Nevarro, 9 ABY
The wind blew through the town square, carrying the acrid aromas of burnt metal and plastic with it. The bodies had been moved to the town butcher's freezer, waiting for the moment when there were enough people available to carry them to the lava fields. In the silence that had settled since the battle, many had left, seeking safety from the violence. Others had left the town to deal with the threat of reprisal, some knowing they would not return. Yet even with the hub of criminal activity temporarily moved off planet, a few bounty hunters lingered behind, their noses turned toward opportunity lurking within the scent of death.
One such opportunist crept through the shadows, a Kyuzo cloaked in a black cape covering green body armor. He poked through abandoned equipment left behind in the sand from the dead troopers. Little remained that was usable, yet here and there yielded a blaster pack or a set of binoculars requiring only a few mechanical adjustments. As the Kyuzo stooped to examine a partially melted blaster, he heard a rumbling building in the distance. The Kyuzo retreated into the shadows and looked up to watch an oblong, circular freighter drift over the city, its heavy sublight engines rattling the nearby windows. He removed a device from his pocket and scanned the ship as it soared past, and the device's operating system sifted through a database to produce a report:
Millennium Falcon
Captain: Han Solo (Human)
Mate: Chewbacca (Wookie)
Association: Galactic Republic; Special Operative, Intelligence
Known Bounties: Solo – 150,000 from the Hutt Syndicate; Chewbacca, 50,000
He watched the ship soar past to the landing pads on the outskirts of town. He pulled his helmet back over his head and slunk away, recognizing that there were far greater prizes awaiting than half-melted blasters.
Han guided the Falcon down to the barren patch of earth that served as a landing platform on the edge of the forlorn town. He had observed and recorded the battle zone from the air, with burnt out buildings and blaster scoring abundant throughout the town's main square. The bodies had all been cleared, leaving Han to grumble about the time he wasted meeting with Nothoiin politicians and repeatedly assuring them that the Republic's disaster response teams would make them the highest priority. After much fussing and protest, the Nothoiins had finally released him as the Republic emergency response teams arrived with the first wave of aid. As soon as it was tenable, he and Chewie had blasted out of the system, racing toward Nevarro in the hopes of cataloguing whatever was left from the reported battle.
As the Falcon powered down, Han turned from the cockpit and stalked into the galley. He grabbed his Republic identification and credentials in case he needed to pull rank for persuasion. He holstered his blaster in the event that credentials proved insufficiently persuasive. He glanced at Chewie who was wrapping up his tinkering on his bowcaster and said, "You ready, pal?"
Chewie grunted a quiet string of queries as he adjusted the settings, to which Han said, "Well, it looks a little too quiet for a hub of the Bounty Hunter's guild, but I doubt anybody's going to want to stick around when an Imperial garrison shoots up the town."
Chewie set his tools down and hoisted the bowcaster, grumbling dispiritedly. Han replied, "Probably. Might be a few bounty hunters down the ranks looking for something useful. Bit different than scrolling data pads on Coruscant, though, right?" Han said, flashing a grin.
Chewie's tepid response killed Han's smile. He considered Chewie's commentary on his choice to sidestep orders on an Outer Rim planet and how that might sit with Leia, and he felt a knot in his stomach. Still, his boredom on Coruscant, coupled with the urgency of the moment, brushed the knot aside. "You worry too much," Han grunted, and he jabbed the control for the boarding ramp, allowing a rush of cold wind to blow dust into the Falcon's galley.
Chewie followed Han down the ramp onto the soft volcanic sand of the landing pad, and they gazed at the forlorn town beyond the gate. The town was cut into a volcanic steppe, with most of the buildings radiating out from the main street running the length of an excavated ravine. The wind picked up, blowing through Han's hair and Chewie's fur. Chewie rumbled again, and Han said, "I'm sure whoever runs the guild here runs the town. Last intel showed a guy named Karga, former Imperial, now local head of this sector's BHG."
Chewie growled a query, and Han said, "Not much difference between a former Imperial and an underworld thug these days. Keep your safety off."
