Chapter Nine: Wheel of Fire

"What man alive can compare to Xim in cruelty and cunning? What modern woman matches Indrexu for boldness and beauty? Truly, gentlebeings, we live in lesser time."
Peshosloc, speech to the Alsakan Academy of Holographic Arts, 15,668 BBY

After the first night on the mountain, everything felt different. The moment of terror and elation began to fade until it was more than a dream but less than a memory. To Essan it felt like a ghost always whispering, and though she strained she could never quite make out what it said.

Gedor never spoke of it directly, but his lessons followed from it. Everything was meant to hone their minds and souls. They always exercised in pairs, and Gedor had them sit for hours, looking down on the village and wrecked starship to focus on individuals below.

Erakas was better at it than her, but by sharing his thoughts Essan learned how to sift through jumbled thoughts, pick out strands and follow them to their sources. None of the people below were blazing like Xim or Indrexu; rather, she felt minds weak with desire, grief, and a surprising amount of guilt. She realized the pilgrims who'd come to their 'Old Man of the Mountain' all felt holes inside and wanted Gedor to fill them. They weren't so different from her and Erakas.

They felt like voyeurs sometimes. They spied the gnawing dread of a woman who'd fled a hurtful husband. Another was a thief who'd carried his aurodium hoard to Idux and was willing himself to throw the money away. One mind dwelt darkly on a murder committed in hot rage. The Jedi were fascinated but shrunk away.

"Deeply flawed they are," Gedor told them afterward. "Pity them you should. Deaf they are to the Force, and its grace they will not know. But hear we can and help them we must."

All his talk of responsibility was finally driving home. Once Essan asked Gedor, "If you care so much about your followers, why don't you live among them?"

"Draining the responsibility is. Sense that you must. And good it is not for them to depend on us too much. Their own path they must find as best they are able. Otherwise devour us they would, yet remain hungry themselves."

Essan took his words to heart and tried to puzzle out her place in Ranroon's struggle. Despite the uncertainty and ticking clock, she was exhilarated. She truly felt like a student again, once more daring the depths of Tython to test herself and the Force. But because she was so bonded with Erakas, she felt his elation drain. His family was increasingly in his thoughts, which he tried to hide from Gedor.

One evening, after their teacher had retired to his cave, the two of them walked together along the slope. Idux's dual moons were in the sky and their light made for easy navigation.

"Are you learning what you wanted here?" he asked.

"I'm coming closer to it. There are people depending on us."

The final word left Erakas in silence. They stopped and watched the moons for a while before he asked, "Do you know how much longer you'll bestaying?"

"No. I wish I knew when I'd be needed."

"The Force isn't telling you?"

"I haven't gotten any lessons in prophecy yet."

"Neither have I. Maybe we should ask for a refund." Erakas laughed lightly, but his next words were serious. "I don't think I'll stay much longer. When you go, I'll go."

"To Ranroon?"

"Santossa. I've been away too long as it is."

"Erakas, I need you." She gently squeezed his arm.

"You've never needed me."

"I do now. Indrexu and all those people need you. We can't hide from Xim anymore. We have to face him." He tried to pull his arm free but she squeezed harder. "Please. How long do you think Santossa will be safe for?"

"That's why I need to get back to them."

"No, it's why you need to come with me. We can stop Xim together."

"You really believe that." His voice wavered.

"I have to," she admitted.

Erakas sighed and pulled his arm again. This time she let him go. Even if Erakas did go with her, his heart would stay with his family.

She needed him all the same. "I'll let you know when I plan to leave," she told him. "It will be once we're both ready."

Erakas wanted to argue, but he knew there was no point. Without another word, the two of them walked back to the darkness of their shelter.

-{}-

When Jaminere was called over to the Eibon Scimitar on short notice, he feared something terrible had happened. They were with the Imperial fleet over Yutusk, and as he shuttled between his own ship and Xim's he ran through possible catastrophes in his head. He wondered if Indrexu's guerrilla raids had claimed a major target.

But when he stepped into Xim's room he saw the reason he'd been called. It was potentially better but potentially worse than any of that.

"A good evening to you, First Viceroy," Oziaf said as he stood atop Xim's polished-wood desk. "Or is it morning? I'm sorry, I've been in transit and my sense of time is a shambles."

"You know it's morning," Xim said, apparently amused.

"I wasn't expecting you back from the Expansion zone," Jaminere said as he joined Xim beside the desk.

Thanks to his meter-high perch, the tiny T'iin T'iin could look both humans in the eye. "I wasn't sure when my business would conclude, but it has now. I came to give our emperor a briefing before I scuttled back to Desevro, where other business awaits."

Jaminere crossed arms. "Your work is never done."

"Such is the fate of empire-builders. Which was what I've come here to talk about, plus a few other things."

Jaminere looked to Xim. "Has he told you everything already?"

"Everything except the 'other things.' Tell him what you told me, Oziaf. In abbreviated form."

"Very well." Oziaf's tail twirled behind his head. "I had the opportunity to meet in-person with six senior members of the Hutt Supremacy. It was a very enlightening meeting. Their empire, as I've explained, rivals ours in size and possibly exceeds it in technological development. And if we keep pushing into the Expansion region, collision is inevitable."

Oziaf wasn't normally prone to bold statements. "Collision as in warfare?"

"Perhaps," the T'iin T'iin shrugged. "If you read my reports you'll see my summary of Hutt technology, best I've gathered, though neither I nor my agents have been able to examine it closely. Their ships are roughly comparable to ours: kiirium armor and lasers for defense, warheads for offense, sublights and hyperdrives operating the same way. The biggest different-ial that I can see is that the Hutts posses the ability to communi-cate at faster-than-light speeds."

"You mean instantaneously?" asked Jaminere.

"Effectively, yes. You can see how that would give them an edge during a large-scale war."

"I certainly do." For decades he—and every commander in the Empire—had wished for something better than courier drones, but most researchers insisted translight communication was impossible. If the Hutts had it, they could coordinate a strike deep into Imperial territory before the first alarm was raised.

"Wipe that look of dread off your face, Viceroy," Oziaf admonished. "I've left the Supremacy but my agents have not. They're looking to procure one of these communicator devices."

"They had better," said Xim, "and in a way that doesn't lead back to us. The Hutts might see theft as an act of war."

"I'm cautious, I assure you, but I don't think the Hutts are so bellicose."

"You say they've eliminated entire species."

"Not bellicose at first," Oziaf amended. "They require provocation before wrath."

"Are you certain?" asked Jaminere. "What about the ark that led us to their territory in the first place? That ship was captured, its entire sleeper complement was killed, then it was sent sailing away toward the Tion, set to transmit what it found like a giant probe."

"I haven't found any indication the Hutts were responsible," Oziaf admitted, "though that generation ark took many centuries to reach Endregaad. It would have passed out of Hutt territory over six hundred years ago, when the Tyrants still dominated."

"The Tyrants have never done anything like this before."

"Not that we know of." Oziaf shrugged. "I suggest we leave the mystery of the generation ship behind for now. The Hutts are capable of violence but nowadays their first resort is tact. They have a unique way of 'acquiring' worlds that relies less on brute force and more on trade and religion."

"Religion?" Jaminere frowned.

"Didn't you read my reports, Viceroy? The Hutts are holy."

"You mean they say they're gods and compel primitives to worship them."

"So you didn't read my report," sniffed the rat. "The Hutts are divine beings blessed by the lights of Ardos and Evona, the suns that warm their home planet. They live for a thousand of our years, their bodies are almost invulnerable to small weapons, they overthrew the Tyrants with an actual armed uprising a century or so before our Liberation, and they even bested a 'demon' of some kind, though the details are a little hazy. Suffice to say, they are righteous angels."

