Chapter X

Dawn's Highway

"In political news, environmental groups clash with Kuat Drive Yards over what appears to be an upcoming weapons test in the Sujimis sector. The rumored test would involve so-called Class 7 Advanced Weapons, a rare distinction sometimes called a Superweapon. Joining us from Pantora is activist leader Inlen Unri."

"Happy to be here."

"Miss Unri, what exactly is the environmental concern? The test is set to take place on Balotar 6, a barren world with no atmosphere, no ecology, no resources. There's nothing to damage."

The holoterminal droned on, as Rori stared through the window of the retention station. A conveyor belt carried random bits of Imperial armor through a line of sorting droids; each piece either stained with blood, or missing chunks altogether. If the droids deemed the piece unsalvageable, it was simply put on a freighter for Raxus. Otherwise, salvageable armor is power washed with thick jets of scalding hot water, burning away the red stains.

"The problem, uh, comes down to the scale of destruction that a class 7 weapon can bring. Any disruption to the natural gravity well in the Balotar system could adversely affect the Pantoran system, which is less than a parsec away."

Rori couldn't quite pick out which armor belonged to Able, and Gomen's was long gone by this point. An eight-armed floating droid viciously sprayed the blood off a helmet, halting the conveyor belt to make sure the stain was completely removed. A diluted, crimson solution gathered on the floor, circling around a small drain.

"I understand the concern, but it's quite the stretch to say Kuat is developing a weapon that can disrupt the gravity of an entire system."

"Which is why the Pantoran Natural Congress only asks for transparency. We want to know what this weapon is, and what it does. If scientists say its effects are localized, the test can go on; but if there's even the slightest chance it could harm Pantora's ecosystem, then it would have to be halted until its effects can be more accurately predicted."

All that Able was, all that remained of Gomen, Willy, and dozens of other young men, circled down a cheap aluminium drain; their armor shipped back to the core, for the next batch of recruits.


A robotic announcement echoed through the mineshaft. "Reminder: the Mk IV ArmaTek Fusion Furnace will be discontinued by the manufacturer next month. Existing models are on sale for 60 scrip at the supply depot. Credits and barter are not accepted. Thank you."

Two Rodian miners started pooling their scrip, hoping to afford one before winter set in.

Butch casually listened in on their conversation. He whispered to Iden, "One on the left, 'e 'as a daughter. Says she got pneumonia. Cold blood don't mix with a world like this."

Iden paused, pulling a credit chip out of her kit bag. "How much do they need? I can skip a few meals."

"Won't do a lick 'a bloody good. This one 'a them places what don't pay in credits. Keeps miners in debt to the comp'ny, and stops 'em from leavin'."

Iden looked back at the two miners.

"May's well give 'em bog tissue."

She silently crossed the shaft to the two miners, offering them what little she could spare. An oft-missed nuance of the Huttese language was that it contained no expressions of gratitude. Instead, they expressed confusion at the gesture; wondering why an Imperial would give them her useless money. Iden wished them a good night, and walked back to Butch.

"No good deed goes unpunished, ye best bloody remember that." He was too tired to be properly frustrated.

"Noted. Come on, depot's just ahead." She zipped her kit bag and picked up the pace.

Ahead, eight miners queued in front of a small shop carved into the cavern wall. A Muttani quartermaster, wrapped in a thick coat, stood behind the counter. A ray shield separated him from the miners, with a small opening to the side used to complete transactions.

"Loik a bloody prison," Butch lamented, recalling old memories. He unclipped and removed his helmet. "Gettin' hot in 'ere."

"It's ten degrees," Iden put in.

"Ten above."

The Muttani tried to keep the line moving. "Next…"

Butch calmly cut to the front of the line. "Pardon me, guv'nah."

The QM sighed, "What is it?"

Iden took charge. "There's been a rash of thefts. Mining equipment, mostly."

The Muttani scratched his chin. "Uh… I ain't reported nothin'."

"That's the problem. It's winding up where it shouldn't. Petty crooks, street kids…"

"Listen, lady, I don't know nothing about-"

Butch interrupted, "Unionizers." He gave the side eye to the portly alien.

