D'Qar, 9 ABY
A black SS-54 assault ship trimmed with red and silver emerged from hyperspace above the blue, cloud-swirled world below. The ship's pilot, clad in a black body suit with plates of steel armor and a sleek black mask, nudged the ship forward, setting her bearings on a sparse cluster of lights on a vast, dark continent. As the woman guided the ship down, her thoughts strayed to the encounter with Gyuti, whose body now rested inside a carbonite sarcophagus in her ship's hold. The affirmation of broken assurances clashed against flashes of her mother collapsing into the dirt, dead from a blast to her chest. She clenched her jaw as she gripped the steering column, bracing herself against the surge of rage and adrenaline coursing through her.
"Where are we going?" asked a small voice from behind her.
The woman swiveled her captain's chair and looked over her shoulder at the girl standing in the doorway. She could not have been older than seven, and she had a thin, haunted look about her. Neeta had not asked about who she was; she only knew that the girl was trafficked from Pasaana, an arid, backward world long-overlooked by both the Empire, the Republic, and the crime lords. Black Sun had stopped that trend, and Neeta had not yet found the time to look into what was happening there.
"D'Qar," Neeta replied, turning back to the console.
Neeta heard rustling sounds, and she turned back again to watch the girl settle into the chair behind her.
"What's it like?" Zhey'la asked, her voice bobbing above the hum of the ship's rumbling sublight engines.
"Quiet," Neeta said.
"Where will I go?" she asked again as her curiosity persisted, and Neeta felt a pang of an unidentifiable emotion at the question. She clenched the steering control again as she attempted to recall the old calming techniques she had once learned.
As her inner turmoil subsided enough to allow a response, Neeta said without elaboration, "A friend."
The girl was silent as the ship crossed into the planet's atmosphere, and after minutes had passed, the girl stated, "You aren't staying."
"No," Neeta replied, turning back to look at the girl as she wondered whether the child was using the Force to sense her intentions.
"Why not?" Zhey'la asked.
"I have a job to do," Neeta said, her voice harsh with agitation.
The child clearly understood the edge in Neeta's voice, and no further questions followed as Neeta's ship soared over darkened forest stretched out toward a line of snow-capped mountains illuminated in the moonlight. The ship lifted over a ridge, then dropped into a broad valley laced by a rumbling river. Along the river's banks blinked a cluster of lights signaling a habitation. Neeta slowed the ship's momentum, following a wide arc around the margins of the valley before descending to a gentle landing upon a grassy field outside of the village.
Neeta stood wordlessly and stalked out of the cockpit with Zhey'la jogging along to keep up. She followed Neeta through the galley and down the ship's boarding ramp onto the soft, damp grass. The moon shone bright above, and the lights in the distance beckoned.
"Will they have food?" the girl asked.
"Yes," Neeta replied, scanning the field for signs of movement. "Let's go."
They crossed the field, the girl jogging to keep up. Neeta led Zhey'la around the back of the village, passing into the eaves of a woods vibrating with insect noises. The girl nudged closer to Neeta, staying near for comfort, until Neeta left the woods and followed a dirt path leading to a hut on the outskirts of the village.
"Stay here," Neeta ordered, and Zhey'la stood silently, wide-eyed at the strange noises reverberating from the forest.
Neeta followed the path to a small domicile set against the edge of the woods. A plume of smoke trailed from the chimney, and a light illuminated a window to the right of the door. She stopped at the doorstep, and looked down at her hand, which shook slightly. She clenched her fist again to quell the shaking, and after a quick run through a calming technique, she knocked on a door.
A scuffling sound inside the house preceded the sound of a shuffling walk before a woman's muffled voice called out, "Who's there?"
"It's Neeta," the woman answered.
A pregnant silence followed Neeta's pronouncement, which the woman eventually broke, saying, "You shouldn't have come."
"I know," Neeta replied impatiently, not wishing to hold the discussion in the open.
"Leave," the woman barked.
"It's not for me," Neeta replied, not entirely masking her quiet desperation. She turned back toward Zhey'la, who stood at the end of the path and gestured toward her. Zhey'la walked forward uncertainly, her hands held before her waist.
The door unlatched, then creaked open. An old woman with thick glasses and wild hair peered through the crack, her magnified eyes first roving over Neeta and then over the girl. The eye narrowed suspiciously, and Neeta pre-empted her objection, saying, "Black Sun raided her planet and took her for trafficking. She doesn't have anywhere to go."