"They're worms, aren't they?"

"And humans are hairless, bug-eyed, embarrassingly tail-less bipeds with no sense of smell worth a damn. Your point?"

Jaminere had forgotten how annoying Oziaf could be. To Xim he said, "Did the rumors about kiirium-rich worlds pan out?"

But Xim deferred to Oziaf. The rat said, "For better or worse, yes, there are planets so rich with the stuff they're like pearls in space. The Hutts have already claimed several and are mining them for all they're worth."

"Then we had better lay our claims as fast as we can," said Jaminere.

"Ah, there's the tricky part. The Hutts I spoke to made a proposal. They will consider respecting our claims in the Expansion zone… if Xim pays a satisfactory tribute."

"That's not a proposal, it's an insult. I don't suppose they mentioned how much tribute they want."

"They were vague on that point."

"They sound vague on all points. Are you sure your trans-lation program was working properly?"

"I trust what I heard, Viceroy." Oziaf turned to Xim. "I don't think the Hutts are unreasonable. If you gave them just one of the treasure-vaults on Dellalt, it would probably satisfy them."

"From what you've said the Hutts are never satisfied. They're natural gluttons."

"Well, one did imply he wanted to eat me," Oziaf admitted, "but I try to allow for cultural differences."

Xim shook his head. "Your efforts are invaluable, but the Hutts are not our priority now. The Federation is. This afternoon we're holding conference with Kadenzi, Krenn, and Felric to plan the final stage of our conquest."

"Is that so?" Oziaf's ear twitched. "You've taken their capital and bottled the Federation to a handful of systems. The Hutts rule a thousand worlds. The latter is the bigger threat."

"No," Xim insisted, "The Federation has saved its best fight for last. Indrexu is daring, smart, and has far more resources than her handful of planets suggest. She's also been using secret hyperspace routes to strike us where we least except."

"Really?" Oziaf's tail twirled. "Taking lessons from your father, is she?"

"Indrexu is a knife that can stab us deep. Once she's defeated—only then—mankind will be united under my flag." He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "Then we can face off with your empire of worms, but not before."

"It's not my empire," Oziaf said heavily. "It's a civilization that's older, richer, bigger, and more powerful than ours."

"Then they won't mind waiting until it's their turn to be dealt with."

Oziaf's black eyes met Jaminere's and rare sympathy passed between them. Xim's fixation on Indrexu was already trouble-some; now it was becoming dangerous.

"Perhaps there's another option," he told Xim. "I know you plan to launch an assault on Kurooine and Ranroon, but do you need all those ships? You could send part of the fleet to patrol the Expansion region. We'll show the flag and lay down claims without provoking the Hutts. We can even give them some tribute as a show of good faith."

"I agree with the Viceroy," Oziaf nodded. "The Hutts aren't something to deal with tomorrow. We need to act now."

He didn't get back-up like that often. Jaminere added, "Sir, I volunteer the Ascendant to coordinate the mission."

Xim looked between them. His expression wavered between shock and disgust. "We are on the edge of our greatest victory," he said huskily. "All we've done for thirty years—the three of us more than anyone—has been leading to this moment. I will not throw it away by weakening our forces."

"You won't be throwing away this victory," Oziaf insisted, "you'd be ensuring the next one."

"No!" Xim snapped. "I've made my decision. Oziaf, go back to Desevro. Work your spy network, send as many as you want into Hutt space, but do not pull any military resources away from the Federation front. I need every ship to crush Indrexu, every one!"

Oziaf and Jaminere exchanged looks of surrender. They knew there was no arguing with Xim. The T'iin T'iin sighed and said, "Very well, sir. It will be done."

"Good." Xim exhaled too. When he saw they wouldn't challenge them anymore he said, "Now, before I meet with my admirals, what was the 'other thing' you were going to tell us about?"

"Ah, that." Oziaf's whiskers twitched; he looked hesitant.

Xim crossed his arms. "Whatever it is, I'll give it due consideration. Now say it."

"Something passed to me through my other agents, sir, the ones flitting around your empire's edge. I received a report from Santossa Station claiming that a Yutuski rakehell has been sighted."

The waystation at Santossa was one of the last free ports unclaimed by Xim, and the Federation had been moving low-level supplies through it for years. The emperor had allowed it to exist because its annoyance was minor, and because it was good stalking-ground for spies like Oziaf's.

Jaminere asked, "Are there reports of Federation personnel at the station?"

"According to my watcher, one Rossu, First Minister of Ranroon. If Indrexu sent him to Santossa I'm sure it must be important, though not as important as the other person spotted."

Xim frowned. "Stop being coy. Tell me."

"I believe you've called her the 'Red Witch,' sir."

Xim's eyes went wide. Jaminere asked, "Did you tell him?"

"Tell me what?" piped Oziaf.

"I did not," Xim growled. "The witch was seen helping Indrexu's army at Kurooine. She may have been working with the queen during her guerilla raids."

"So your enemies have aligned? How fortuitous."

"When did you get this report?" Xim demanded.

"It's my most recent one."

The emperor spun on Jaminere, eyes still wide. "Get back to the Ascendant, Viceroy. You're not going to Hutt space, you're going to Santossa."

Jaminere was still reeling. "Now, sir?"

"Yes, now! I'd go myself, but we're about to launch the Kurooine offensive." Xim's mind was racing; he slammed fist into palm. "Get Rossu and the witch. Threaten to destroy the station if they don't turn it over."

"Threaten, sir, or—"

"Get me that witch at any cost," Xim snarled. "If she's away that's all the more reason to attack Kurooine now. Get her for me, Marco, and I'll take Indrexu when she doesn't have her witch to help her. Go!"

Xim barked the final order. There'd be no argument; Jaminere had to go. As he stepped for the exit he looked behind him, catching not his emperor's eye but Oziaf's. He thought he saw profound sadness in those black alien eyes. Then he pushed through the door and hurried toward his duty.

-{}-

It was still nighttime when they smuggled themselves out of Menata on a boat. They sailed to another port town on the Kadas'kor coast, where they switched to another boat which took them to an island in the Gluss'elta archipelago, where they docked in a tide-carved cavern and set to plan their next step.

Vaatus went with them because he had nowhere else to go.

He couldn't feel sad, though he should have. He couldn't feel angry, though he had every right to. He didn't even feel self-pity or self-hatred, because self seemed an inconsequential thing, like a fallen leaf caught by breeze. And like a leaf in the wind he went where others willed.

It did seem unfair that these rebels, who'd been working against the Hutts for years, had escaped where his brother, who'd appeased them—collaborated with them— had died. Vaatus could have resented them but resentment just one more emotion he couldn't feel.

A second boat arrived in the cave the morning after they did. A pair of M'Shento'su climb out of the small dinghy and greet Morguk. They talked in the southern language, which Vaatus understood a little, and he half-listened.

Almost caught at Mentata, three dead (Did that include Katorr? He remembered, counted; it did not). Seemed to have lost the trail. Morguk would wait here. Two more days, the M'Shento'su said, until Yabok docked at the Gluss'elta spaceport. Then he would meet them here.

Vaatus didn't know who Yabok was and didn't care, but hearing mention of the spaceport stirred something in him. It wasn't desire so much as stimulus-response. The most functional part of him was the part connected to his real life on the Gravity Scorned, where he had a father and sister and the universe made moderate sense.

