"You know," Huffed a wide-eyed Welk Sarlin, "If I die this time," he paused again to huff and jump clumsily over a rock, "It's going to be your" huff "bloody" huff, "fault!"

"Now won't that be new!" Ben Kenobi said sarcastically, arcing his lightsaber behind him to deflect blaster fire. With grace that eluded most forty-two year old men, Ben leaped down an embankment and over a stream. The twenty-six year old Welk groaned at the overwhelming sense of unfairness that arose whenever the grey-haired Kenobi outpaced him.

Their ship was in view now, thank the stars, and Ben had worked his Definitely Not Jedi Magic (uh huh) and opened the cockpit dome. He climbed up into the back seat and waved at Welk as he sped, wheezing, toward the ship.

"Come on, Welk, jump!"

"No! I hate it when you do that!" Welk protested, focusing on keeping his legs moving and not collapsing.

"Do you hate it more than dying?"

Welk groaned loudly again and jumped. His guts turned as something invisible caught him mid-air and led him right into the pilot seat. Chest heaving still, he turned the engines on as Ben shut the cockpit dome, red blaster bolts splattering noisily against the shields. "Goddess, the oxy line had better be running today," Welk said, strapping an oxygen mask over his face.

"Isn't that for emergencies?" Ben asked, programming the navigation computer.

"If this doesn't qualify as an emergency, Kenobi, I do not want you to be the first responder at my deathbed!" Welk could not see the minuscule smirk below Kenobi's mustache.

"Then I suggest you hit the hyperdrive… now!"

They blasted away soon enough to leave flames in the atmosphere.

Below, a party of clone troopers staggered to a halt, watching the flaming contrails above. The commander of the squadron tapped his comm. unit.

"This is Commander S2651, contact base. Rogue has made it back to hyperspace – do you have a read on their location? Over."

The comm crackled static briefly before an identical voice appeared on the other end. "Roger that, Commander. We are unable to track the bogey at this time, over."

"And why the hell is that? Over."

"They jumped to hyperspace from the mesosphere, sir, too quickly for our tracking computers to register, over."

The clone sighed. "Was the ship damaged on exit, over?"

Another static pause. "It… doesn't appear so, sir. Over."

The commander shook his head angrily and glanced back at his fidgeting troops before he tapped the comm. again. "Roger that, Base. Contact Lord Vader. Do not mention my IDN, do you copy? Over."

There was an especially length pause. "Copy that. Whose IDN should I report, sir? Over."

"Well," growled the commander, "I suppose it had better be yours, soldier. Over."

There was an especially long pause. In a short voice, base responded, "Wilco. Out."

The Commander dropped the line and turned back to his troops, who snapped to attention, blasters at the ready. "Fall back to base," He shouted at them. "And scrape up Prax and Blueskull on your way." They saluted and turned about, jogging in the direction they'd come from.

Commander S2651 cast one last look back at the hazy spot in the sky where the Rogue had been. "Damn Jedi," he hissed into his helmet. "Don't they know they're supposed to stay dead?"

"Another prisoner of war free, more Imperial munitions put out of service, and we even have all of our limbs intact this time. I'd say that is an unmerited success." Welk was far less agitated after half an hour on the oxy line. "Where to now, Ben?" He cast a look back at his companion, who was gazing out the window.

"I'm not sure yet," Ben said thoughtfully, hand at his beard, eyes lost in the haze of hyperspace. Welk shrugged. A year ago, he would've been grilling the man for a quicker answer. Now, he just glanced tiredly at the nav screen.

"Well, we got about fifty percent fuel. I can duck us in and out of the Rim to throw their tag team and hit Nixor on our way back to top up."

"Nixor?" Ben looked away from the window. "Not that dump. Isn't that just along Hutt space?"

"Well, in this galaxy it's either the Hutts or the Empire, and Nixor's the only place rank enough where neither will come sniffing. You got a better idea, Kenobi?"

Ben sighed. Welk was right, unfortunately. "Nixor it is," he said resignedly, and let his gaze fall back to the window. He didn't realize his eyes had fallen shut in concentration until Welk spoke again to break his reverie.

