At What Price

Part three

It was late evening and raining again when Han and Chewbacca returned to the cantina. They entered together, Han first with Chewbacca at his back. They paused briefly at the door as Han shrugged water from his clothing and swept back his soaking hair. The cantina was packed with customers - Han guessed the bad weather was helping business - and he and Chewbacca had to push through the throng of peoples and servodroids to get to the bar. Squeezing in between two Yak Faces, Han raised a hand to attract the bartender. It took a while, but at last the small man approached him.

"What'll it be, Spacer?"

"Uh, give me a Spasch, heavy on the herbs." He glanced back at Chewie, who growled his order to Han. "My partner will have a Trarse hops beer, and it had better be hot!"

The little man grimaced with disgust.

Han shrugged. "That's how he likes it."

The bartender glanced up at the Wookiee. "And who am I to argue, sir."

Han watched the man make up their order as he delved into his pocket for some cash. "Do you take the table reservations?" He asked casually.

"Nah. That's Taset's jurisdiction. Likes to deal with that himself, if you know what I mean." He placed the drinks upon the counter and explained himself. "He likes to keep an eye on all the proceedings."

Han nodded with understanding and passed Chewie his steaming mug of beer. He sipped at his own glass of spirits and paid the man. "This Taset, is he the owner?"

"Huh, uh " There was a nod of affirmation.

"Where can I find him?"

The bar man pointed to the back of the cantina. "In back, with the stores."

"Thanks."

Han motioned to Chewbacca to follow and, carrying their drinks, they both followed the barkeep's directions and slipped into the back store room. It was packed with barrels, cases, kegs and shelves of food. He could see no one. "Watch the door, Chewie." he whispered, as he walked further into the room. "Hello!" He called.

"Yes?" A voice responded.

"I'm looking for Taset," Han explained as he walked around a large, neat pile of cases looking for the speaker. "I was told I'd find him here."

"You have found him."

Han spun on his heels to find the cantina's owner crouching by a barrel of beer. He was a Xalan Plainsman; one who had obviously given up the nomadic life long ago. He was tall, like all the plains people, but he sported a paunch which was more common to indulgent humans than the wiry nomads. He had wispy white hair and two orange eyes. His skin was the colour of Saffron.

"You are wondering why a Plainsman is owner of a city bar?" His voice was gravely with a peculiar hollow tone.

Han nodded. "The question did cross my mind."

Taset smiled, displaying his sharp carnivore teeth. "I won the bar from it's previous owner when he lost a hunt, and I decided to keep it."

"What happened to him?" Han asked remembering the stories he had heard about the Plainsmen and their gambling hunts. Apparently the bet can only be between two beings, one is the hunter, the other the hunted. If the hunted can reach a certain marker some distance away he wins. If the hunter catches the hunted then it is he who wins. Many of those hunted are never heard from again.

Taset laughed heartily. "I ate him. Human flesh is so very tender."

"That sounded like a threat," Han responded. There came a low growled warning from behind him.

"It was not intended to be one. I would not have much custom if I ate my patrons," he shrugged, glancing at Chewbacca. "That a side, Wookiee meat is too tough for my palate." He snorted laughter.

Chewbacca howled from the door.

"It's okay Chewie," Han hastily assured him. "I think he was joking."

Taset stood and wiped his hands on his apron. "What can I do for you Corellian?"

"I was told you take the table reservations."

"Yes." He turned and walked towards the back of the room, where Han saw a large desk placed before a wall of shelves. Taset seated himself pulling a computer ledger towards him. "Which night do you require?"

Han sipped at his drink. "I'm not here for a reservation. I want to ask you about this afternoon and the table under the tapestry. Who booked it and why?"

Han was sure he saw a flicker of fear cross the Xalan's features, but when he answered, his voice was as firm as ever.

"I do not keep records." He switched the computer off. "My customers require privacy." Taset rose from the desk. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do."

"I'm sure you do," Han agreed, steadily" But I'm also sure your memory stretches back a few hours. "

Taset looked closer at Han as though he was altering his first impressions of the spacer. "Now, that sounded like a threat."

"It wasn't intentional," Han told him a wry smile on his lips. "I just want to know who reserved the table. I can offer a little incentive."