So, when it seemed like Morguk was wrapping up business, Vaatus walked over to the small gathering, looked at the smooth-faced M'Shento'su, and said in his best remembrance of their tongue, "Are you going to the port?"

The two M'Shento'su looked at him uncertainly, then at Morguk. The warrior said, "Answer him."

One M'Shento'su replied, "It is not far from here. We have no starship. Do you?"

"My ship is… in space. It is alien. Not from here. From Tion. Human."

He couldn't tell if the M'Shento'su understood. Morguk asked, "Do you wish to leave here?"

Vaatus didn't know. Desire was a feeling and he still couldn't feel. To the M'Shento'su he said, "When human ship comes, tell me. Please." He waved at the two boats tethered to the cave's rocky shore. "You must have… transceivers. Codes. Messages. Yes? You can talk?"

"We can talk," Morguk said, almost growled. "Until that ship comes, you stay here. For your safety."

The M'Shento'su agreed to watch for a human ship. Then they left.

Two days passed and Vaatus still didn't feel anything. Morguk and his people lingered in the cave, talking less between them. Sometimes they took out knives and sparred. Morguk was huge but nimble on his feet. He out-danced all his smaller foes. Vaatus almost felt admiration, but not quite.

As the second day neared its end and rosy afternoon glittered on seawater outside the cave, the dinghy returned. Everyone gathered around and Vaatus, still a leaf on the wind, drifted to the boat as Vreshan tethered it. The hatch opened and one of the M'Shento'su stepped out first.

The second and final person to come into the cave was no Nikto. It was a tall, lanky alien in a tunic as leather and brown as his face.

This was Yabok, and Yabok was a Weequay.

Finally, Vaatus felt something. It was strong and clear. He knew exactly what it was and it was exactly what he needed.

It was hate.

He had no weapon, but his hands balled to hard fists and he lunged. He didn't even get a full step forward. Vreshan's elbow shot up, cocking him in the chin. He stepped back; one of the Kajain'sa wrapped an arm around his shoulder and steered him away. Yabok, already in conversation with Morguk, didn't seem to care.

Vreshan put an arm around Vaatus's waist and pulled him further away. In Kadas'ku he said, "Yabok is not the one who killed your brother."

"What is he doing here? His people—"

"Are enslaved by the Hutts, as are we, only they've been enslaved longer and the shackles are on tighter. But some resist. Yabok is—"

"Don't tell me..." Vaatus choked. "He's the Morguk of the Weequay."

Vreshan tilted his head. "That is… apt."

Vaatus took deep breaths and tried to control his hate. He had to wrestle his emotions and look at this clearly. Yabok had not killed Katorr. Neither had Morguk. Neither had Vaatus himself (that was the hardest to believe). Even those Weequay thugs who'd attacked them hadn't killed his brother, not really. They were only living weapons.

The Hutts had killed Katorr. They alone were deserving of his hate.

He told himself that over and over again, because if he failed to believe it then hate (his only emotion) would spiral out of control.

Vreshan, still with a hand on his shoulder, asked, "What will you do when your ship comes? Leave Kintan forever?"

"It would be the smart thing," Vaatus grunted.

"Yes," Vreshan agreed. "For you."

And it would be running from his homeworld like a coward. Again. But in trying to make his stand he'd only gotten Katorr killed; a far worse crime than abandonment. Vaatus was trapped in a maze with no way out. All he wanted was to undo what he'd done and bring Katorr back but there was no reversing it.

There was no forgetting either. And he knew, as he watched Morguk and Yabok confer, that if he ran away on the Gravity Scorned and tried to pretend the disaster away, it would destroy him. Hate for the Hutts and himself would eat him from the inside-out.

He needed to find something for his hate to eat instead. He watched Morguk and Yabok and asked, "What are they planning?"

"I'm sure we'll hear the gist of it soon."

"And you'll… go with them?"

"Always."

"Even if it means your death?"

"Many have already been martyred to free Kintan. I would be proud to join their company." Vreshan squeezed a little harder. "Your brother is among them, you know."

Katorr had never wanted to be anyone's martyr. Vaatus had never wanted to be anyone's freedom fighter, but it felt like fate—and hatred—were pulling him inexorably on that path.

But what would his father think? How could he explain to Kroller everything that had happened? How could Vaatus turn away from the Gravity Scorned, his home for twenty years? How could he never see Reina again?

His resolve, fast gained, started to waver. Then Morguk stepped away from Yabok and called to his companions in M'Shento'ku. It seemed like an effort to include them all, so Vaatus joined the others around the tall warrior.

Morguk declared, "Yabok came on a ship. In two days we will leave on that ship for the Terman star system. Yabok has acquired security codes for that station. Once aboard, we will use the codes to steal a Hutt courier ship."

Murmurs ran through the group. Morguk continued, "I need every willing man. Once we capture this ship we can examine everything. Its weapons and defenses. Its engines. Its communications array. Yabok tells us this ship transports their hierophants—the four-legged priests—as they spread their lies. If we tear apart its data logs we can find proof that Churabba is a false god."

"We are with you!" one Kajain'sa pumped a fist.

"Yes," Vreshan agreed, "we'll get the truth at last!"

Morguk look eminently satisfied. He gave Yabok a curt nod and the Weequay nodded back. Then, to Vaatus's surprise, the tall warrior broke from the crowd and stroke straight to him. He put a hand on the younger Nikto's chest and pushed him a clear of the group.

Vaatus stared at him, suddenly timid. But Morguk bent close.

"Yabok's ship is at the Gluss'elta port," he said. "And so is your father's. Make your choice and make it now."

-{}-

The island spaceport at Kintan's equator was a cluster of landing pads and docking towers rising like additional spires from jutting formations of black volcanic rock. Every time a starship fired it rockets and soared up, the downward thrust ignited surrounding water and created a minute-long hurricane of salty steam. But then ocean breeze would roll in, clear it away, and reveal obsidian and metal gleaming with sea-spray.

Quite a thing to behold, really.

It was a damned shame it had to be the setting for a conver-sation like this.

Vaatus met Kroller as soon as he descended the docking tower. From one look at his son's bowed shoulders and bent head he knew something terrible had happened, but he was still shocked by the whole story.

Kroller waited until it seemed the story was done, and when Vaatus said nothing he touched his son's shoulder. "I can't tell you how sorry I am. These Hutts… calling 'em bad news doesn't cover it. I heard they dropped rocks on an entire planet when it rose against them. Made those people extinct. There's nothing we can do against them, any more than we can stand again Xim. We'll get clear of here, far clear, and then—"

"Back to Santossa," Vaatus asked hoarsely.

"To Reina and Sohren. Hell, right now I even want to see the Jedi. The important thing is, Santossa's safe."

Vaatus snorted, like he'd never believe that.

"Safe from the Hutts, anyway. It's far from all this as you can get. And that's where you need to go."

"So you want me to run away?"

His voice was tight, bitter. Kroller squeezed him harder. "There's nothing left for you here, son. Is there?"

Vaatus looked at the pale blue sky. "Not here," he muttered.

"Exactly. Up there, in the stars, where Reina and all them are at—"

"No."

He looked at Vaatus. Damn it, that stiff Nikto face could still be inscrutable. "What do you mean 'no'? If you've got some-thing else to do, come out with it."

"I want to help Morguk."

"Do you really? Think about it. Think hard. Getting involved with all this, trying to push back the Hutts… you can't do it. It's impossible."

"I want Kintan to be free. For once in my life, I want us to be free."

"What's freedom? It's not on this planet or any other. That—" he jabbed at the Gravity Scorned, sitting upright in its dock, "is freedom. Nothing else. I've been to more places than I can count and I can say that sure as anything."