Chewie grunted an affirmative, and they set off toward the town. Blackened scorch marks scarred the walls beyond the gate, and the wind howled through the gaps in the buildings, singing a foreboding song in multi-timbred voices. Han removed a device from his satchel and swept it across the buildings around the main street, taking video of the damage to present to his superiors upon his return home. Scattered wreckage from a speeder bike lay strewn about the dirt road before a shopfront, although it was mostly twisted bits of metal.
"Looks like the locals already scavenged everything," Han grumbled to Chewie.
He fought off the wave of irritation toward Madine for sending him to Nothoiin and wasting precious time in cataloguing what the Imperial presence actually consisted of. Chewie grunted back, and Han waved his free hand forward. They set off toward the main square where the worst of the fighting had taken place. The bodies had all been cleared but the destruction was still apparent across the square. Han reached the center of the square and leaned down to examine a partially melted metal casing.
"Call me crazy, Chewie, but does this look like an E-web power generator to you?" Han asked.
Chewie growled an affirmative, holding up the twisted remains of the actual blaster. Han swept the video recorder over the E-web and then swept it slowly across the square. He stopped sweeping and held the recorder on a burnt-out cantina. He stepped away from the E-web generator and toward the cantina. Chewie turned away from examining the ruined E-web blaster and followed. Han stopped just inside the doorway and wrinkled his nose at the stench from the burnt walls and, presumably, burnt bodies.
"Flame trooper," Han grunted. "Looks like somebody made a hell of a stand here."
Chewie knelt before an open grate, and Han had a flash of distant memory of Leia shouting Into the garbage chute, flyboy. The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile, and he walked over to Chewie to peer into the opening. Chewie grunted a question, to which Han said, "Yeah, looks like it. Far as I can tell, they put up a fight until the flametrooper came. Don't ask me how they stopped the flames, though."
Chewie growled an observation, and Han looked at the far side of the room. Fire damage spread across the room from the door, but it appeared to stop halfway across the cantina. The shattered framework of the doorway suggested a large explosion, possibly from the flametrooper. Han's experience with that particular brand of Imperial soldier suggested that their flamethrowers did not just begin sucking up flame until the fuel unit exploded.
"Yeah, looks like it hit a solid wall," Han said thoughtfully. "But how? Whoever was over there should have been roasted," Han added, gesturing to the spot where the flames appeared to stop.
Han walked over to the ruins of the bar when a dull metallic glint caught his eye. He leaned down to the ground and brushed away ash, uncovering a scorched, circular medallion with the inscription of the Imperial insignia. Han held the medallion up to Chewie and said, "Whoever this belongs to isn't some local warlord."
Chewie growled an affirmation and started to walk forward. The bark of a blaster, thunderous in the silence of the town, made Han jump, and Chewie roared in pain as a burst of flame erupted from his right shoulder. Chewie collapsed to the ground as Han cried, "Chewie!"
A second blast flew through the blackened, collapsed front of the cantina, and Han dove undercover, crawling over to Chewie through the ash. Chewie bellowed in pain from the injury, and Han unclipped his blaster, turning toward the opening. Silence followed, and Han peered over an upturned table, hoping to catch a glance of their attacker. Another blast lanced through the window, slamming into the table. Han ducked down, bracing himself behind the table as a second blast blew away several fragments of the rim of the table where his face had just been. Han pulled himself back up and fired blindly, and a second barrage erupted shortly after.
"Chewie, gimme your bowcaster," Han shouted, and Chewie roared in pain as he unslung the weapon over his injured shoulder. Han took the weapon and opened fire over the top of the blasted table. The bowcaster's bolt soared across the square, slamming into a power generator. The generator erupted into flames before flaring out into a cloud of billowing black smoke.
"I think we got him," Han said grinning. He turned to Chewie and began to look to his wound. The wound looked painful, but not life-threatening, and Han said, "C'mon, we gotta get you to the Falcon."
As Han knelt down to help Chewie to his feet, a garbled, raspy voice behind him said, "Oota chuta, Solo?"
Han froze, instinctively raising both of his hands into the air.
"Moova de boonkee – leah um sloo," the creature purred in Huttese. Han turned, recognizing the features of a Kyuzo bounty hunter.
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," Han said, thinking fast. "Lower that blaster, and we can talk about it."