Taset looked on in interest as Han withdrew a sum of money from his pocket and counted out what he considered an appropriate amount.

The bar owner licked his lips. "The table under the tapestry. Yes?"

"Yes." Han echoed the word as he placed the money on top of the desk.

Taset appeared to be weighing things in his mind. The money had touched his greed, but there was still hesitancy. Han assumed his customers could rely on total privacy and if it got out he had given information it may damage his reputation, if not his life. Han placed down more money.

"It was booked by a Major Yavaire." Taset's hand darted out to the pile of cash.

Han caught the Plainsman's wrist before his fist could close over the money. "Why?"

"For one of his deals, but the party did not arrive."

"What was the deal?"

Taset withdrew his hand and stared at Han, the fear had returned to his eyes. "Who are you?" He glanced over at the Wookiee. "Are you Security? You are police?"

Han knew he was onto something here. "Why?" He pressed. "Why are you asking? What was the deal?"

"I do not know," Taset told him retreating further. "I only take the reservations."

Han placed down more money. "I think you do know."

Taset licked his lips again, torn between fear and greed. "If I said...if I told...my life would be..."

More money.

"Arms," He blurted. "Weapons."

"For who?" Han barked, hearing Chewbacca move closer to help with the intimidation.

"Anyone with money!"

Han looked doubtful for a second. A crooked Imperial Officer certainly was no real surprise, but the Princess and the kid, not to leave out himself and Chewie, would be a good catch for this Major. Was their capture his real intention? Thinking quickly Han picked up the money pile and handed it to Taset. "There'll be more if you reserve that table for fifteen hundred hours tomorrow, and tell this Major to be there"

"Who… Who shall I say, sir?" Taset was relieved to have the money, but still extremely nervous and fearful.

Han smiled. "I'm sure you'll tell him a little of this conversation. Let him work it out." He threw the remainder of his drink down his throat and placed his glass down upon the desk. He turned, with Chewbacca, to leave.

"You are not security?" Taset asked at his back.

Han opened his mouth to answer then closed it with a smile. He glanced to his partner then turned to the bar owner, he tapped his nose and smiled. "That would be telling."

They stepped back into the busy bar room and disappeared into the crowd. Taset breathed a sigh of relief, tucked the money away in his desk and locked the drawer. He turned as the shelves at his back moved aside and another entered the room.

"A nice little profit, Taset." The voice was low and soft.

Taset turned to his companion. "I earned it, Itael."

"Yes," the word was hissed, and followed by dry sarcasm. "Though the Corellian helped by being predictable. Yavaire will be relived."

"Who is he?" Taset asked, looking in the direction of the bar.

Itael laughed showing his wide, toothless mouth. "You worry too much about General D'anti, Plainsman. He is Yavaire's contact, the Rebel negotiator." He turned his black eyes upon the bar owner. "I shall tell the Major his deal is back on before he gives our little hostage to Security."

"Hostage?" Taset asked in curiosity.

Itael's mouth twisted into a grimace of disgust. "The Corellian's young companion," he started toward the door, his scales shifting colours in the dim light from the bar room. "See to the table, Taset."

Alone once more, Taset opened his desk drawer and withdrew the money. He smiled and started counting.

Luke was hungry and thirsty. He had slept badly, tossing and turning on the old sagging sofa that poked at him with its protruding springs and broken frame. He felt grimy and sore. His muscles were stiff and his head was starting to ache. He was beginning to feel more than a little scared. If he had judged the Xalan sun correctly it was now just after midday and he had neither seen nor heard from Rogan D'anti. He couldn't quite understand why the boy had locked him here, couldn't see why Rogan should save him from the Imperials just to hold him prisoner, and how did Rogan know who he was? It was only days after his departure from Tatooine and the subsequent events and, although he was aware that the Empire probably knew him by now, surely they had not circulated his I.D. around the Galaxy. After all he was only one Rebel pilot out of many.

"It's not every day you get to see the Rebel Princess and her Jedi Knight rescuer."