Vaatus looked at his ship, his home, considering. "Maybe I don't want freedom."

"Then what? Revenge? Those are the worst set of chains because you put 'em on yourself. You've got… you've got to let it go."

Vaatus glanced at his father. Bleakly he asked, "Like you let go of your wife?"

He didn't say it to wound, but it still hurt. Thinking of Serena always did, even after twenty years. "Like her. Katorr's always gonna be in your heart, hurting you bad, but you have to find something else to live for."

"Like you found me."

"Yes," Kroller admitted. He shook Vaatus by both shoulders and forced his son too look at him. "You can't fight the whole galaxy. Nobody can beat the universe, not the Jedi, not even Xim himself. You've got to learn to lay it down."

Vaatus jerked free. "I can't do that. I'm going with Morguk."

"Going where? Up there?" He stabbed at the sky. "What's he going to have you do?"

"I… I shouldn't tell you."

Kroller couldn't believe he was hearing this. "What, you don't trust me?"

"No. It's to keep you safe."

And it probably was. Because if Kroller learned what Morguk and his merry band were up to, he'd probably chase after them just on the chance his son might need him.

But as he looked at that hard Nikto face he dared wonder if Vaatus was still his son.

"I'm going with Morguk because I have to." Vaatus tapped a fist over his chest. "I don't know where this will end, but I can't run away again."

His voice ached with conviction, and Kroller knew all was lost. He yearned to grab Vaatus by the shoulders, throw him aboard the Gravity Scorned, and soar away from here, but even if he could overpower the Nikto he knew he'd never be forgiven. This wasn't like his spats with Reina; Vaatus was truly hate him.

Kroller had only one option, which meant it wasn't an option at all. He had to leave his son to his own devices, even if it killed him.

He tried with all his strength not to cry. His vision blurred with tears. Vaatus almost reached to touch his father's face but held back. Kroller wiped them away himself.

"Stupid old man," he sniffled. "Stupid, useless old man."

"You're not useless," Vaatus said. "You taught me everything I know."

"Except how to keep your damn head down."

Vaatus nodded mournfully. "I'll do what I can. And Reina… try to make her understand."

"She will. Especially with that Jedi to help explain it to her. Hell, that idiot'd probably want to help you."

"If he does, he'd be welcome."

"Damn it, don't say that. He really would." Kroller sighed. Idealists, he wanted to say, but Vaatus wasn't driven by ideals. It was guilt and anger, which were even worse, and Kroller couldn't blame him. If he'd had someone to blame for Serena's death all those years ago, he'd have gone for revenge too.

He breathed deep and said, "Listen, there's got to be a way to send messages from this end of space to ours. If you can—when you can—send messages to Santossa. Even if you've got to backtrack to Gwynhes or someplace to get on the comm network."

"I will. The way Xim's expanding down here, he'll be on the Hutts' doorstep before he knows it."

"Great. You're giving me more nightmares."

"I'm sorry. For so much, Father."

"I'm sorry too. So gods-damned sorry."

Apology became an embrace. Kroller squeezed his son as hard as he could because he believed it would be the last time. He was too old to cling to hope.

Then they separated and he began a long, lonely journey home.

-{}-

Erissa Orenaia's world collapsed when she chanced to catch the news broadcast. According to the bored-sounding reporter, the Empire's Minister of Finance, Maslovar Tiatiov, had been hospitalized with a chronic illness, and in the immediate future his duties would be handled by his deputy, a former Cronese financier.

The reporter moved onto other topics after that, but Erissa quickly contacted the Tiatiov estate. She'd never known Maslovar to have health problems and wanted to learn where he was being cared for.

When Denaia finally answered her call, it wasn't what she expected. "We shouldn't talk like this," the other woman said in whisper. "Hang up, please."

"Wait, I don't understand," Erissa begged. "Where is Maslovar? Is he all right?"

"I don't know."

"The news said he was hospitalized—"

"It wasn't…" Denia stopped. The line hummed ominously. Then she said: "They took him."

"Who took him?"

"Four men… They didn't wear uniforms but I think…" She lowered her voice further. "GenoHaradan."

Erissa gasped. In all her years she'd heard about Xim's secret police but never seen them herself. There were rumors, from time to time, of them snatching away potential dissidents but never anyone Erissa had known personally and never anyone as important as Maslovar.

"Do you know where they took him?" Erissa asked in the same tiny whisper.

"No. Don't call again, please."

Denaia hung up. Erissa held the buzzing phone in her hand for a minute before she put it down. Slowly, her mind began to grapple with the obvious. They'd come for Maslovar; would they come for her next?

She tried to slap her fear down. Maslovar was a friend, she'd known him for thirty years, and yes, they'd gone on their fact-finding mission to Yutusk, but she'd done nothing treasonous. The closest she'd come was their conversation with Kadenzi and that had been weeks ago. If the GenoHaradan had seized Maslovar it must have been for something bigger, something specific, something more recent.

Erissa paced her study, took pills to soothe her nerves, and checked the news for hints of any more arrests. There was nothing; only one reporter even mentioned Maslovar again. She'd been shocked the GenoHaradan would dare arrest someone as important as the finance minister, but it seemed that nobody cared. Paranoia came over her in waves. Soon she was on her knees, crawling about her study, searching the underside of every sofa for listening devices like her father had taught her to long ago.

When Vardoc arrived in the evening she took him to her study, sealed the door, and told him everything. She'd craved reassurance but her father's face went pale. He sunk onto one of the sofa, hands on his knees, and stared dully at the wall.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "We… We should have known."

"Father, what?" She sat down beside him and clasped his hand. "What did you do?"

"A few days ago I… I went to see Thane. And then I went to Maslovar. We talked, in his office, and he said he was going to probe in a few places, ask questions…"

"What kind of questions?"

"What do you think?" He looked at her. "I was trying to keep you out of it. We all knew this was dangerous but… we thought we were taking precautions. I'm so, so sorry."

Ever since she'd joined Maslovar on the trip to Yutusk she'd feared something like this, but that had been one small act of defiance, not outright treason. She'd never expected her father to step further down that road without her knowing.

She reached for hope. "Maybe they're just threatening Maslovar… Maybe they'll let him go."

"They're questioning him, I'm sure they are. That means I'm in danger, but you shouldn't be. You've done nothing illegal. I will insist on that."

"But you?" she whispered. "Father what did you do?"

"Nothing," his voice cracked. "Hardly anything… No, I can't tell you. Don't you see, you have to remain clear of this."

"I can't let them tear you apart, Father."

"You can. You have to, for your sake, for Marco's."

In her panic she'd barely considered the impact on her son. Under Imperial law crimes didn't pass from parents to children, but shame would still haunt him. Likely it would ruin his career. And what would become of Jaminere, the Emperor's right hand?

Father and daughter sat side-by-side, contemplating questions in horrified silence, when a servant knocked on the door.

The woman's muffled voice said: "Masters, you have visitors at the front entrance."

They'd come already. Erissa was almost thankful to get it over with. As her father rose creakily from the sofa she stood too. "I'll come with you," she said.

"No," he shook his head. "They're after me."

She squeezed his hand again. "I'll go. We have to act innocent, don't we? Like we've done nothing wrong."

"You have done nothing wrong."

"Neither have you."

"I doubt they'll see it that way." He ran a hand over his gray beard, then his fringe of hair. "Tell me I look dignified, please."

"You always do." Erissa's voice throbbed; she might never see her father after tonight.

"That's very good to know," he said. "All right… Best not keep them waiting."