"You think your little head voices will get a read on our next play by then?"

Ben resisted the urge to correct Welk's schizophrenic view of the Force. "Yes, I think so. Thank you, Welk."

"Yeah, well, I guess I'll have to die some other time. You keep my calendar booked." He turned down the lights above the copilot's seat. "I'll let you know when we get there."

The Rogue. That was what they'd started called him these days. Was he a real Jedi? Had he merely stolen the lightsaber and robes? Was he using the Force just then, or was it a trick of the light? No one in the Imperial Army tended to agree on one theory, but the higher command had been employing their popular 'shoot now, ask questions later' tactic.

There were still a few straggling Jedi left haunting the galaxy, the Emperor knew this. They posed no significant threat and remained in hiding whenever possible. Those that attempted to launch attacks were an embarrassment to their once-great Order. They were gunned down one by one as their fortitude cracked and they launched desperate suicide missions.

All except this Rogue. He wasn't interested in attacking the Empire directly. He spent his days entrenched in far off worlds, especially those newly subdued by the Empire or those under threat of occupation. He salvaged hospitals, broke Pro-Republic rebels out of prison, helped farmers negotiate trade route allowances with troopers – he even managed to relocate an entire orphanage once, just because the children were scheduled for relocation for work at the Empire's capital.

He wasn't a true threat. He wasn't a militant. He wasn't a terrorist. Some weren't even sure if he was an outright rebel. But he was giving the rebels hope, and that made him a goddamn nuisance.

"Sounds like another clone got on Lord Vader's bad side," said the communications cadet quietly. Lieutenant Kazic turned to see his trouble expression.

"I can see why," she said, and gestured to the screen in front of her. "They let the Rogue get away. Again." She glanced to another monitor, which displayed half a dozen ID tags highlighted in red under 'Most Wanted'. "And he wasn't the only one who got away, either."

Cadet Fargun looked uneasy as he came over to watch the drone footage. There was no sound, but the Rogue could be seen, lightsaber in hand, running away from a troop of clones and deflecting blaster fire to take out a couple of unfortunate troopers. He gestured frantically at something, and the camera panned to capture a younger, dark-haired main running to catch up.

"Who is that?" Fargun asked. Lt. Kazic brushed her headtails over her shoulders in annoyance and brought up a new ID image on her screen, this one of a human-nagai hybrid who looked like he planned to murder the camera operator once the holo was captured.

"Some lowlife by the name Welk Sarlin. Unfortunately, that's all we're likely to learn about him. He hails from the lower levels of Coruscant, which means he probably should have a rap sheet a mile long but doesn't have a birth certificate to pin it to."

"And the Rogue?" Asked the cadet.

"Why do you think we call him that?" the Leuitenant asked, wishing it wasn't her job to train the new recruits. "Even in battle, the guy really knows how to not look at a camera."

"But he's a Jedi, isn't he?" Fargun glanced down at Kazic. She turned an unamused stare up at him.

"Is he?" she asked, dryly. The cadet said nothing. She sighed. "With all those Jedi dead, there are hundreds of lightsabers and robes lying around the galaxy. He could be a Jedi, but he could just as easily be some Rim bumpkin dressed up in a dead man's outfit, hoping to irritate us. It's happened before."

"Well, he's succeeding at it." The Cadet regretted the words as soon as he'd said them. Kazic gave him a withering glare. "But if he were a Jedi," Fargun attempted to recover, "wouldn't he be using the Force more? I've seen the holovids from the takeover. Jedi are more theatrical than that," he waved at the screen. Kazic squinted at the tiny running figure in the video. Was that leap helped by some unseen Force, or was he just a very athletic man? Did that blaster bolt just happen to hit that clone, or was it suggested to go that way? And did they plan far enough ahead to have their ship open on remote command, or was their Rogue more than he seemed…? She shook her head.

"I don't know about that," she said eventually. "Either he's a damn lucky man, or a Jedi paranoid enough to give up his theatric ways to preserve his anonymity." She closed the holovid and brought up the Rebel IDs from the second screen. "Either way, he's a fool if he thinks it'll help. Get me the tracking numbers for these inmates."