Rogan's words from the previous day returned to him and Luke shifted upon the sofa attempting to find a more comfortable position. What did he mean? Luke wasn't a Jedi, although he carried a lightsaber, and he couldn't see how he could become a Jedi now Ben Kenobi was dead. Besides Han had forbidden him to wear the 'saber during the trip afraid it would draw attention to them. Could the boy possibly know of the events on board the Death Star? If so, how did he come by the information? The Empire, during the last few days had covered up the loss of their battle station, had even denied it had ever existed, putting the story down to the fanatical rebels having over active imaginations. As for Alderaan - that had been a natural disaster.

The only way Rogan could know of Luke and the events on board the Death star was if the boy was an Imperial. If that was the case, then why did he try to save both himself and Leia from the Stormtrooper patrols, and why was he not locked up in some cell next to Leia, or dead? Perhaps his earlier assumption that Rogan was a bounty hunter was the correct one?

Luke rose from the settee and stretched and yawned. He glanced over at the window but decided against staring out at the street's day time activities: he had already spent several hours sitting on the sill staring at the crystal towers in the distance. The day beyond the room looked bright and warm, a sharp contrast to the previous day's rain.

The door behind him slid open.

Startled, Luke turned on his heels and saw an armed Rogan D'anti enter his musty prison. The boy was dressed in the black uniform of Imperial Security. That was one question answered.

The door closed behind the youth. "You don't look too surprised," Rogan told him, as he crossed the room to the sofa and sat down.

"I've had plenty of time to figure out what you were," Luke told him watching the boy's pistol, his mouth more than a little dry, wondering how dangerous his situation really was. "I just don't understand why you saved me from your own people."

Rogan smiled pleasantly at Luke. "You, my friend, are our security. We really wanted the Princess, but you'll do for our purposes."

"Security for what?" Luke asked, more perplexed than ever. "You already have Leia!"

"No, we don't have your Princess. Security has her..."

"But you..." Luke began gesturing at the boy's dress.

Rogan grimaced, it was the first childish action Luke had seen from the youth. "My father insists I wear this. I have to follow the family tradition and..." He stopped abruptly, realizing he was telling his prisoner more than he wanted. He sneered with self sarcasm and placed his hand into his pocket. He drew out a small carton of water and threw it to Luke, who caught it. "We don't know how long we'll have to keep you here," he told him. "And we don't want you drying out. He rose to leave.

"Wait!" Luke called.

Rogan turned and it was then Luke felt the most peculiar sensation. It seemed to undulate through him in chilled waves, his skin tingled and goose bumps rose on his arms. His head began to ache and nausea rose in his throat.

"What?" Rogan barked impatiently.

Luke was confused for a moment. He stared at the boy, past him, then at the door, and the feeling began to fade. Whatever had been there, it was passing, though it left a dull throb in his temples. He found his voice. "Security for what?"

"A little deal we have going with a certain smuggler turned Rebel," Rogan answered. Apparently he hadn't noticed Luke's momentary illness and confusion. He enjoyed the look of surprise which spread over Luke's features. "You are our insurance that the deal will go as planned."

"And Leia?" Luke asked. "Where is she?"

Rogan shrugged. "My father has her." He stared at Luke appearing to consider something. "The meet's been re-scheduled for tomorrow." He told Luke, then he knocked on the door and the portal opened.

Luke glimpsed shadows in the corridor beyond, and that same strange feeling flooded him. He felt the nausea build as Rogan left him alone once more. The door closed and the sickness receded. He glanced at the water carton in his hand and his stomach tumbled.

He sat on the windowsill, peeled open the carton and took a drink, savouring the sweetness of the liquid on his tongue as he pondered his situation and that sudden sick feeling which had come and gone so quickly. Had it been a physical manifestation of his fear? If so, why had it corresponded so strongly with the opening and closing of the door?

Someone was out there, Luke.

The thought came from no-where. He had been trying to think rationally, trying to explain the sensation away with the logical reasoning of a farmer, but he had been wrong and had corrected himself. Someone had been there, someone who had triggered his barely realised Force talents and he was suddenly reminded of Ben and his death only a few short days ago. Reminded that Ben had told him so little, had shown him so little, had left him with so little, save a few kind words of encouragement. Rogan had called him a Jedi Knight… how wrong the boy was.

Who was this other 'person'? Was this the one for whom Rogan was working? Why had he stayed hidden, lurking in the shadows of the corridor? Was he still out there somewhere watching this room? And then came another thought: even if the deal went in Rogan's favour, would he be released? Rogan had shown himself to be with Imperial Security, but was obviously working for some shady dealer. If Luke was to be freed, Rogan and his mysterious companion may view him as a liability, a threat to their double dealing.