So they walked out of the study, through the red-carpeted hall and down the wood-carved stairs to the estate's foyer. She hooked her arm around his and they walked slowly, like they were in a regal march—or a funeral. She dared wonder what the infamous GenoHaradan would look like. Were they really normal men, or Xim's robots in human skin?

They entered the foyer at the top of the stairwell. From its carpeted edge they looked down their doorman, two men with powerful bodies slipped in black formal suits, and one short, furry creature wearing a dark embroidered vest and short-brimmed hat.

The Emperor's Special Plenipotentiary removed the latter when he looked to the humans atop the stair. "Ah, you've come together. Excellent."

Vardoc removed his arm from Erissa's. "You're not taking my daughter anywhere."

"That's correct, I'm not." Oziaf tilted his head and blinked those black alien eyes. "Did you think I would?"

"Why are you here?" Vardoc stammered.

"I'm here for a talk, Grand Duke. And while I won't hold it against you, I must say your manners have been lacking thus far. I wonder if you treat your human guests better."

"That's not—" Vardoc stopped himself.

Erissa said, "If you want to talk, Special Plenipotentiary, we should go somewhere private, yes?"

"Ah, there's the hospitality I was waiting for. I'd also like a little tea, if you don't mind. Preferably something strong. I've had a long day."

So it was that, just minutes later, Erissa and her father had returned to the same sofa in her study. Oziaf sat across from them, a teacup in one hand and plate in the other. His chair was oversized, the T'iin T'iin like a furry child. The sight would have been comical if it weren't terrifying.

"This really is quite good," said Oziaf. "Bitter, but I like it that way. My compliments to your servant."

The two humans stared at him, hearts pounding. Vardoc managed to say, "I didn't know you'd returned to Desevro. We'd all thought you were in the Expansion region."

"I just returned today and I've had so much to catch up on." The rat gave a little sigh. "I'd like nothing more than to turn in, but I decided I had to pay you a visit."

"And why is that?"

He sipped tea again. Erassa was irrationally afraid his over-sized incisors would chip the cup. "I'm sure you have some idea. You've both known the finance minister for decades. I'm sure you didn't believe the 'chronic health condition' story."

"Where is he now?" asked Erissa.

"Naturally I can't tell you that."

"What have you done with him?" Her voice trembled.

"Nothing permanent. We've only been asking him questions." Oziaf took a final gulp of tea, then placed cup and dish gently on the side table. "His answers involve both of you. Your trip to Yutusk, Duchess, was perfectly within your rights, though it did raise concerns. As for you, Grand Duke…" The rodent shook his head. "Your transgressions were bolder and more foolish. Really, trying to contact the Director of Special Projects with seditious messages? I thought you had better sense."

"Did you come to arrest us?" demanded Vardoc.

"Is there any other reason I'd come? Aside from your tea, that is?"

"If you're going to take me away then do it." Vardoc rose angrily. "But by your own words, my daughter's done nothing illegal. I won't let you—"

"Oh, sit down," Oziaf said tiredly. "If I wanted you in a detention cell you'd be there already. Both of you."

Erissa felt only more dread. "Then why are you here?"

"Perhaps I thought your attempts at treason were crude and had room for improvement."

They stared, trying to wrap their mind around the little T'iin T'iin's words. Vardoc gasped, "You can't be serious."

"I wish I weren't, but your concerns are increasingly valid. Xim's obsession with Ranroon and its queen—who amounts to nothing in the scheme of things—is putting the Empire in a perilous position."

It was hard to believe those words coming from that mouth. "Why would you move against Xim?" Erissa asked. "He's your…"

"Patron? Protector? Friend? All true. So you understand the severity of the problem."

"But…" Vardoc sputtered, "Why?"

Oziaf took a breath. "Do you know what I've been doing in the Expansion zone these pasts months?"

Vardoc's eyes narrowed. "There have been some rumors…"

"There's always rumors. Which do you believe?"

"They said you've been investigating an alien empire beyond known space."

"And is this case the rumors are correct. This empire is called the Hutt Supremacy. Believe it or not, it is led by a race of near-immortal gastropods who believe it's their divine right to rule every lesser being. They're a greater foe than anything Xim has ever faced. However, he can't see that. Indrexu is blinding him to the real threat, and it may cost us everything."

Vardoc and Erissa tried to parse the enormity of those words. Erissa had heard only vaguest rumors of an empire beyond theirs. The thought of an even greater conflict roused all her latent fears for her son.

"Are you saying there's going to be another war?" she asked.

"We're exhausted as it is," Vardoc said. "We can't survive a bigger one."

"Exactly," said Oziaf. "The Hutts, while rapacious, are rational beings. I believe there are ways to avoid conflict but they involve careful planning, diplomacy, and even humility that Xim isn't capable of, at least not now."

It was all so overwhelming. Erissa asked, "How do we know any of this is true?"

"I can provide you with copies of confidential intelligence reports I've been sending Xim for months. Will that satisfy?"

"And once Xim is gone," Vardoc said thoughtfully, "You want to be in charge of this… diplomacy?"

"Oh, let's be blunt," Oziaf sighed. "Your son-in-law is our beloved Xim's right hand, whilst I am known as his left hand. The sinister one. I'm neither liked nor trusted, and if there is a leadership change I need to make myself indispensable."

"By making yourself the Empire's greatest authority on these Hoots."

"Hutts," the T'tiin T'iin corrected. "And I've been your greatest and only authority for many years. I've seen more of the stars than you ever will. Before I was Xim's left hand I was Xer's court jester. Before that, I was a slave to the Hutts' minions. So yes, I know them well."

His voice dipped low in anger. Erissa found herself believing Oziaf, but Vardoc said, "You claimed our attempts had room for improvement. Might I ask how?"

"Well, from my discussion with Minister Tiatiov, your problems seem clear. You want to get rid of Xim but you don't have the arms to oust him. You also don't have a means to secure your continued hold over the Empire's disparate pieces, which—lets face it—are held together by the force of Xim's will. You, Grand Duke, made fumbling overtures to Admiral Thane, who made his distaste for 'Livien lace curtains' like yourself clear."

Vardoc scowled. "And what's your solution?"

"Getting Thane and the Argaians on your side would solve both of those problems."

"And how do you suggest we do that?"

"By replacing Xim with an emperor the Argaians would approve of."

Vardoc's face twisted. "Not Thane."

"Oh, goodness no." Oziaf's whiskers twitched. "I was talking about Xer."

"Xer is alive?" Erissa gasped.

"Of course. You didn't think our Xim was so cruel as to murder his own father, did you?" His black eyes gleamed at her, reminding what her husband was.

"There's been talk about Xer for decades," Vardoc said. "Nobody's sure if he's alive or where he is. Do you know?"

"Of course. He's right here on Desevro." He looked between the stunned humans. "You didn't suspect? Naturally Xim would want to keep his father somewhere close, just to make sure he doesn't escape. Not that there's odds of that happening, since the old king's well-secured in his gilded cage."

"Do you know exactly where is?" asked Vardoc.

"Yes. I've even drawn up a preliminary plan to bypass security and extract him without setting off the emperor's alarms." Oziaf's flashed those incisors like a proud grin. "I told you I'm indispensable."

This conversation was a whirlwind, carrying them from one place to another. Erissa and Vardoc struggled for solid ground.

"If Xer becomes emperor again," she said, "would it really be better than Xim?"

"Xer knew his limits. And at this point, I believe his conquering days are behind him. He is old, sedentary, probably more concerned with revenge against his son than anything else… in other words, pliable."