"And was your intention to bring Black Sun to my door, as well?" the woman growled.
"I wasn't tracked," Neeta retorted.
"That you know of," the woman countered.
"I wasn't tracked," Neeta affirmed, a note of angry pride in her voice.
"So you say," the woman said. "And what do you want from me?"
"It's not safe for her to come with me. I need you to look after her," Neeta pleaded.
The woman grumbled suspiciously. "Why this one?"
"Let me in, and I'll tell you," Neeta stated, hoping to stem the interrogation.
"Hrm," the old woman grunted. The door slammed shut, followed by a click as she disengaged a heavy chain. The door creaked open moments later, and a warm light spilled out. Neeta stepped aside, allowing Zhey'la to enter the room. The old woman watched Zhey'la enter the room and scan her surroundings, vigilant for signs of danger. The old woman narrowed her eyes and looked over at Neeta, a suspicious scowl etched into her wrinkles.
"She could use some food," Neeta stated.
"Never the word please, I see," the woman grumbled toward Neeta. She turned to the girl, and her voice became softer and kinder as she shuffled over to a pantry and picked up a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese. "Pay no mind to this one. Never did have any manners."
The faintest trace of a smile graced Zhey'la's face, and she watched the woman prepare a small plate of cheese and bread. She said over her shoulder, "I'm Sari. Who are you?"
"I'm Zhey'la," the girl said in her soft voice.
"A pretty name," Sari affirmed. "And where do you come from?"
"Pasaana," Zhey'la answered.
"I know this place. Very dry. Very beautiful," Sari mused. "And what has become of your parents?"
"I. . ." Zhey'la began as tears welled in her eyes. She attempted to answer, but the words would not form.
"I see," Sari said, sparing Zhey'la the need to explain.
She finished slicing cheese and set the plate down on a table. She placed a glass of bantha milk next to the plate, and Zhey'la bounded to the table and tore into the meal. As Zhey'la quenched her hunger and thirst, Sari drifted back toward Neeta and asked, "Why her?"
Neeta clenched her fist at the wave of turmoil threatening to emerge again, and through gritted teeth, she said, "I tracked the Black Sun cell that took her to Kowak. As they divided the slaves, they demanded to set her aside for. . . for somebody I thought was dead."
"Hmm," Sari grunted. "Who did you think was dead?"
Neeta opened her mouth to explain, but no words came out. The image of the man arose in her mind, a favorite of the Emperor's – trusted with responsibilities both awesome and terrifying.
Sari looked up sharply at her, an inquiring look blazing in her eyes. When Neeta did not respond, Sari prompted, "Spit it out, Mara Jade."
"Don't," Mara barked as the room briefly felt unreal. A throbbing passed over her, and for a moment, she felt like she was watching herself from outside of herself. Zhey'la looked up from her food, scared. Mara mastered her anger, and in a more controlled voice, said, "That name is dead to me."
"Clearly," Sari dismissed. She raised her eyebrows to indicate her impatience.
"The Black Sun brought the slaves to a Toydarian named Gyuti," Mara blurted, changing the subject.
"A Toydarian?" Sari asked, surprised.
"Rotta didn't tell me what he was," Neeta affirmed. "Gyuti said that this one," she gestured toward Zhey'la who had resumed her meal, "Was to go to him. . ."
"The name?" Sari asked sharply, her gaze insistent.
Mara sighed, her body deflating. "Gideon."
Sari swallowed, disquieted. "I see," she murmured. After a pause, she asked, "Why?"
"She's strong in the Force," Neeta said, the words barely a whisper.
"Ah," Sari said, the syllable suffused with knowing. "A story all too familiar."
Mara turned sharply and said, "You'll watch over her?"
"I agree to nothing," Sari rebutted.
"Rotta lied to me," Mara growled.
"As I told you he would," Sari replied.
"I'm done with him. With all of it," Mara whispered.
"I am sure Rotta will accept that graciously," Sari scoffed.
"I won't give him the choice," Mara declared.
"And how do you expect to do that?" Sari asked.
As Mara considered the question, an abyss opened before her. The gravity of that abyss was intoxicating and revolting all at once. There was one absolute way to ensure a disentanglement from her multi-year association with the Hutt Crime Syndicate. But with that would come the dreams, the voices, and the compulsions.
"You haven't thought any of this through," Sari alleged as she watched Zhey'la finishing her meal. "You place yourself in that danger, and you'll either die, or you'll have to compromise yourself. Either way, is this child worth it?"