With an awful awareness Luke realised his fate was already sealed; he was an expendable pawn to these people, his life meant nothing, the money Han was given by the Alliance meant everything. His throat clogged with the thought and he set aside the water carton, scanning the room in another futile effort to find a means of escape.

"Think!" He told himself firmly, desperately. "Think."

"You see, Itael? He poses no threat to you." Major Yavaire cheerfully told the creature. "Skywalker is an untrained child. " The officer glanced at Rogan as the boy closed the door behind them. They were in a room across the hall from Luke's prison in the shabby building they used as a base. "Why," Yavaire continued. "Even young D'anti here could best him."

"He knew I was there," Itael told the major, his scales shifting hues with his unease.

"Nonsense!" Yavaire barked, tiring of Itael's complaints. The creature was unsettled by their captive. He did not fear the Rebel, but was merely disgusted by his existence. The Jedi offended the being's sensibilities. Itael viewed them as aberrations of nature, a threat to his existence; the Jedi were, he claimed, the only beings who could sense the Y'iami. Yavaire chuckled silently to himself, he knew of many who would view the few remaining Y'iami in a similar light.

"He must die, Yavaire," Itael warned the Imperial.

"We need him," Yavaire responded, dismissing Itael's Jedi-phobia.

"I should get back," Rogan broke in before Itael could continue. "My father will be expecting me."

The Major smiled at the youth. "Of course, daddy is waiting." There was sarcasm in his voice, then distrust. "What does he know of these events, Rogan?"

"Nothing," Rogan assured him.

"He has the Princess Leia Organa in his detention centre and he suspects nothing? I find that hard to believe. "

Rogan took a step back as his spine bristled. "I meant he doesn't know about you or the deal. But he's asking questions, and it's getting difficult keeping him off." It was getting difficult to keep Yavaire off, too.

Itael put himself between Rogan and the door as the Major stepped closer to the boy.

"Keep him off, Rogan." Yavaire warned. "Too much is riding on this deal for your father to sniff us out."

"I know," D'anti answered, glancing at Itael behind him and at Yavaire. "I know what's at stake here."

Itael placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. Rogan winced as the creature's claws pierced the cloth of his uniform. "You have already altered our intentions, Rogan. Do not make any more mistakes. "The being reminded him, digging deeper.

Rogan nodded in swift agreement, feeling blood swell from his shoulder. "I won't."

"Let the boy go, Itael. He hasn't failed us yet."

Itael released Rogan and moved back from the door. With his hand moving to his shoulder Rogan glanced at Yavaire, his eyes pained, his face flushed. Without saying more, the boy left the room.

"That was unnecessary," Yavaire told his companion.

Itael laughed, it was a rough, unpleasant sound. "You don't see him do you? He needed to be reminded. "

Rogan's body sagged in the corridor as the pain from his shoulder shot through his left arm. Itael's claws had bitten deep into his flesh; the wounds they had left would provide scars to remind Rogan of the agreement he had with Yavaire and the Y'iami. That had been the creature's intention. Did Itael suspect? Did the creature have some way of telling what he was doing, of the plans he had made, of the freedom he sought from both his father's and Yavaire's services?

He had absconded from his father's care the previous year, had fled from the man's authority and principles. But he had found that life on the run, life on the streets of a large city was hazardous and frightening. Yet, he watched and learned. He picked up pilfering skills and for five months he lived on his wits and for the moment.

However, he had been caught as he attempted to lift the fat purse of a tourist and was turned over to Yavaire's care. He was not taken into custody, instead he was taken to a shabby, dilapidated building and locked into a room with only a collapsing sofa to sleep upon. There he learned of the Major's arms trading, there he had learned of the major's delight at finding "D'anti's little turn-coat," there he was offered freedom from his father and had accepted almost immediately; the seeds of escape already planted.

"Your father is searching the entire region for you." Yavaire told the tired, dirty youth who sat forlornly on the broken soda. "He must care very deeply for you."

There was a course, hollow laugh from the creature who accompanied the major.