"But still enough of a figurehead to satisfy the Argaians," Vardon reasoned.

"Just so," nodded Oziaf. "Have we begun to craft a superior plan? Naturally, I'll still rely on you hold the League nobles together, and if you have a plan to keep the Cron aligned, so much the better. Convincing Admiral Kadenzi to swap sides would also be helpful."

Erissa took a deep breath. "You're asking to us to be your… partners in treason."

"Partners? Yes, I like the sound of that," Oziaf nodded. "Let's be blunt again. If Xim goes, so does his right hand. Duchess, are your prepared to move against your husband?"

It was the question that had been whispering inside her all along. In today's panic she'd stopped listening but it was back, speaking loud and clear, more immediate and vital than ever.

But she'd always known the answer. Jaminere was her husband; Marco was her son. If she could do anything to save the young man she loved from the fires of Xim's endless wars, she'd do it.

"I'll do whatever it takes," she said, but her voice was hoarse. Her father covered her hand with his.

Oziaf watched them with his black, inscrutable eyes.

-{}-

There were times when Reina missed sojourning aboard the Gravity Scorned, and this was one of them. She was set to meet Malanthazaar and Minister Rossu in the station's center wheel in ten minutes but she was in her cabin on the bottom wheel, at least fifteen minutes away, assuming she left right now, which wasn't going to happen when Sohren had just spilled frume juice on himself and the damned babysitter was late.

Reina was cursing internally as she pulled off the boy's shirt and told him to get a new one. When he got off his seat she saw purple splotches on his shorts and told him to change out of those too.

"I'm sorry, mama," the boy said for the tenth time as he sulkily slipped over to his bed-nook, grabbed new clothes from the drawer, and went to the bathroom to change.

Once the door was closed, she let out a groan-cum-sigh, took the shirt over to the sink, and began rubbing detergent over the frume juice; if she let it set the stain would never go away. With Erakas gone, Sohren was becoming more and more the fumbling four-year-old and less the Jedi-to-be. For that reason alone she wished her husband would hurry back. He and Sohren brought out the best in each other.

She was rubbing the stain when two doors opened at once. From the bathroom stepped Sohren, now in a green shirt and new shorts. From the main door came Eirim, the freckle-faced teen who'd been taking care of Sohren for almost a year now.

"I'm sorry I'm late Miss Kroller," she said. "I tried to hurry but I got hung up on the lifts between rings." To her credit she sounded breathless.

"Tell me the lifts are working," Reina sighed. Bungled transit was all she needed now.

"They are now, but the third and fourth shafts were shut down. Something about faulty mag-clamps."

"All right. Listen, I need to go and you need to start scrubbing the frume juice out of this shirt."

Eirim's face crinkled. She knew how bad frume stains could be.

"Here." Reina shoved the dripping, sudsy shirt into the teen's arms. "I need to get going, I'm already late."

She pulled her jacket off the sofa's arm, shrugged it on, grabbed her bag, and started for the exit. Sohren's tug on her sleeve, though light, was enough to stop her.

"I'm sorry I spilled the juice," he said with gleaming, apologetic eyes.

The damned kid knew just how to disarm her. "It's okay," he told him. "Eirim will clean it up. That means you've got to be extra-nice to her today, got it?"

He nodded obediently. "When is Dada coming? Soon, right?"

He'd been asking that every day since they'd sat together and watched Erakas's message. "Soon," she confirmed, and hoped it was true.

Then she made her escape. The halls of the habitat zone were sparse enough for her to break into a jog. She made it all the way to the nearest lift tube (working, thankfully) and rode it up to the center wheel, then jogged some more down the familiar path to Malanthazaar's suite. She only slowed down during the last stretch to catch her breath. As she nodded her way past the station manager's secretary she glanced at the foyer's clock. Only seven minutes late. Better than she'd thought.

Right as she got to the door, it opened from the inside. She nearly collided with Malanthazaar as the big man came through.

"Good timing," he said. "Come on. Ops, now."

He went for the exit but Reina froze. Rossu was inside the office with a fearful expression. The minister bleated, "Should I come too?"

Malanthazaar's face bunched in a scowl, but he nodded. "All right, you too." Then he hurried for the door. Rossu slipped past Reina and joined him. She had no idea what was happening and no choice but to follow.

When she got into the hallway she sidled next to Malanthazaar. "What's going on? Is there an emergency?"

"You could say that," he growled. "An Imperial dreadnought just dropped out of hyperspace."

"We're under attack?"

"Oh, no." He gave one bitter laugh. "It's the First gods-damned Viceroy, and he says he wants to talk."

-{}-

Jaminere hoped to get through this without firing a shot but he wasn't counting on it, so he'd ordered the Ascendant's crew to go to red alert. The command deck was fully-manned and half the staff were eying him anxiously as he stood in the center, looking down at a tactical screen that was startlingly sparse. In the space over Santossa there was just his dreadnought, the three-ringed orbital station, and one Federation rakehell hanging outside missile range.

That warship alone was nothing the Ascendant couldn't handle. The space station, according to preliminary scans, had only the weakest of defenses. Without kiirium plating, even lasers could carve open its frame. If a fight happened it would be fast and one-sided.

But he'd come here to talk and had hailed the station to say as much. Minutes passed in silence and he was starting to get annoyed when the reply came.

"This is Malanthazaar Czernak, owner and chief manager of Santossa Station," a gruff voice said over his headset. "I've been told the First Viceroy requested a talk."

Jaminere had done his reading on the way here. Czernak was of Arramanx origin, had spent twenty-odd years as a spacer, and finally purchased Santossa Station from its previous owner. He'd attracted more ships, turned a good profit, and prudently avoided political stances. Independent shippers made up fifty percent of the traffic through his station, Imperial ships thirty percent, Federation ones twenty.

Jaminere held the microphone to his lips and spoke in a low, firm voice. "This is the First Viceroy. I want to start out by saying we have no intention of attacking your station or intruding on your sovereignty."

"I'm glad to hear it, because it's not my sovereignty, it's Santossa's. If this is something political, you should send your hail groundside and speak to the Ruling Council."

"Mister Czernak, are you going to pretend you don't notice the Federation warship sitting close by?"

"Like I said, Santossa and everything around it is sovereign under the Council. I'm just renting their space."

"I didn't come here for games. I've been led to believe that First Minister Rossu of Ranroon is currently aboard your station. Is this true, or false?"

There was no immediate reply and, rakehell or not, he wondered whether Rossu was still here; the minister might have off-boarded in the time since Oziaf got the report. In times like these, a Huttese translight communicator would have been wonderful.

But the next voice to come on wasn't Czernak's. It was higher, crisper, and would have sounded prissy if not for the thick Ranroon accent. "First Viceroy, this is the First Minister. I remind you that you have no authority here and the Santossa Council does not have an extradition agreement with your Empire."

"An agreement can be made."

"Then you can hash it out with the Council," Czernak returned.

"I will if I must, but I'd prefer to do this quickly and directly."

"Or you'll shoot us out orbit, killing tens of thousands?" Czernak snorted. "Doesn't Xim have bigger problems?"

"You're right, I'm also here for someone more important that Rossu. In fact, as long as I get her, I may decide to leave the minister be."

"Who are we talking about?"

"An alien woman who possesses abilities beyond our own. Her appearance is humanoid, with black hair and scarlet skin. I believe you know this woman, Mister Czernak, but if you don't, find her and deliver her to me. She is a special threat to the Empire and I'm not leaving without her."

The line buzzed with silence. Was the witch in the room with him? Were they frantically whispering plans for escape? Were they too stunned to respond?