Mara did not answer immediately. Her gaze went blank as she watched Zhey'la finish the last of her food. An image flashed through her mind of a lonely plate of gruel in a dark room. She shivered as the sense of cold swept over her. As she suppressed the thought and the emotion, she managed a whisper, "I have to."
"You could take her to Skywalk-" Sari began.
"Don't!" Mara erupted. Zhey'la looked up again from her nearly empty plate, panicked. Sari walked over to her and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, whispering something softly into her ear. Mara watched her slowly relax, and Sari drifted away to cut more bread and cheese for her.
After Sari returned, Mara growled, "Don't say that name in front of me again."
"Hmm," Sari muttered, unimpressed. Sari turned toward Mara, regarding the mask that shielded the woman's fear. Mara flinched as Sari took Mara's hand, and Sari's voice softened as she said, "Child, I looked after you for so long, and I did everything I could to help you. This is your choice to make, but you can turn back – stay here, help the girl."
"I know what Gideon is capable of," Mara replied in a hollow voice.
"That's the Republic's problem," Sari snapped.
"Ha!" Mara barked bitterly. "Gideon will run rampant. Before the Republic knows it, they'll be out of their depth. They have no idea," Mara said.
"Tell them," Sari encouraged.
Mara hesitated, then fell silent. Finally, she said, "I do it myself." She turned to Sari and said, "Will you take her or not?"
Sari raised her eyebrows disapprovingly. Mara gazed to the ceiling impatiently and added, "Please?"
"One week, Mara Jade. I am too old to raise a child," Sari declared.
"Thank you," Mara said, her relief evident through the mask.
"Neeta?" Zhey'la asked as she approached from the table. She held her hands before her waist again, and she appeared timid and uncertain.
"Yes," Mara replied.
"Where are you going?" Zhey'la asked.
Sari answered instead, interjecting, "Child, I would like to let you stay here with me while Neeta finishes her work. After that, we will discuss finding you a safe place to stay. Would you like that?"
Zhey'la nodded timidly, then turned back to Mara. She tilted her head to the side, and took a tentative step toward Mara. Mara knelt, and Zhey'la reached her hand forward and touched Mara's mask. Mara saw the curiosity and confusion in the girl's eyes. An image of Vader's mask flashed before her eyes, and not wishing to leave a similar impression, Mara reached back and unclasped the back of her mask. She pulled the mask off of her face, allowing a cascade of crimson hair to spill over her shoulders.
Zhey'la's eyes widened slightly as she met Mara's green eyes for the first time. "You're so beautiful," the girl whispered.
Mara smiled in spite of herself, and replied, "You mind Sari. When I am done, we will find a safe place for you."
"With you?" Zhey'la asked, brightening subtly.
"We will see," Mara said, her smile vanishing. "Off you go," she said, encouraging Zhey'la back to her second helping.
Mara completed the pre-flight check on her ship, and she turned back to see Sari standing in the yard in front of her house. Zhey'la slept in a spare room, and Sari regarded Mara's preparations with an inscrutable expression. Mara turned away from the ship, which was now ready for take-off, and she walked toward Sari.
"You're getting sentimental," Mara chided as she reached Sari.
"You're getting careless," Sari criticized.
"One week," Mara affirmed.
As Mara made to turn back to the ship, she heard Sari's voice say, "Wait."
Mara turned back and watched Sari remove something from her robe. She held the object in her hands, and with a jolt, Mara recognized a lightsaber.
"No," Mara said, backing away.
"Just in case," Sari said.
"Sari, I told you. I'm never going back to that," Mara declared vehemently.
"Then don't blame me when a rancor is using your bones to pick your flesh out of its fangs," Sari growled. "Rotta will not accept that you are finished, and he will kill you rather than allow you to walk away."
"I'm not –" Mara barked.
"Enough!" Sari snarled back. "You take it, or you take the child and leave this place. I'm not raising another traumatized orphan."
Mara's mask hid her snarl, but rather than storm off to her ship, she took the lightsaber and clipped it to her belt.
"You're welcome," Sari said.
Mara grunted, then turned away, stalking toward her ship. As Sari watched Mara leave, her hardened expression softened into one of worry and concern. She was too old and had seen too much to hope for best case scenarios, and now Mara was about to reopen the door.