The Kyuzo laughed, then clicked a button on the device in his free hand. Han's face appeared, spinning slowly. Han squinted to read the credit amount, then said, "Chewie, maybe I need to get my eyes checked, but is Rotta's bounty only 150,000?"
"150,000 – dead, or alive," the Kyuzo said, switching to basic.
"Listen, the Republic can pay you more. Just go ahead and lower that blaster, and-" Han began. The Kyuzo interrupted him, stepping forward to point the blaster in his face.
"The legendary Han Solo. Shot dead on a backwater hellhole," the Kyuzo said, chuckling softly. "Good riddance, scum."
The Kyuzo's finger wrapped around the trigger, and as he made to pull the trigger, Han felt the cold muzzle of the blaster graze his nose. Han blinked as an image of Ben flashed before his eyes. A shadow passed across the room, and he wondered whether his last thought would be whether his mind was playing tricks on him. A sudden snap-hiss sound made the Kyuzo's eyes go wide, and Han looked down to see a blue light protruding from the Kyuzo's chest. His arm fell to his side and the blaster clattered out of his hands as the Kyuzo collapsed onto the ground into a heap. Behind the Kyuzo, holding an ignited blue lightsaber, stood a Jedi roughly Han's age, with long auburn hair graying at the temples.
"Did you really just walk into a building in a bounty hunter town without checking your six?" the Jedi asked.
"Who the hell are you?" Han asked, shaken, but still defensive.
"Name's Cal Kestis," the Jedi said, smirking. "Skywalker thought you might go and do something stupid."
"Me?" Han snapped indignantly in defense of his bruised ego. Chewie bellowed, half in pain, and half to redirect Han's focus away from the criticism. Cal looked away from Han to the Wookie, then stepped past Han and knelt to the ground. He rummaged in the pockets of his robe and removed a small pouch of concentrated bacta solution. He unstopped the solution and poured it over the wound, eliciting a howl of rage and pain from the Wookie. Chewie lunged forward, but Cal casually held his hand out, stopping Chewie in mid-lurch. Chewie fell back, grunting in pain.
"Easy there, pal," Cal soothed. "It only hurts for a second."
"Luke told you I was here?" Han asked, still stinging from failing to check behind him. The bounty hunter had been foolish and naïve – clearly an up-and-comer still learning the game. He did not check behind him either, and he was more interested in taunting Han than killing him. An elite bounty hunter would have killed them before they even heard the blaster shot.
"Your wife told him about what happened here. Luke's got his hands full, so I came instead. I got here shortly before you did, and I saw this guy sneaking up behind you," Cal said, gesturing to the dead Kyuzo as he began wrapping a bandage around Chewie's shoulder. Chewie growled angrily, and Cal shot back, "You'll live."
Voices outside stirred Han out of his irritation, and Cal rose to his feet, glancing out the window at the small crowd gathering in the square. Cal stepped past Han, walking past the blasted ruins of the table Han was hiding behind, and he raised his hand. Han watched as Cal was on the verge of announcing who they were to the crowd, when the Jedi froze in his tracks. Han saw his body go tense, then suddenly fluid, and Cal turned slowly on the spot. He knelt to the ground, his face frozen in concentration.
"Cal, what the?" Han asked.
Cal held a hand up, and Han fell silent. Cal ran his hand over the floor, then brought his hand around for a second pass on the spot. He turned his head, and Han followed his line of sight to the spot where the flames had burned parts of the cantina before hitting what seemed like a solid wall.
"What in the hell is going on here?!" shouted an angry male voice. Han turned, raising his blaster at a middle-aged man with dark skin storming into the room. He had a black goatee, and his expression was livid, belying the well-tailored robe that suggested refinement and dignity.
Cal remained kneeling on the floor, seemingly oblivious to the man's intrusion. Han looked back at the man, whose nostrils flared in anger as he waited for an explanation.
"Greef Karga?" Han asked.
"Yeah. Who the hell are you?" Karga shot back.
"Han Solo, Republic Intelligence," Han countered.
The four words hit Karga like a gundark, and he stared at Solo, stunned.
"Looks like we got a lot to talk about," Han said smoothly.
"Damn right, we do," Cal said, looking up from the spot on the floor that had caught his attention. Karga's expression evolved into resentful consternation, and silently, the man nodded, gesturing for them to leave the cantina.