He waited and waited, and when nothing came he said in a threatening growl, "Where is the Red Witch?"

And a new voice replied: "She's not here."

It was a woman, probably young, with a bland spacer's accent. Jaminere demanded, "Is she on your station? Yes or no?"

"No. She was aboard," the woman admitted, "but she left over a week ago. Your intel it out of date."

Yes, one of those Hutt transmitters would have been lovely. But he couldn't take her word for it. "If she left, why is the First Minister still aboard? They arrived together on that rakehell, did they not?"

"Our business was separate," Rossu said. "She left soon after we arrived."

If that was true, he was going to throttle Oziaf. "I came for the witch. You will provide me with proof of her departure—including transit logs and video records—as well as her final destination. You have one hour. If you don't give me those things I will board the station and take them and the First Minister by force. Is that understood?"

Silence buzzed again until the woman said, "We don't know where she went. She left on a Federation shuttle she was flying alone."

"Give me proof."

"It may take more than an hour," said Czernak.

"An hour is what you have. In sixty minutes I will launch a boarding party."

"I'm prepared to defend my station. And that rakehell will defend the Minister."

"You can try, but you'll lose and you know it. One hour. Give me proof or I'll take it. End of discussion."

Jaminere closed the transmission. He wanted to wrench off his headset and smash it on the table, but he retained his composure. He was certain these people were lying to him. Either they knew where the witch had gone or she was still aboard. The only way to know for certain was to seize the station, scour its data, and interrogate its key personnel.

Was Czernak bluffing, or would he fight? He was a rough-and-tumble spacer who'd settled down in his late years; it could go either way. The best option was to surprise him.

"Captain Sovane," Jaminere called, "are the boarding teams on standby?"

"Yes, sir. Two hemioliae with three platoons each."

"Have them prepare for launch."

Sovane blinked. "So soon, sir?"

"It's our best option. If we—"

Suddenly consoles around the bridge began to beep and light up. One of the tactical officers announced, "Viceroy, we've just picked up an explosion aboard the station."

"What? How?" He spun at the gunnery section. "Did we open fire?"

"No, sir," the weapons chief insisted.

"Neither did the rakehell," the tactical officer said. "The explosion must have been internal."

"What's the damage?"

The officer stared at his screen, eyes wide, mouth open.

"I asked you a question!" Jaminere snapped.

"The explosion was on the main pylon, between the middle and bottom wheels. It broke the pylon, sir. The whole station's falling apart… and it's falling out of orbit."

-{}-

First the station shook, and then it screamed, and then it plunged into hell.

Reina was in the operations room, standing by the comm with Malanthazaar and Rossu, when the tremor nearly threw her off her feet. As alarms wailed she clung to the nearest console.

Malanthazaar bellowed, "What the hell happened? Give me a report!"

One of his crew reported, "Explosion, sir! Main pylon, lower section… shafts three and four."

"The lifts?" Reina gasped. "How?"

"Did they shoot us?" Rossu demanded as he staggered upright.

"I don't think so." The crewman wagged his head.

"Then what caused it?" Reina pressed.

"It doesn't matter what caused it," growled Malanthazaar. "Get all emergency crews down there now! I need a damage report immediately!"

They tried to comply. The chamber filled with voices and alarms. If the lift shafts that connected the station's three wheels were down, proper damage control would be impossible.

And, she thought with icy fear, it would be impossible for her to reach Sohren in the lower wheel.

Fresh tremors, worse than the first, shook the deck. Reina held onto the closest console with one hand and Rossu with the other, barely keeping the dazed minister upright.

Then, as one, they started to lose footing and lift off the deck. If they'd lost gravity that meant they'd lost spin, and if they'd lost spin they might lose altitude and fall into Santossa. Ops' window faced the planet and the terrain below had ceased to move; now it held in place, static and ominous.

"Can we get spin back?" Malanthazaar bellowed as he drifted free in the air.

"Negative, sir!" shouted a crewman as he clung to his console. "The pylon just snapped!"

"We're losing elevation!" another said. "Orbit's decaying!"

Malanthazaar snarled curses as his head hit the ceiling. Rossu, who'd grabbed Reina's wrist, said, "We have to get out of here! There's escape pods, aren't there? Aren't there?"

There were. Emergency capsules were located not far from Operations, with enough capacity to carry the deck crew to safety down below. But Santossa Station was packed with over sixty thousand people, and there was no way for most of them to get off. Once they hit atmosphere the friction would be brutal. The deuterium fuel stores in the docking ring could spark a firestorm.

Outside the window, Santossa's surface was growing closer. It contoured face was magnifying with terrible slowness.

In that moment, all Reina thought about was her son. Her mind raced; after two years working here she knew this station better than almost anyone. There were escape pods in their habitat ring. Not enough for everyone, but enough. She could direct Sohren and Eirim through Ops' short-range radio.

She wrenched free of Rossu, kicked off a console, and shot over to the comm station, where its technician was clinging to the seat of his chair with one hand.

She clamped on the tech's shoulder. "I need to talk to the lower ring. Can you do that? Is the transmitter still working?"

"Miss, I'm already sending out a blanket distress call. The rakehell's coming in—"

"The lower ring! Can we talk to it?"

"The pylon's snapped, Miss! It's totally detached."

"We can reach them through radio."

"No we can't, Miss."

"Why not?"

The technician lifted eyes from his screen and met hers. His mouth trembled as he said, "Miss… the lower wheel's gone."

He looked out the window. So did she. Santossa's textured face, now flecked by drifting debris, grew swelled beyond the layered glass. As she watched, a wheel of fire fell in between the doomed station and the planet. It burned as it smashed into Santossa's atmosphere, a fate the rest of them would follow in minutes. The wheel spun faster and flared brighter as it fell.

Reina stared, but her brain couldn't comprehend. It refused to. The wheel split apart into flaming curves that shattered and scattered across Santossa's highest skies. When white-hot shards began to dissolve against the planet's contours, the truth finally broke her.

The bottom wheel had burned up.

Sohren was already dead.

Reina didn't think or feel much after that. She released the technician's shoulder and started to drift, body and mind together, but Malanthazaar's big hand clamped down and dragged her. The rest of the station accelerated its fall and the grace of zero-g was replaced by the painful pull of Santossa. Reina didn't fight Malanthazaar but she didn't help him either as he dragged her up a ceiling that had become a wall, dragged her toward the escape pod hatch.

The crew was clambering frantically to get inside. When Malanthazaar pulled her through the airlock another body knocked into hers, crushing her torso against the portal rim. She could feel her ribs crack but even that pain, which should have been exquisite, felt distant.

The hatch closed. The pod discharged with a controlled explosion, like an ironic echo of the blast that had shattered her life. Pressed between bodies, racked with pain yet stiff with emptiness, Reina plunged toward the planet, safe within a cocoon of flame.

-{}-

From the secure bridge of the Ascendant, Jaminere experienced the death of Santossa Station. His officers gave a blow-by-blow as the bottom wheel broke off, fell fast into the atmosphere, and burned up. The other two wheels remained joined and took longer to die. Escape pods bursts from like seeds from a ripe flower, while ships docked at the remaining wheels flared desperately into space.

Though stunned, Jaminere did act. He released a broad hail declaring that he was not responsible for the explosion and offered Imperial assistance. He got no response from the station but the Federation rakehell swore it would open fire if the dreadnought came any closer. A statement from Santossa's surface, delivered minutes later and more formally, said Imperial help was not needed. The planet's council would handle the disaster—both recovery and assignation of blame—on its own.