"Good luck, child," she whispered as Mara's ship lifted off of the ground, displacing a cloud of dust. She watched the ship soar into the sky and vanish into the tapestry of space. When it was long gone, she turned back, shuffling to the door of her home.
Han Solo cursed softly to himself as the Falcon's computer fed back the report that the decryption had run into yet another critical programming error. After spending half of the jump from Coruscant to Yavin attempting to reprogram the software, he felt certain that the computer would behave the way he expected it to behave. Yet as with all things related to the Millennium Falcon, the decryption programming would do what it wanted, when it wanted to, and how it wanted to regardless of how aggravated it made him. He imagined the ship's computer laughing at him as he cursed, and in the computer's scorn, he heard Lando mocking him for being unable to run the decrypt without his help. Reluctantly, he accepted that Lando was precisely the person he would have to consult to fix the issue, and he winced as he thought of spending an hour on the holonet with Lando interspersing his instructions with frequent criticisms of Han's maintenance of the Falcon.
"Sack of poodoo," he grumbled.
"Poodoo," spoke a small, bubbly voice.
Han jumped in surprise and turned in his seat to see his son, Ben, standing in the center of the galley, smiling up at his dad as he rocked back and forth on his feet, vibrating with boundless energy.
"Ben, what have I told you about that?" Han said, exasperated.
Ben's smile broadened at his dad's exasperation. It had become a favorite game of his to sneak up on his father when he was not paying attention, and no matter how many times his mother scolded him about his use of the Force to play pranks on non-Force users, it seemed that the boy simply could not help himself.
"Does Winter know you snuck onto the ship again?" Han asked.
Ben shook his head, his smile immutable.
"You're going to make her hair whiter than it already is – if that's even possible," Han chuckled.
Ben bounded forward, throwing himself into his father's arms, and Han squeezed the child affectionately. He smiled as he thought of the extensive efforts Winter had to go through to keep Ben away from the Falcon. The boy had a supernatural way of getting past her scrutiny, which Han had to remind himself was to be expected from a Force-sensitive five-year-old. Winter had complained incessantly, but Han considered it a minor miracle that Kira was not bobbing along after Ben, peaking around the corner and watching Han work himself into a dander over his ship's intransigence.
"What's the poodoo?" Ben asked as he pointed toward the ship's computer.
"I'm gonna have to call Uncle Lando again," Han admitted as he sat back into the chair and flipped a switch to put the computer into standby.
"Is he going to break your balls?" Ben asked.
Han frowned, saying, "Where did you learn to talk like that?"
A growl from an open compartment on the floor drifted toward him, and Han bellowed back, "Don't blame me, you great furry oaf."
Ben's smile broadened momentarily before concentration settled over his face. He frowned at the computer console before pulling himself up onto his father's lap. Han watched the boy lean forward, resting against his elbows as he stared at the computer. The standby switch reversed of its own accord, and an unseen Force switched the computer away from the diagnostics screen to a separate coding screen. Han frowned, watching the screen scroll through the coding. He knew that Ben could not read yet, but he looked at the code as intently as if he understood every line and every command.
The computer stopped scrolling abruptly, and equally abruptly, Ben pointed at a line of code and called out, "L-7 doesn't like that part."
Han leaned forward, squinting at the line that Ben pointed at. He read the code and saw the syntax error and a separate sequencing error.
He reached over to the computer and corrected the two errors. After entered the command key, the computer switched back to the diagnosis screen, which indicated optimal systems functioning.
"Son of a Gundark," he whispered.
"Daddy, what's a Gundark?" Ben asked.
"Big creature, nasty temper," Han answered in a routine sort of way.
"What does it eat?" Ben asked, his curiosity whetted.
"Whatever it can get," Han said, his concentration drifting as a notification began flashing on the screen, warning of an incoming message. It was flagged 'Priority.'
"Can we go see one?" Ben asked.
"Not just now," Han said, and he turned to call over his shoulder, "Hey Chewie, can you get up here."
A moment later, Chewie's head popped up from the open bay, his eyes covered in welding goggles. He bellowed agitatedly, and Han shouted back, "I know, but I need you to look after Ben for moment."
Chewie barked back, and Han said, "I know you're not a babysitter. Just do me a favor. I got a priority message, and I don't know if it's kid-friendly."
"I wanna see," Ben said excitedly.
Han considered the sort of messages he was likely to see on this channel, and he knew there was a good chance it would come from a foul-mouthed, unsavory sort of character. Worst case, Ben would learn another phrase that Leia would rake him over the coals for, and not wishing for another argument, he told Ben, "No, Ben. Not this one."