"Alright – walk me through that again," Han said as Greef Karga slumped back in the chair behind his desk, his arms crossed in defiance. He turned to Cal, who leaned in his seat, his chin resting in his hand as he stared off into the distance.
"I don't know what you're not understanding – up until recently, I ran the local branch of the Bounty Hunter's Guild. A wealthy client came along, and when he was unhappy with our work, he brought a brigade of stormtroopers to express his displeasure. We confronted the client, there was a firefight, and now all is quiet. My associate is cleaning up the leftovers in the next town over – no thanks to the Republic," Greef added resentfully.
"And what about the parts you aren't telling me," Han snapped back.
"What about the Republic response to an assault on a private business by an Imperial remnant?" Greef retorted.
"Imperial remnants don't have the cash to lug around E-web blasters," Han pressed. "And I saw the footage before everything got cleaned up – death troopers, flame troopers. Word has it there was even a TIE fighter zooming around."
"Well, you'll forgive me for exercising my right not to answer questions under interrogation," Greef said.
"Did you bother to keep any evidence?" Han asked, rolling his eyes.
"We kept whatever would help us drive out the Imps," Greef growled, his dislike growing.
"And that evidence is where?" Han asked.
"With my associate," Greef answered curtly.
"I don't reckon you're gonna let me talk to this associate," Han grumbled, shifting in his seat as he glanced at Cal. His annoyance flashed again as Cal remained lost in thought.
"That's up to her," Greef acknowledged unhelpfully.
Han sighed, his frustration mounting as the interview threatened to spin in circles. It was clear that Karga was covering up something – or someone, but the man was clearly no stranger to an interrogation. Grasping for straws, Han tried another angle, "I was told a Mandalorian was involved."
"Maybe," Greef said.
"Maybe?" Han replied in disbelief.
"Who used the Force to stop the flame?" Cal asked quietly, his gaze still distant.
"What?!" Greef asked sharply, and Han snapped out of his frustration as he recognized Greef's astonishment.
"Someone – or something – used the Force. Not only is it the only way to explain a sudden reversal of a flame stream from a flame trooper, but moreover," Cal said, and he turned toward Greef, looking him in the eyes as he said, "I felt it."
"Who are you?" Greef asked, his forehead wrinkled in a shocked frown.
"Somebody who knows the Force when I see it," Cal said. "Was there a Jedi involved?"
"No way," Greef said, shaking his head. "This conversation is over."
"Mr. Karga, I'm a Jedi Master," Cal said. "If there's a Force-sensitive being involved, we can help protect it."
"It doesn't need protection," Greef snapped. "Mando will do just fine."
"Mando?" Han asked, raising his eyebrows. Greef winced in frustration at himself.
"Does 'Mando' have anything to do with this?" Han raised the burnt Imperial medallion and held it up for Greef's inspection.
Greef's eyes went wider at the sight of the medallion. He glanced back and forth between Solo and the Jedi, caught between discomfort and aggravation.
"Greef, next town over is cleared," called a woman's voice. Both Han and Cal shifted in their chairs at the powerfully built woman stalking into the office. She stopped in her tracks as she regarded the two strangers. Turning to Greef, she asked, "What is this?"
Greef gestured toward the two men and affected an introduction in a strained voice, "Cara Dune, Han Solo and Jedi Master Cal Kestis. Solo, Master Kestis, meet Cara Dune."
"Han Solo?" Cara laughed. "Little late to bring the cavalry, don't you think."
"There is no cavalry," Greef interjected bitterly. "Just a lot of questions that I don't feel like answering."
"What do you say, Cara?" Han asked, slipping into a roguish smile. "If Mr. Karga doesn't feel like talking, would an ex-Rebellion shock trooper have any interest in providing some information to the husband of an Alderaanian princess?"
"Is that husband bringing a Republic battalion to help me clear the Imps off this planet?" Cara asked skeptically.
"Uh," Han said, then admitted, "Trust me. I wish I could. But Republic higher-ups are only interested in winning re-election at the moment. I'm not even supposed to be here."
"And you?" Cara asked, nodding toward Cal.
"I'm not with the Republic," Cal stated. "I'm trying to learn about whoever used the Force to stop that flame trooper."