Rogan shivered at the sound and at the major's sarcasm. He said nothing.

Yavaire smiled, enjoying himself at Rogan's expense. "But then, the general's never been one for the weaker emotions," he paused, seeming to weigh up the boy's strengths and vulnerabilities. "I could give you back, and enjoy D'anti's thanks. Or I could have more fun and offer you a position along with Itael on my staff."

Rogan glanced at Yavaire's companion as the creature hissed his displeasure.

"I don't need a child, Yavaire," Itael's voice was a warning. "He will complicate matters."

"Nonsense!" the Imperial countered. "Rogan here could be of benefit to us, and we could be of benefit to him." He turned back to the frightened youth. "Think it over, little turncoat. Your father, or me."

Rogan chose neither, but allowed Yavaire to believe otherwise. He was taught further skills, introduced to Yavaire's many streets contacts, given as much freedom as his new master would allow. He learned swiftly and earned trust - only Itael seemed to doubt him, and seemed to watch him closely. Rogan knew, when the time came, he would have to find a way to distract the Y'iami.

Once Yavaire was satisfied Rogan had learned sufficiently he sent the boy home.

Leia was ushered into the plushly furnished office by her two escorts. Before her was an antique wooden desk with leather surface, a top of the line computer system was discreetly built into the wood. There was the obligatory drinks cabinet holding only the most expensive brands, an area set aside with comfortable chairs and holo-system for relaxation. Pieces of art littered the room in no clear arrangement or order. Leia concluded they had been placed in the office more for effect than appreciation.

The room was bright, lit by the wide window which took up most of the opposite wall. The view was spectacular. The city's crystal towers, though several miles away, were huge, thrusting up from the city into the clear blue sky. The sunlight, reflected from the crystal surfaces, cast wild colours which played over city's structures.

The office looked as though it belonged to a successful business man and not a military officer. However, at the drinks cabinet, pouring himself a tumbler full, stood a black uniform clad Lieutenant-General. He sipped at his glass and turned to regard his prisoner.

Leia took the opportunity to do likewise. He was of medium build, though stocky. His military styled black hair was touched with a sprinkling of grey. His blue eyes were hard, his jaw line firm. Combining his physical appearance with the opulence in the office, Leia surmised he was either born into riches or used his position to satisfy his materialistic yearnings.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Highness." His voice was refined, cultured, but Leia detected a subtle edge to his accent which spoke of a lower class. This man surrounded himself with riches, had worked hard to hide his origins; that made him ambitious and dangerous. "Won't you please take a seat?" He waved away the two guards who had accompanied Leia.

"You have me at a loss, General, " Leia responded as she lowered herself into the chair he indicated. He sat himself opposite.

"D'anti," he answered, easily. "Imperial Security."

Leia smiled without humour. "Secret Police."

D'anti chuckled. "Call it what you will." He took another drink, staring at the princess over the rim of his glass. He placed the glass down before he spoke. "Your young friend is also in Imperial care."

Leia started. He could only mean Luke.

"Alas," he continued smiling, enjoying Leia's reaction. "He is not in my care. Though, if I understand his situation, his life is in more danger with Major Yavaire, than yours is with me."

"I'm not sure I understand you, General, " Leia spoke evenly, carefully, trying to assess what D'anti was after.

"He is a pawn, Princess. His life is held to ransom. If Yavaire does not get what he wants, the boy dies. "He was watching Leia closely.

"What does he want?" Leia asked, wondering all the while what D'anti himself wanted.

"His life. His freedom. And the means to an easy life. "

He lifted his glass once more and turned it in his hands, watching the clear ochre spirit swirl around. He looked lost to his own thoughts. "I mean to deprive him of all three."

"What has this to do with me?"

Leia's question seemed to startle him. He glanced up then threw the remaining liquid down his throat. "Tell me about your Corellian, tell me about the deal. What is Yavaire offering?"

And Leia suddenly realized this Imperial knew more about the arms deal than she did. If what D'anti was saying was correct then Han's contact was an Imperial soldier! Not wishing the general to know he had an advantage on her, she answered, "I can't."

D'anti smiled, then laughed softly. "Of course you can't. You need to protect your Rebel Alliance. "He rose and returned to the drinks cabinet. There was a brief pause as he poured himself another drink. He glanced over at the Princess and lifted the decanter. "May I tempt you with a measure, Your Highness?"

