Considered rationally, Cole should've experienced some measure of comfort, relief, or even gratitude when Atton volunteered to be bait for the Sith. But Cole had been finding rationality somewhat difficult since Atris's warning over the comlink. He kept up appearances, of course, but as he and Kaevee skidded to a stop before the door to the last hangar bay, he felt cold and brittle, as though the urgency of the situation would crack him to pieces.

The Sith were after them, after Cole. And it was that piffer from back in the cantina—it had to be. His first impression had been right, but then he'd talked himself out of it and gone right up and flirted with her for no damn reason. Cole knew he was a fracking idiot, but how could he be this much of one?

It didn't help his nerves any when, as he went for the panel under the door controls, Kaevee ripped it off with the Force and sent it rattling to the floor.

Cole swore like a demon, then added, "Why don't you warn me next time." Ignoring her mumbled apology, he produced a security spike and crouched down in front of the exposed circuitry. His eyes darted through the little space, hopping from one wire to the next, noting connectors and couplings, mentally assembling a rough picture of how to break through the security system from years of study, practice, and trial and error. This lock was rudimentary; you didn't have to be a know-it-all like Atton to pick it in a couple of seconds.

But the fact that the Sith were after Cole had set in like a virus, and his hands shook as he reached into the compartment. The end of the spike rattled about before he at last guided it into a microdata port, and two of his fingers entangled themselves among a nest of wires as he tried to pinch one of them from its socket.

Gleaming green text scrolled across the spike's readout, but Cole struggled to decipher it. Noises from the hangar behind him stabbed like needle darts at his concentration. A haughty, contemptuous voice, the hellish thrum of a lightsaber, dull pulses of energy. Atton, you fracking idiot, why are you using a blaster?

He clicked a tiny switch on the side of the spike, then clicked another. The noises came closer and got worse—grunts and roars of exertion, deep clangs as something hit the safety rail repeatedly. Cole's head twitched as morbid curiosity tempted him to look. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad. Maybe he could do a nose-dive down onto the hangar floor before the Sith got the idea of taking him alive.

The text on the spike readout flashed from green to red. Not good. He stared at the wires—still half-entangled with his fingers—the little strip of microprocessors, and the other little components, trying to figure what he'd done wrong, but his thoughts were scrambled.

"What's wrong?!" Kaevee demanded, scrambling Cole's thoughts even further.

"It's the— I— You want the long version or the short?!" A strain of curses fountained from Cole's throat as he spent a couple more futile seconds trying to recover himself. His terror at the threat of the Sith lessened somewhat, wrestled down by choking, burning frustration at his own sudden incompetence—not to mention the fact that he was being humiliated in front of Kaevee again.

By some miracle, though, his desire to not be captured or dismembered by a Sith won out over his desire to salvage his slicer's credentials, and he wrenched the security spike out of the compartment. "Forget it, kid. You'll have to—"

But the kid was way ahead of him. Cole backed away as Atton's lightsaber crackled to life. Clutching it in both hands, Kaevee paused to eye the unstable blue-white blade with a ridiculous look of solemnity—sadness, even—before burying it in the door.

The stink of molten metal hit Cole like a punch to the nose. Turning around, he instinctively grabbed his pistol but stopped short of drawing it. Back on the catwalk, Atton was still in one piece—for the moment. And the Sith wasn't a woman at all, let alone the one from Dono's. The two were sharing a death grip on a bloodshine lightsaber, trying to throw each other off-balance as they wrestled for it. Coughs of golden-white sparks flew as the blade repeatedly sliced through the rail to Atton's right, sending segments tumbling toward the floor of the bay.

With an ear-ringing clang, a vaguely rectangular chunk of the door fell inward, golden-orange and steaming at the edges. Cole started for the opening, then caught himself.

"We can't leave him!" Kaevee urged, extinguishing her blade.

Of course we can't, thought Cole. That crazy son of a bitch is the only reason we're all here. "Then do something, Jedi! Use the Force!"

He expected Kaevee to shoot him a glare for that, but she seemed only to have eyes for the brawl out on the catwalk. Sheer spine-locking tension tightened her hand into a fist around the borrowed lightsaber hilt, and Cole realized—in a rare moment—that once in a while he ought to keep his damn mouth shut.

Just months ago on Malachor V, the half-Jedi punk had made some impressively stupid decisions in response to Atton being in danger—playing hero. Relentlessly goading her about that while in the middle of another crisis no longer seemed like such a great idea. What might she do this time if Atton took too long to get himself out of his predicament?

The question would go unanswered.

Atton slammed his opponent's sword arm over the rail, pinning it there. Cole glimpsed the eyeblink gleam of a knife just as the Sith snarled in pain and let go of the lightsaber, which tumbled like a crimson flare toward the floor of the bay.

A Force push blew Atton backward across the catwalk before he could follow up. The pilot's two companions hopped aside as he landed hard and skidded a few meters to the spot they had occupied just seconds before.

The kid reached for Atton to help him up, but he seemed barely stunned—another Force trick, obviously—and pulled a holdout blaster from the back of his belt as he sat up. Without being prompted, his companions drew as well. They had a clear line of fire, and if there had ever been a Sith who could block laser fire with nothing but the Force, the story had never reached Cole's ears. Though his fear kept a tight grip on him, it loosened just enough that his trademark grin felt safe to show itself again.

He squeezed the trigger like a madman.