"Listen… I…" He tripped on his words. That last word struck a nerve.

Iden crossed her arms, expectantly.

"You gotta understand, it was a different time. Kahdah looked the other way. The 212th just wanted a cut of the action. A guy has to make a living somehow."

"You sold them?" She scolded.

"No, not like that… I…" He started to squirm. "Some Rodian offered me a thousand scrip to leave the ray shields off overnight. It was months ago."

"Should'a asked fer credits," Butch added, "Might'a gotchu off this snowball."

"Yeah, noted."

Iden asked the next question, "Who was this Rodian?"

"Just some rabble-rouser. Small time."

"Malachi?" Butch asked.

"How did you…" The Muttani looked at Butch, to find the other staring him down firmly. "I… I think, yeah. But he's harmless enough, I wouldn't worry."

"Where is he?"

"Uhhh…" He checked his datapad, "Says here he has two shifts tonight. Shaft 87-Grek and 22-Vev."

"Bloody mile apart."

"We'll split up," Iden suggested, "Cover both at once, and meet back here in an hour."

Butch paused. "Ye think that's safe? Might be partisans in these mines."

"You can handle yourself, right?" She chided, "Besides, there's Guild security everywhere. They're not gonna try anything."

Butch resigned. "If ye say so."

Iden checked her ammo, then turned and started off in the other direction.

"'Ey, uh…"

She turned back, to see Butch slipping his helmet back on.

"Come back in one piece, sarge." A faint note of concern. Possibly even genuine.

She nodded silently, then turned and kept walking.

In the distance, a low growl reverberated through the stone walls. A sinister sense of deja vu entered her mind; paired with the unmistakable musk of Vardosian fields.


Steaming hot chemicals splashed against the gunship's durasteel hull. Embedded layers of frost slipped off, revealing its vintage Republic paint job and worn scars of numerous close calls. Scorchmarks streaked along the fuselage, barely missing the canopy. The chemicals did nothing to fade these marks; they were as much a part of the gunship as any of its components. One could no more wash them away than pull the core out of a world.

Thire cycled the powerwasher. A cold sweat moistened his brow. His hand trembled and his heart raced. It didn't feel right for him to have a drink so soon after his outburst. Nostalgia, in essence, was a way to trade one vice for another.

LAAT gunships were one of the few pieces of old Republic hardware still in use by the Empire, although a replacement was in development, for reasons more political than practical.

He took a seat on an old engine block left on the landing pad, admiring his work. The spaceport was relatively quiet, barring a small number of maintenance staff working on astromech droids and load lifters. Most of the gunship was clean, minus a few hard-to-reach crevices on top. The starboard gunner's bubble was poorly calibrated, an issue that would have to be fixed with specialized software.

In his younger days, he recalled these things would always break down at the worst moments. Repulsorlift shielding wore away quickly in high-methane atmospheres, exposing the engine to the elements.

A vivid memory manifested of his old team on Rugosa: Gomen taking cover beside the starboard bay door of a downed gunship, droids piling in from the port side. Thire sat a few feet back, nursing a sprained ankle. Jek and Rys laid down suppressive fire, slowing down some of the bigger B2 droids while Gomen picked off the smaller B1s.

Their figures stood beside the gunship as though they were still there, firing volley after volley into endless waves of droids.

Jek asked why the Jedi were never around when you needed them, to which Gomen offered a simple solution: "Don't need them."

He remembered begging for his rifle back; begging to rejoin the fight. To modern eyes, it seemed like misplaced macho heroism. At the time, though, his mindset was simple: more blasters down range, more dead droids, less dead clones.

It all seemed so simple back then.

The powerwasher beeped, indicating it was ready for another blast. The hose went off in his hand, washing away the spectres of Gomen, Jek, and Rys. Now the young Thire sat alone, on the ground, with a wounded leg.

He blinked, looking down at his own ghost, contemplating whether to wash it away as well.

"Sir?"

A voice broke his trance. He jerked to the side, to see Spinner carrying a bureaucratic datapad.

"What is it?" Thire asked.

"Discharge orders for Johan. Just need your thumbprint."

Thire looked back to see the spectre had disappeared. He shut off the powerwasher, before grabbing the device from Spinner's hand.