Leia shook her head. "No, thank you, General."

He replaced the crystal container and returned to his chair. "Suppose I told you I wasn't interested in you, or Skywalker?"

"I wouldn't believe you." Leia answered easily.

D'anti chuckled once more. "You are so suspicious, you cannot see passed your Alliance, can you? You simply cannot believe a soldier of the Empire may not be interested in your petty attempt to usurp the Emperor. "A hint of anger tinged his words.

Leia studied the man closely, choosing her words before she spoke. "You would consider freeing Luke and myself for information about the deal?"

"I said I wasn't interested. I didn't say I was an idiot." D'anti smiled at her. "I'm afraid I couldn't free you. You are too important and I have witnessed Lord Vader's anger. I value my life. However, I am willing to allow Skywalker and Solo to walk. But, only if you tell me what Yavaire is offering and what the Corellian is authorized to pay."

Leia considered his words, taking her time to think them through. She didn't trust this D'anti, she didn't believe him when he said he would allow Luke and Han to escape. But he already knew so much about the deal, it may be useful to know how much he knew and how he came by the information. Perhaps a little co-operation would not go amiss in this situation; perhaps she could turn something to her advantage; it was a long shot but the deal was all she had to work with.

"Captain Solo has five hundred thousand to work with," Leia told D'anti, watching him for a reaction.

His face remained poker straight, though his eyes gained a sparkle of surprise. There was a slight pause before he responded. "I was told you were tough to crack."

Leia smiled as pleasantly as she could. "Everyone responds to some give and take, not to mention a little respect. You have given me that, General. "

"Indeed," D'anti agreed, nodding. "What is Yavaire offering?"

"A field Cannon, two crates of rifles and charge packs, same number of pistols, and ten medical field packs. Han has instructions to barter for more medical supplies and rifles. "

"And you're Corellian?"

"Brash, cocky, and self-motivated." She smiled to herself remembering her brief exchange with Han on the Falcon and his words about being ' in it for the money '. He was wrong of course, but would never admit it to anyone, least of all himself. "But he's also intelligent and dangerous."

D'anti considered her words. "Will he yield to their demands when he learns they have Skywalker?"

"Unlikely," Leia told him, trying to sound convincing as she lied. "As I said, he is self-motivated."

"So Skywalker's life is forfeit?"

There was a tone to D'anti's voice that chilled her, a glint to his eyes which scared her and she abruptly realised how manipulative this officer was, and then it dawned on her. She rose in her seat, horror spreading coldly through her. "You have Luke!"

D'anti laughed and rose from his chair, he returned to his desk and the console. Switching on the com he gave an order. "Send Rogan in." He turned back to the Princess. "You, my dear girl, are a liar." His voice was pleasant.

The door to the office swept open and a young man entered. He stood just inside the portal. Leia noticed that he looked pale and nervous. His left shoulder was bloodied.

"I don't have Skywalker." D'anti continued at the Princess. "Yavaire has him, but I control what will happen to him." He turned to the youth. "What happened to your shoulder?"

"They're getting suspicious," the youth explained to his parent. He remained standing, his back straight. One hand was curled into a fist, the other, the left, hung loose. Leia guessed that to ball that hand would send pain through the damaged shoulder. "Itael gave me a warning."

The elder D'anti took in the boy's words, pursed his lips and nodded. He had to admit he was becoming suspicious of Rogan himself. "And what of the Corellian?"

"Solo has re-scheduled the deal for tomorrow at fifteen hundred hours, in the same Cantina." As he spoke he turned to the princess. "Skywalker remains well."

Leia stared at him and finally recognised him. "The pickpocket."

"My son, "D'anti explained." has had a turbulent adolescence. His rebellious stage included petty offences. I have since discovered his talents and street contacts have their uses. They were able to tell us of the deal and who was coming; giving us time to check your two friends' backgrounds. The incident on board the Death Star made interesting reading. "D'anti smiled, and continued." Rogan's friends were able to gain entry to the Corellian's ship and glean information from the log. Rogan then changed venues for the Wookiee co-pilot using that information, thus delaying the meet. "

Rogan allowed himself an inner smile. His father believed he had only learned of the venues after the ship was breached. It felt good to have something his father didn't own, even if it was only a little information.