"But daddy –" Ben began.
"I'll let you watch Oodie Boodie and the Taun Taun Races as soon as I check this message," Han assured.
"Oodie Boodie is dumb," Ben pouted.
Moments later, Chewie reached their side, taking off his goggles and tossing them aside irritably.
"Go play with Uncle Chewie," Han said, sequestering his impatience. "I'll come play with you in a minute. I'll show you Gundark videos, I promise."
"Cool!" Ben shouted, and he toddled off after Chewie as the Wookie stalked off resentfully toward the cockpit.
When Han was certain that Ben and Chewie were out of earshot, he opened the message.
PRIORITY MESSAGE FOR HAN SOLO FROM M. DEYVA. INCIDENT ON NEVARRO.
Nevarro? Han thought, struggling to place the planet in his memory. A few sparse details floated up – a volcanic planet, Outer Rim, lightly inhabited. The Bounty Hunter's Guild operated a branch office out of the planet.
Expecting to read a report of some bounty hunter running amok within the ongoing syndicate war, Han opened the attachment. A video feed, pre-recorded, appeared on the screen, and the footage showed dozens of familiar, armor clad bodies strewn about a blackened battlefield in the center of a town. Han leaned forward, a jolt of fear surging through him. He paused the feed, squinting at the grainy details as he made out the twisted gear of an incinerator trooper lying beside the blackened wreck of a cantina. The feed shifted to the wreckage of a burning K79-S80 Imperial Troop Transport, a pillar of smoke rising from the wreckage. The video feed shifted a third time, and a familiar Weequay face appeared.
"Solo, this is Manu Deyva on Nevarro. I heard word from a local contact and arrived last night just as the battle subsided. Report is that a large contingent of Imperial troops engaged in a skirmish with some locals, including a Mandalorian bounty hunter. Haven't Imp hardware like this in years."
The feed shifted to a dead death trooper collapsed in an awkward position on the ground. Han leaned forward further, a pit of dread growing as he paused the feed to study the death trooper.
"You asked me to let you know of anything unusual in this sector. I withdrew what I felt was an appropriate amount of compensation from the fund you established. Thank you graciously."
The Weequay smiled greedily, then the feed cut out. Han leaned back, processing what he had seen. He ran the video again, this time without sound, and again he saw the assorted Imperial equipment. Warning alarms began to rage in his mind. After nearly two years of only scattered activity within well-monitored Imperial cells that had devolved into local warlords, he had begun allowing himself a sense of security that the main conflict was now the syndicate war, which generally simmered and bubbled outside of the occasional flair up of outright hostility. His directive had been to follow up on the massacre in the Pasaana sector, given that the incursions now appeared to be drifting closer and closer to the Mid-Rim during a contested election. He knew the imperative now hinged partially on political optics, but rationalize as he did, he could not find a way to shut off the alarm bells.
Ben came charging into the room with Chewie bellowing playfully behind him. Han switched the screen off abruptly, but Ben caught Han's action.
"Daddy, what're you watching?" Ben asked curiously as Chewie caught up to him.
"Bit of news," Han said, and he shot a meaningful glance at Chewie.
"Can I see?" Ben asked.
"I thought you wanted to watch a Gundark video. But if you want to hear about boring old politics-" Han said.
Ben wrinkled his nose in distaste. Chewie tilted his head curiously, and Han gestured toward the computer. He stood and walked over to Ben, picking the boy up and hoisting him into the crook of his arms. He turned toward Chewie and said, "Take a look, pal."
Chewie glanced toward the computer and tilted his head, growling softly.
"I have to go talk to Leia," Han said, then attempting to sound as casual as he could, said, "Maybe put the motivators back together and keep your bags packed."
Chewie growled suspiciously, and Han turned to walk out of the galley, his son in his arms. As he felt the boy's comfortable, familiar weight nestled into his arms and leaning against his shoulder, he thought, they can't be back. They just can't be.
"Are gundarks friendly?" Ben asked, the boy's breath warm against his father's neck.
Han sequestered his rising anxiety, and he said, "Only if you know how to tame them. And even then, you're better off keeping a loth-cat as a pet."
"Can we get a loth cat?!" Ben asked brightly as Han carried him into the steaming jungle toward the temple where Leia would be waiting. Han felt himself tensing as he anticipated her response, and he thought to himself, I have a bad feeling about this.