With nothing to do, the Ascendant watched. Jaminere stared at his near-empty tactical screen, grasping for an explanation. Perhaps the Red Witch herself had done it to cover her escape. Perhaps Federation partisans had done it to prevent her from being captured. Maybe the elusive magician he'd been hunting for six years wasn't there at all, and maybe she was tumbling to her death among that fiery debris.

It was possible, but in his heart, Jaminere doubted it. A master of the old magic couldn't die like that… could she?

When the upper wheels began to burn, Jaminere called to Sovane. "Captain, stand by to transmit a statement expressing the Empire's deep regret for this incident, which was not—you must be clear—our doing. Also, load food and medical supplies into four of our escape pods and launch them toward the planet. Try to match the trajectory of the pods from the station if you can." He saw the confusion on Sovane's face and added, "We did not do this, Captain. We're not monsters."

"Of course," the younger man said, then lowered his voice. "Do you think they'll care, sir?"

Jaminere doubted it, but if word got around that Imperials had destroyed a neutral station it would galvanize opposition to Xim outside the Empire and within. He wanted the narrative that came from today's events stayed muddled and uncertain—which they were.

The Ascendant remained over Santossa until the last of the station's remnants had burned up or crashed into oceans. Then it sent its farewell message and a volley of emergency supplies. Finally it turned and leaped into hyperspace, back to the Empire, where (Jaminere prayed) things would make sense.

-{}-

For Erakas, it was like the universe breaking in two.

There was no dreamy intimation like when Master Sohr had died, no blurred feeling or farewell cry. He simply knew his son was dead.

He was on the mountain with Essan when it happened and would have collapsed down the slope but for her strong grip. He didn't have to explain what happened and didn't have the strength. It was like being devoured from the inside-out.

Feeling it happen, while awful, was the easy part. Essan took him to Gedor's cave, laid him on a cot, and quietly explained it to their teacher while Erakas stared at the torchlit ceiling and let all the things he didn't know oppress him.

Sohren was dead. He was certain of that, as certain as he'd been when his teacher died. Was Reina, too, gone? He'd always believed he'd feel it if he lost her, but he simply didn't know. He didn't know how it had happened or why, or even where.

The one certainty was that when his son had needed him most he'd been far away. In chasing the dream of being a better Jedi he'd let his child die.

The first thing he said when he had the strength was: "I have to go to Santossa."

Essan and Gedor were beside him, the Sith woman crouched, their small teacher standing. They said nothing at first, and he remembered how both had warned him that his family might get in the way of his being a Jedi. Gedor had even said him that they might bring him tragedy.

They'd been right and he'd been wrong. Just looking at their faces, so soft with sympathy, made him turn away. He stared at the shadow-dark wall and tried not to weep.

Neither touched him, but Gedor's gruff voice became a caress. "Your doing this was not. Full of dangers the galaxy is, beyond your control."

No possible everything is, with the Force. Not today. At least the weird gnome had that much tact. Erakas sucked in tears and stomped down his hate. It wasn't Gedor's fault he'd abandoned his family. No, Gedor had warned him and Erakas hadn't listened. Fault was his alone.

Just as quietly, Essan asked, "Did you feel anything specific?"

"Sohren's dead. It was fast… painful. I don't even know about Reina… That's why I have to go."

Neither of them argued. Essan asked, "Are you sure about Santossa?"

"No. But it's the place to start."

"We can leave Morning Star as soon as you're ready. My shuttle's sitting in the spaceport, but we'll have to restock before leaving." To be clear she added, "I'm going with you."

He rolled over and saw their silhouettes wavered by tears. "Don't you have a war to fight?"

"I'm going with you," she repeated.

He felt, through their lingering Force-bond, she still intended to fight that war. But it was all right. Depending on who was responsible for Sohren's death, he might join the war too.

With effort he pushed himself into sitting position. He looked down at Gedor and said, "I know you have your place here… I won't ask you to come."

"With you I will be, through the Force." Gedor looked from him to Essan. "Stay together, I beg. Stronger you are together, and from here will I make you stronger still. Strength you will need in whatever lies ahead."

"Thank you..." The word caught in his throat a moment; then he choked it out. "Master."

Gedor only nodded. "If go you must, go now. With you I will go to the village. Everything you need for your voyage they will give you. Generous my followers are, more generous than I deserve."

They proved that generosity when the three Force-users descended the mountain. Their arrival inevitably garnered a crowd, and it was Gedor who explained that the Jedi had suffered a loss and would be leaving soon, possibly into danger.

Even through his numbing grief, the response shocked Erakas. They didn't only volunteer food and drink for the journey. Some offered weapons, and even themselves. Erakas was so surprised he had no response.

Essan said, "We don't know the situation we're going into. We might not need your help at all."

"It's better to be prepared," said Hedrix, the human comm tech, "and our Prophets need to be protected."

"We are not prophets," Essan said.

"You are like Gedor," Pres'carn insisted. "Why do you think all of us are here around this mountain? Only for ourselves? Xim and who-knows-who-else would love to have a speck of the Prophet's power. He heals and guides us, and we protect him."

In all this time the thought had never occurred to Erakas, but when he looked at the villagers around him now—mostly males with hard eyes and harder auras in the Force—he understood that these people, so kind to him, were willing to use violence to defend their prophets. That rank now included him.

"I can't promise you'll be safe," he told them.

"There are more important things than being safe," Pres'carn insisted, then asked Essan. "How many can your ship hold?"

"It's a small ship, made for four. But there is extra space for rations, and more air-scrubbers."

She was inviting them along. Erakas looked at her in disbelief but she, without glancing, sent him a nudge through the Force. We may need them, she said.

She was right, but his responsibility for Sohren's death stabbed his heart. He didn't want to be responsible for these people too.

Gedor's lessons came back to him. Whether he wanted it or not, he was responsible, just as he was responsible for Sohren and millions on Ranroon he'd never met and barely thought about. Simply by having the Force, he was responsible. It was something Gedor and Essan both had been trying to teach him and he'd stubbornly denied their lesson until it was too late.

If he'd accepted it earlier, he might have been there for Sohren.

That thought was a black hole but Essan pulled him back before he fell. Grasping him by the shoulder, shaking him physically, she hissed, "We have to look to the future. For our sakes, for their sakes, for Reina's sake."

"She could be dead too."

"I don't believe she is."

Erakas stared at her dumbly. "You… feel it?"

"In my heart." She tapped her chest.

But in the Force? She didn't say. Erakas felt nothing at all. Since Sohren's death it had abandoned him.

When they loaded up the truck that would take them to the spaceport he felt glad to be gone of this place. And when three villagers, laden with supplies and weapons, joined them at the truck he felt grim responsibility like a weight to his chest.

The worst was seeing Pres'carn say goodbye to his wife and child. He embraced San'fel and nuzzled his furry cheek to hers. Then Tam'pres clasped her forearms, bent in, and whispered something to his mother. That was when the weight became almost unbearable. He realized that Pres'carn wasn't leaving his son behind. Tam'pres, strong and lanky but barely older than Sohren, was coming with them.

As he climbed into the back of the truck with the Jedi, Pres'carn said, "My son is nearly an adult by our reckoning. He must be ready to defend what is right in the universe."

"And you believe that's me?"

"I do," the Saheelindeel said firmly. "Have faith in us, Erakas, as we have faith in you."

As the truck rumbled to life and began its jostling journey to the spaceport, Erakas reflected that he did have faith in Pres'carn and even Tam'pres. They knew their purpose and would hold to it. What he needed was faith in himself, but he didn't know if he'd ever have that again.