security?"

"Even without the Force, we have tools."

Derrol remained tense. "Make your point now, Jedi, or I will call security."

"Of course." The sound of another speeder coming in to park echoed through the garage. As it settled into a different aisle Havok stepped close and said, "I'm come to talk about your wife."

"What about my wife?"

"I'd like you to tell me what you know about her. Specifically, her life before the end of the war."

"Saarai was an orphan and a refugee. She's made no secret of that." He guarded his expression well. The Force would have revealed more, but Havok had to make do.

"How did you meet her?"

"After the war I volunteered for refugee relief programs. She was in one of the camps on Paqualis III."

"And she told you about her life early on?"

"Somewhat. She told me more after we'd become… involved. Master Jedi, what are you getting at?"

"Have you ever tried to verify her backstory? Locate any relatives she might have left?"

"No. Her entire family was wiped out by the Sith. She'd been on her own for some time and was looking to start a new life. Unless you're suggesting something different."

Havok felt a small flush of admiration. If Saarai really had told Derrol these things, she'd said the truth in every word. "I think, Senator, she only told you what she needed you to hear."

His face screwed tight. "Master Jedi, get to the point or I'll call security right now."

"Very well." Havok gave a regretful sigh. "Senator, since the end of the war I've been working with other Jedi and Federation intelligence to track the remaining Sith in the galaxy. As you know they've gone to ground and come have become very adept at hiding themselves."

"Are you telling me my wife is a Sith?" He looked appalled and incredulous, the way any honest husband would.

"Not just any Sith. We believe she's the daughter of Darth Krayt's right hand, Darth Wyyrlok. She would have received the best training the Sith could offer. Even without the Force she must be extremely dangerous, and there's no telling how much communication she's had with the other Sith."

"This is absurd." Derrol scowled. "What did I do to the Jedi that you'd come here and impugn my wife? If this is about Bavinyar I swear to everything holy I had nothing to do with it. I've said that over and over."

He was getting angry and his voice carried in the echoing garage. Havok heard the slam of a speeder door and saw several humans emerge from a parked vehicle.

When they glanced in his direction he quickly turned his back to them and told Derrol, "The Jedi Council takes this matter extremely seriously. We came here to help you, Senator. We can take care of this before it become a scandal."

"My wife is not a Sith."

"Senator, when Darth Maladi's virus spread across Coruscant eight months ago, did Saarai show any reaction? Typically Force-users suffered a few hours of mild fever before losing connection with the Force. After that, her behavior might have changed. Do you remember her acting usually around that time?

His stern expression faltered. "I… I'm not sure. Perhaps."

"Every night you spend with her is a danger. If you'd allow me to go up there with you now-"

"No. Absolutely not."

He'd expected the senator to be resolute and had planned several contingencies. One way or another, he'd flush Saarai into the open and see what came of it.

"I understand if this is a shock," he said, "And you'll want time to consider. I came here to tell you because you have to know. When you're ready to talk- as early as tomorrow, ask to see Ahn Rasi Tuum from the Jedi Council. Tell him everything I've said about your wife. He'll know what to do." Niin's sources had told him the Cathar master was in charge of the Jedi's Sith-hunting efforts.

Derrol was still wary. "You could still be wrong about this."

"I wish I were. Senator, you can't let her even think you suspect. She's a Sith. She'll kill you at the first sign her cover's blown."

The Chagrian exhaled; the weight of the revelation was pressing down on him. He turned from Havok and bent over the edge of his speeder, hands against the frame.

"I've known her for almost three years," he said softly, as though to himself. "I loved her since the first time we met. I never imagined she could be a… a Sith."

"Her kind are insidious. They hide everywhere and strike us where we hurt most."

Derrol's horned heard bent low. Quietly he said, "Master Jedi, I have to tell you something."

Havok stepped so close he could breathe on the Chagrian's neck. "Anything. I'm here to help."

The senator straightened and stood so his face was inches away. Something small and hard jabbed Havok in the stomach and Derrol snarled, "I know exactly what my wife is."

With its muzzle pressed into cloth and flesh, the little hold-out pistol barely made a sound as it went off. Havok gasped for breath as red agony spread out from his stomach across his body. One hand groped for his lightsaber but Derrol grabbed it away. As Havok stumbled back, both hands now on his scorched side, the senator tracked him with the blaster.

"You're not even a Jedi, are you? You're a Sith. She said they'd come for her one day."

This couldn't be happening. Havok's head swam; he was dimly aware that if Derrol had kept a bigger blaster he'd be dead already. The slam of another speeder door echoed through the garage and distracted the senator for just a second. Havok turned and ran.

He half-sprinted, half-staggered, both hands on his side like they were the only things holding in his gut. He barely noticed two pedestrians as he lurched past. Someone- maybe them, maybe Derrol- called for security. He ran back to his waiting speeder bike, threw himself on, and kicked it to motion. The thing nearly careered off a wall before he wrestled it under submission and sped for the garage's exit.

He was on the ferrocrete portal in seconds. As Coruscant's night beckoned outside two laser lasts whipped just over his head. A third caught his bike in the flank. The small vehicle couldn't take that kind of damage; as soon as Havok shot out of the garage the bike's repulsors started to fail. He tried to kick in engines but the whole thing shuddered. He was falling fast out of the sky, down into Coruscant's bottomless canyons. If he'd had the Force he would have stifled the pain and lifted himself into the sky but he had nothing except a broken body and a broken bike. Havok saw an empty ledge jutting out into the canyon and aimed for it. His elevation kept dropping and he thought he'd smashed face-first into the building-side instead, but the repulsors sputtered just enough to buck him up onto the ledge.

The bike went skidding across the catwalk in a shower of sparks. Metal screamed against metal, twisted, and tore off in scraps. Havok was thrown and landed on his shoulder hard enough to break it. His body twisted and rolled side-over-side across the catwalk until, finally, it stopped.

Panting, dazed, nearly blinded with pain for two severe injuries, Havok rolled onto his back. Coruscant soared above him, but none of the light tracing lines high above dropped down onto him. No one was after him, not yet, but they would be. He reached into his faux-Jedi robes for his comlink and found only cloth. With his one good hand he groped around for it but it was not there. No comlink, no blaster, no lightsaber; all he had were his damned binoculars. Havok couldn't call for help now; he only prayed the comm had fallen into the canyon and not in the garage, where it would be found and examined.

The only thing worse than raw pain was the shame of being so utterly outplayed. Leaning against the building wall for stead, Havok rose to his feet. Pain from his side spread out through his body and threatened to drop him into unconsciousness but he clung stubbornly to awareness. He had to hide. He had to heal. He had to get in contact with his people.

He had to survive. He didn't know how he could accomplish that without his tools, but he had to try. Fighting back pain and shame alike, Darth Havok staggered deeper into the shadows.