"I bet you are," Cara said, but she did not yield her wariness.
"Look – all we want to do is talk to your Mandalorian friend and get some more information on whoever this belonged to," Han said, holding up the medallion.
"I can save you the trouble," Greef said. Cara shot him a look, but Greef waved her concern away, saying, "It's ok, Cara."
"Solo, I'm going to ask that you leave the Mandalorian and his friend alone," Greef said. "End of story." Greef then nodded toward the medallion and said, "As for that, I can't actually tell you anything about him, because he never gave us a name. High-end client, paid in beskar."
"Beskar?" Han asked with the air of somebody tripling the Sabacc pot. "You'd have to be extremely rich, extremely well-connected, or both to have enough beskar to pay Guild rates."
"All of the above and then some," Cara acknowledged. "But that's about all we know. Gideon –"
Greef snapped a warning look at Cara, and Han interjected, "So it's true. We thought he was dead."
"So did we," Greef said, recovering from his annoyed glare at Cara. "Gideon killed the client, even though the client was doing Gideon's bidding."
"Sounds about right," Han replied as he recalled the Tribunal recounting the laundry list of atrocities committed under Moff Gideon. "What happened to Gideon?"
"His TIE fighter crashed. There's a big hole in it, but no Gideon," Cara explained.
"Anything left of this client?" Han asked.
Without warning, Cal raised a hand, asking for silence. His gaze went distant as Greef and Cara exchanged confused glances.
"Cal?" Han asked.
"Shh," Cal hissed sharply.
Silence settled as Cal closed his eyes. Suddenly, he shot out of his chair and brushed past Cara, heading to the door.
"Cal, what the hell?" Han snapped.
"Somebody's here, Solo," Cal shouted as he stalked away. "I'll see you in a bit."
Cara and Greef both glanced at Han with perplexed expressions, and Han, being all-to-familiar with the capriciousness of the Jedi, shrugged his shoulders and said, "Must be a crazy Jedi thing."
Mara Jade raised her head tentatively over the crest of the low volcanic sand dune, spying the carcass of the TIE fighter resting upon a hill of rubble. She peered through her binoculars, recognizing the recent activities of Jawas who had picked the TIE clean. The TIE was a newer model – a surprise given the Republic's moratorium on the development and construction of TIE technology. She scanned the area around it, seeing no signs of activity. Stashing the binoculars, she left the shelter of the dune and prowled across the wastes.
She reached the rubble pile upon which the TIE sat, and she climbed toward the gaping hole in the side of the TIE fighter. As she went to pull herself into the hole, she paused as she recognized the unnaturally smooth cut in the TIE's hull. Mara knew only a few items that could cut a hole that cleanly, and all of them belonged to people one would not want to face in a dark alley. A lightsaber immediately came to mind, and Mara set to wondering about whether Gideon might be carrying around a lightsaber with him. Her memory of his pretense and vanity clicked into place, and she concluded that it would be just like Gideon to stoke his own ego into believing he was the heir to somebody like Darth Vader. Her disgust mounted, but she brushed it aside, entering the cockpit to see if the Jawas had left anything behind.
The Jawas had indeed been thorough, but even with the resourcefulness of Jawas, there were some secrets that even they did not know. She suspected that, even though this was a newer generation TIE fighter, the vital components would be similar. She laid down on the floor and rolled onto her back. With her hands, she pulled herself under the dash and disconnected several wires, gaining access to a panel. She withdrew a multi-tool from her pocket, and activated the wrench components to set to work undoing the lugs. The last lug clattered to the cockpit floor, and she pried the panel away, revealing dozens of wires plugged into a black box.
She reached down to her belt and removed a small vibro-knife. Using the pulsating blade, she cut through the wires and the casing holding the black box. She removed the black box, set it on the ground, and slid out from under the cockpit. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she examined the black box, which was untouched and unmolested by the Jawas. Beneath her mask, she smiled, knowing that, with time, the black box would yield considerable data on Gideon's activities and whereabouts.
Before Mara could enjoy the small victory, a tendril of apprehension trickled through her – a warning from the Force. Danger was nearby – a familiar sense that she could not place in her memory. Whoever the warning radiated from, one thing became clear in Mara's mind; she was not the only one on this planet who wielded the Force.