The Princess turned to D'anti. "And he managed to separate Luke and myself, ensuring our capture."

D'anti shrugged, enjoying the exchange, enjoying the explanation of his plans. "Not quite. You were actually intended for Yavaire's uses, Skywalker for mine. I thought the boy would be easier to break. But, "another shrug and a smile." An unexpected patrol passed and recognised you as Rogan took your money. We had to improvise. "

"It's not just Yavaire you're after, is it? You want it all! You want us, and the money! "The Princess couldn't hold her burst of words.

D'anti laughed, delighted with the princess' response. He turned to his son. "Oh, she's very perceptive!" Rogan remained sombre as his father continued. "Let Yavaire use Skywalker against the Corellian, if the princess' perceptions of Solo are correct then the boy should suffice. However, if Solo pushes, tell Yavaire you may be able to provide her, too."

Rogan briskly saluted his father with his good arm, and left the room as the General turned back to his captive.

Rogan thanked the medic for his administrations and hopped down from the pallet. Gently he pulled on a clean shirt over his carefully bandaged shoulder, before leaving the medical centre. He walked slowly through the Security Headquarters, returning to the rooms provided for him. His thoughts were of the coming deal, of the ties which bound him to seeing these events through, and of the future he desired for himself; freedom from his father, freedom from Yavaire and Itael.

When he had returned to his father, he discovered the Lieutenant-General's anger and punishment were as swift and severe as ever, though he discovered his time on the streets had given him a certain strength. He had cried and begged as his father had expected, but inside he grew with the pain, turning it into a reservoir from which to draw courage.

He had told his father about Yavaire. He told him of the contacts he had made and of the skills he had learned. And, as he lay on the floor of his father's office sobbing empty tears, D'anti had perched upon the desk and stared at Rogan considering his information. Then he had smiled, and fallen into his off-spring's designs.

"You're going back onto the streets."

Rogan's battered body trembled with hope. He pushed himself up with one hand and wiped at his eyes with the other, he sniffled, concealing his growing excitement.

D'anti continued. "There, you will be my contact, my little informer." He paused briefly. "If you attempt to abscond again, or disappoint me, then I will not be so lenient. There are ways of dealing with rebels, teenage or otherwise. Now pick yourself up and get out. "

Rogan entered his room and opened his closet. From the back he drew out a bag and pulled down a change of clothes. He stuffed the outfit into the bag, closed it and slung the strap over his good shoulder. He glanced around the room, at its emptiness, at its coldness and felt no loss, no remorse or regret. He was leaving.

He entered the corridor, heading out of Security Headquarters, his thoughts returning to the last year.

On returning to Yavaire and the streets he had told the major some of what had occurred with his father. As both D'anti and Yavaire saw a use for Rogan, so the boy had seen a use for them. He was working for them both transferring information from one to the other; though he chose which items to pass on and which to keep to himself. Each knew he also worked for the other, a double agent, and over the year they had begun to trust him; he had never passed on any information which had later proven false, he had never failed them. However, they didn't guess at Rogan's determination, his desire to end his servitude to both. Using Yavaire's arms trade as bait he lured the Alliance to Xalan and, utilizing the information he received from them on Solo and his friends, Rogan had crafted the deal and manipulated the participants towards his own goals.

He smiled as he entered the city streets and headed towards the older section of town. The Rebels had delivered a prize into his hands when they told him who their negotiators were. Both D'anti and Yavaire were delighted at the Rebel contact, and so each began their planning; Yavaire and Itael saw a way to gain more riches, a way to buy themselves off Xalan by holding the princess captive. His father saw an end to Yavaire and a promotion once he had the major and the Rebels behind bars. Rogan had cunningly used his master's desires against them.

He had led D'anti to believe the ship had been breached early, and told his father who the Alliance was sending. This had hastened the General's hand in organizing the patrols that Skywalker and Organa had run into. Organa was captured, as Rogan planned. He wanted Skywalker for Itael, he wanted the creature to be unnerved and vulnerable and only a Jedi could have that effect.

A tight tense smile curved his lips as he turned into the slums. If this didn't work, it was quite possible they would all die.