By now, Clara was getting sick of unwelcome surprises: coming home to find her husband dead, being chased by a crazed bounty hunter...

And now being dragged, mouth gagged by a hand, back up Market Street by a mysterious man who had walked in and grabbed her soon after Cinnigis had gone out after Michael. She had no idea who he was, and she had never seen him before anywhere. So those were the first questions running through her mind as he pulled her past the shops along Market Street, not talking and walking rather quickly.

Finally, after they were deep into the confusing crowd that was still present in the street, he stopped and released her.

Clara whirled around and started attacking him, arms flailing. "Get–away from me!" But he easily caught them in only a few seconds, and held her at bay; again.

"Calm down Mrs. Thompson," the man said calmly, his deep brown eyes staring mildly into hers, jet-black hair blowing peacefully in the cool wind. "I am—"

"Help!" Clara cried as her arms continued to be restrained. But no one came to her rescue.

"They won't help you."

"You don't know that! Help!" she tried again. But again, no one came. Not even Michael, who there was absolutely no sign of.

"Yes I do, Mrs. Thompson. I am Agent #10 of Rebel Alliance Intelligence," he said.

Clara suddenly stopped struggling and finally looked the man in his eyes. They betrayed no lies, gave her nothing false.

Still gripping her wrists, the man continued. "I was sent here to make contact with Mr. Morano, and escort him back to the Alliance."

Clara wretched her hands free, finally. "Then why do you have me?" She jerked her head towards the end tavern. "He's back there."

"I know. I came to you because I don't want you to die, Mrs. Thompson."

She took a step back from him and blinked. "What?"

"The Empire is hunting Morano. Cinnigis contacted them before he came here–we intercepted his transmission–so he'd get his pay fast. Which means that the Empire is on its way right now, Mrs. Thompson."

Clara didn't know what to say. Her mouth just opened and closed, with no sound coming out.

The Agent clasped his hands in front of him. "It won't take them long to figure out what happened to Cinnigis. And then they'll come after you. For housing an Alliance spy for a night."

"I didn't want to!" Clara stepped forward. "I didn't want to at all. I don't want to get involved in this war..." The sobs started coming back. "It was my husband..." the tears clouded her vision again.

"It's okay, Mrs. Thompson. I know. And I'm sorry about your husbands murder. If you want, I can have the Alliance compensate you in whatever way you'd like."

"Compensate?" Clara almost laughed. "My husband—is dead." She stopped to breath.

"I know, Mrs. Thompson, and again I'm sorry."

"And I don't want any compensation from the Rebel Alliance!" she snapped. "It's your fault he's dead! Michael was followed!"

"Morano isn't affiliated directly with the Alliance. He's a free lance infiltrator we hired for a specific job."

"He's still working for you, though!"

"Yes, but he didn't murder your husband. Cinnigis did. He didn't mean for your husband to be murdered, so you can't blame the Alliance for what happened. It was Morano's choice to go to you, not ours."

Clara just gave him a furious look and didn't say anything.

"You don't have time to argue with me Mrs. Thompson. The Empire's on its way. I suggest you leave this planet as soon as you possibly can." He stepped closer to her. "It's a little early to say this, but welcome to the Rebel Alliance." He stuck out his hand in anticipation of a shake.

Clara didn't give it to him, just stared at him like he was insane.

He simply stared back, then dropped his hand, and proceeded back down Market Street. "Good luck Mrs. Thompson."

"Wait!" Clara called after him. "I have no place to go! That was the whole reason me and Lionel moved out here, so we wouldn't have to go anywhere!"

He turned his head back to her as he walked. "I just gave you someplace to go! You have the transponder code to one of our cruisers! Go there!"

"Wait, what?!" Clara called, puzzled. "No I don't! What are you talking about?!"

The Agent stopped. "Bryan Rawling sent you a transponder code to one of our cruisers at your wedding, probably if you ever needed help you could call him. He sent the code inside..." he stopped in thought. "Inside what I believe was a goldfish?"

Clara just stood and stared at him for a moment, trying to grasp and make sense of what he just said. It didn't take her long though, until she knew what he was talking about. When she figured that out, she turned her back to him and started farther up Market Street, turning right when she reached Bates Street. She was heading for her house again.

Bryan Rawling had been a high school classmate and childhood friend of Clara who she thought she'd never see again after they graduated. However, she was proven wrong when he showed up as Lionel's college roommate–a shock to Clara when she found out. The two, Lionel and Bryan, were roommates for two years, and were, according to Lionel, "the best actin' duo on the campus." Clara had been to a number of improvisation shows starring Bryan and Lionel, and she had to admit, the two had worked very well together in their time. Lionel had invited Bryan to their wedding–rumor was he even offered him the best man spot–but he wasn't able to come because of his duties to the Alliance. So he just sent the two his gift, a lovely set of duranium dishes and crystal glasses. But he also sent Clara a personal gift, a five inch tall goldfish. It was meant as a joke pertaining to an event that had happened when they were in middle school. The goldfish had come with a note from Bryan, reminding them that if the they ever needed a place to go, he'd be there to help. A nice gesture, if not a strange one coming from a Rebel Alliance officer. And now that she remembered, the goldfish was hollow and its mouth was open; wide enough for something to fit inside.

So Clara bolted up Bates Street as fast as she could. She came in through the front of the house again, staring ahead the whole time, holding her breath because of the smell of blood from Lionel's body. Luckily, the path up to her room didn't involve going into the living room.

Clara found the goldfish exactly where she had left it; exactly where it had been since they'd moved here. She kept it as a decoration on top of her bureau. And there it stood, on its stand, mouth open. She grabbed it, flipped it upside down, and shook it furiously. Nothing came out. But when she looked at it again, she saw the folded edge of a small piece of paper braced against the open mouth. Sighing in relief, she placed the ends of her fingers on it and pulled it out and opened it.

And there was the code, in Bryan's ridiculous handwriting. Frequency 12.13; 866325 Blue. The transponder code for the Cruiser Faith.

God bless you, Bryan, she thought as she made her way to the nearest commercial comlink she had in the house. She entered the code, and five minutes later, after an argument with the Faith's Captain, spoke to her old friend once again. She told him everything that had happened, managing not to cry this time. He told her what to do, and an hour later she was blasting away from Sudia in the Irish Charm, the ship that Lionel had bought before their wedding.

Two days later she landed inside the hangar of the Alliance Frigate Salvation.

Three weeks later she enrolled in the Pilot Training Program on the Peace.

Two and-a-half months later she flew her first mission as a pilot.

Three-and-a-half years later she became certified to fly a B-Wing.

Four-and-a-half years later she was transferred to the Cruiser Harvester.

Five-and-one-quarter years later she destroyed the Empire's superweapon, the Punisher.

Six years later she was promoted to Colonel.

And all the while, she never forgot a single instance of the event that changed her life forever. Clara loved the Alliance, but would give it all up if Lionel could've come back to life.