"Ummm…"

"Is there a problem, cadet?"

"Ummm, the, uh, inmates' tracking anklets… they were cut off, Ma'am. Found about two miles outside the west perimeter."

"That's not possible, they're on the run! There's no way that they could have-"

Cadet Fargun made vague lightsaber-ish motions with hands.

Lieutenant Kazic shut her mouth and glared at the screen. "Shavit."

"For not being theatrical, he's rather good," murmured Fargon in begrudging respect. Kazic whipped her head around so her headtails almost spun out and smacked the cadet. He jumped back.

"You want to tell that to Lord Vader, cadet?"

"No, Ma'am," he said hurriedly.

"Then get back work and find those inmates." When he hesitated, she added, "now."

Fargun jumped and fell back into his desk, demurely tapping away at the keys and casting occasional, worried glanced at his superior. He glanced at the 'Wanted' notice sent out to all Imperial intelligence earlier that day; a blurred holo image of the Rogue, back turned to the camera, lightsaber drawn. Somewhere deep beneath the sense of self-preservation that compelled him to serve the Empire, Fargun felt admiration for the mysterious figure.

Jedi or not, you had to admit the man had style.

Ben Kenobi was deep in meditation. Qui-Gon would've been proud to see how easily and often his former apprentice slipped into meditation these days. It was a way of life, now, it had to be. He had no Council to guide his actions, no masters to give him advice, just his own wits and the Force itself. Meditation was perhaps the only reason he could operate without appearing completely insane.

Unfortunately, at the moment, meditation was being absolutely no help. He did not know where the Force wished him to go from here. In the past, he had always been able to envision the planet where he was needed most, or sense in his hands which buttons on the Nav he ought to press to plot a course. Over a full year – closer to two, now – he'd never hesitated to follow the Force's call to even the wild reaches of the galaxy. Odd jobs, rescue missions, humanitarian efforts underneath the Emperor's nose. It had never been easy, but it had always been clear. Even when Ben inadvertently picked up Welk in a runaway hijacking, it'd been clear to Ben that the rough-around-the-edges hybrid Coruscanti would be useful to keep around. Even when he'd been shot in the arm and nearly fallen ill from infection, it had been clear that he would be fine after a few weeks' rest.

But today, all he had was muffled impressions, hazy blots of green and blue and a sense of coolness. A temperate planet. Terrestrial. Well, that narrowed it down by about… not at all. Ben couldn't even remember all of the Terrestrial Class planets in the galaxy. He really should have paid more attention in classes when he was younger – little did he know that he would not always have the Jedi Archives to aid him. Unbidden, the memory of Master Yoda's teasing came to mind - Lost a planet, Master Obi-Wan has! How embarrassing, how embarrassing.

No sooner could the thought "troll" cross his mind than did the ship lurch beneath him and propel Ben quickly and violently out of meditation. Back in the present, alarms were blaring.

"Shavit!" Welk hissed, toggling the shields to full power and making a hard evasive turn. Ben turned on his console lights and surveyed the situation.

"What was that?" he opened up the radar and saw three blips on their tail.

"We-ell," Welk drawled, "You know that little comment I made earlier about the Hutts and the Empire not sniffing around Nixor?"

"Oh, no."

"Hey now, I was right about Nixor. But apparently Uogo'cor is crawling with clones. I scraped through their radar without an Imperial ID, they think I'm a pirate running scared." He pulled on the controls and sent them spiraling upwards. Ben held onto his armrests with white-knuckles, suddenly reminded of just how much he despised flying.

"How many are there?"

"I got three TIEs on my tail and by the sound of things they're calling in more."

"How much fuel do we have left?"

"Eehhh," Welk glanced dismally at the display. "Nixor won't run us to empty but if we need to go farther it's gonna be hella close."

"They'll be expecting us to follow the Trax, we need somewhere of the traderoutes," Ben was already tapping in a route on the Nav. "Gendrah-Narvin is a off-route system coreward with a Pro-Republic bent. The TIEs won't follow us there alone, it'll buy us time."

"What?" Welk cast Kenobi an incredulous look. "Ben, Gendrah-Narvin is… that's nearly three times the distance to Nixor! Is there anything closer?"

"The TIEs are quite a bit closer," Ben quipped, bracing himself against an ion blast. "We need to go now if you don't want this ship in pieces. Eject flares and jump it; power down the periphery functions to save on power, and we might just make it there with fuel to spare."

"I wish I didn't know you!" Welk yelled, flicking switches angrily. He shoved a resolute middle finger in the TIE fighters' general direction before ejecting flares and punching the hyperdrive into action.

"And yet here you are!" Ben yelled back impishly.

"Hell knows why," the pilot groaned.

They streaked into space.

Hyperspace may have been the fastest way to travel, but space was still unbelievably massive. After Welk cut back on power, the cockpit went dark. Once the adrenaline wore off, Ben slipped deep into thought, if only to keep Welk's anxious mumbling from driving him to agitation. This mystery planet was still hiding behind an indecipherable haze, but… terrestrial. Gendrah-Narvin was terrestrial, wasn't it? Perhaps the haze he experienced was the unforeseen clamor of their diversion. But were that so, with the ruckus over, why was it still so unclear?

"Oh, come on!" Welk smacked the controls as the ship slammed out of hyperspace, hull groaning.

"What's happened?" It was hard for Ben to see the controls with the power dimmed down.

"One of those bucket heads must've hit me, the jump tore a hole in the fuel line. I got half of one cell left, tops."

"What about that?" Ben pointed to the planet whose orbit had pulled their limping vessel out of hyperspace. They were plunging towards its atmosphere at a bad angle. "Where is this?"

"I got no idea – the computers are dying." Frantically trying to coax his ship back to life, Welk eventually looked up at the planet in view, and then down at the emergency panel at his left hand side. He turned in his seat and gave Ben a mournful look. "I got to turn you loose, Kenobi, it's the best chance you got."

"What? What about you?"

"I got a whole half-cell left, I'll be fine!" Welk made himself smile despite everything.

"No! Wait, Sarlin, don't you dare-" but Ben's protests were cut short when Welk flicked the switch and two windowed steel doors shut between their seats, transforming Ben's portion of the cockpit into an escape pod.

"You got maybe one entry's worth of power in that thing, don't miss!" Welk teased over the intercom, but Ben could see the mortal worry in his eyes. "I'll contact you when I land." He glanced back to see the nose of his ship beginning to glow in the thermosphere, and gulped. He'd has his fair share of risky landings, but this… He glanced back again at his companion, whose mouth was moving in an unheard protest.

Ben had never told him who, exactly, he was, but Welk was from Coruscant. He could tell a fraud from the real thing. He hovered one hand over the launch button and used the other to press the intercom a final time. "May the Force be with you," he said, and slammed his fist on the launch button, sending Ben Kenobi and his astonished face into the atmosphere of… well, whatever planet this was.

"I hate to tell you this," Welk said to the looming world ahead as his ship hung on for dear life, "I got a real slave driver of a boss, I'm completely booked. So I'm sorry, but I really don't have time to die today!" A small explosion sounded from his left wing. "I know," he told it, "I'm such a flake!"

Ben guided his pod into one of the most uncoordinated re-entries he'd ever made in his life. Welk's last words to him echoed in his head, and if he had time to think about anything other than not dying, he would've been mad at himself for not realizing that Welk knew before. The glass window above his head and in front of his face gave him whirling glimpses of the planet once he was in the atmosphere, blurs of green and blue.

A Terrestrial system.

No wonder it had looked hazy – it looked even hazier now.

"So much for clear," Ben grunted, slamming the uncooperative electronic display, which gasped for power. It blinked to life long enough to tell him he was dangerously close to the ground. Ben yanked the parachutes open and fell hard against the dashboard. He had barely recovered when the power went out completely and the sound of alarms was replaced by the sound of a mighty crash and crumpling steel against soil. He hit his head in the dark and biology took over.

He did not move.