On the small screen, he saw the expected boilerplate legalese scroll by, not bothering to read it all. The answer was a foregone conclusion. "He's not getting a discharge." He handed the datapad back to Spinner, before walking over to work on the gunship.

Spinner's jaw dropped. "No what?" He kept pace with the colonel. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"He doesn't qualify. Not enough points."

"Not enough points? He lost a fucking arm! How's he supposed to fight?"

Thire calmly opened a toolbox, looking for a fusion cutter. "The Corporal will be fitted with cybernetics, as is standard procedure. When he finishes his service, he will be allowed to keep them as a civilian." He pulled it out of the bottom of the box, loudly disturbing the other heavy tools.

Spinner scoffed in disbelief. "So that's just it, then? 'We'll take your pound of flesh, now keep fighting 'till nothing's left.'"

"Cybernetics make for a fruitful-"

"I don't care!" Spinner kicked over the toolbox in a blind rage. Tools scattered across the landing pad, some breaking from the impact. "Some cunt upstairs sent him into that cave, and he came back half a man! He followed orders to a T, and it left him maimed. He doesn't need a shitty slab of metal, he needs to go home while he still has his head attached!"

Two troopers approached the scene, weapons at the ready. "Is there a problem here, sir?"

Thire looked to them, then back to Spinner. "That's a good question, boy. Is there?"

Spinner breathed heavily, eyes darted back and forth between the Colonel and the two guards. His thoughts raced. That shit-eating… Outgunned, he steadied himself, measuring his words. "I'll go tell him the good news." He tossed the datapad into a nearby burnpit. The screen cracked on impact, the paint peeled from the flames. "If he survives, he's got one hell of a pension waiting."

He walked off into the night, leaving Thire alone with his memories.


45 minutes of walking. Each shaft looked the same as the last. The only difference was the sign out front.

75-Grek, Iden thought, Must be close by now. Her symptoms from the elevator hadn't subsided. Second Corellian formation: single file, marksman in the back rank, squad leader second position behind pointman. Spec ops field manuals from the Clone Wars. She had studied them during her academy days. Eighth Malastare formation: Staggered ranks, no designated pointman, marksmen on far left and right ends. Designed for jungle warfare. These words gave her solace, relief, a sense of purpose.

Two miners got into a fight ahead of her. Guild security stepped in to break it up, before plasma torches got involved.

Fifth Theed formation: Two identical ranks. Heavy gunner in… The pain flared up again. In front… no… second position… pointman in front. Squad leader in back. Her muscles rebelled, squeezing her guts in a vice grip. Her stance staggered. The hot pain spread down to her thigh. First Fondor: Single file. Two marksmen up front, followed by slugthrowers… no, two slugthrowers, then marksman. That's still not right. As she fought back the pain, it became increasingly clear the pain was winning.

Two miners walked out from an empty shaft, taking a smoke break.

She peaked inside. It was pitch black, hardly used. Without thinking, she quickly ducked inside, leaned against the closest wall. She let her legs give out and sank to the ground. She quickly locked her gun, on the off chance it would be stolen, then set it beside her. The pain still didn't subside, only grow in ways she could barely manage. She loosened her belt, giving herself more room to stretch. Her arm clutched her stomach, trying to massage it out. Before she knew it, she found herself doubled over, grunting and groaning, writhing, sweating and struggling in the dark against an enemy she couldn't see, let alone fight.

"Full moon, Missssssss Versio?" A familiar voice shocked her ears. She looked up to see a subtle outline of the spectre from the bar, leaned against the opposite wall, staring right at her. His right lek stretched down to his abdomen. His left could not be seen in such low light. His eyes glowed. One bright white, the other bloodshot red. In his mouth, a dim cigarette illuminated his blue skin.

"Go away." The words struggled to leave her mouth. "I don't have time for this!"

"You can walk away anytime you wisssssssssssssh. Me, though? I'm the one sssssssssssstuck here."

She struggled in silence, attempting not to acknowledge the apparition. The pungent stench of his cigarette filled her lungs, only making matters worse.

"I am quite curious. You obviously have these… asssssssssspirations. But do they not feel… unrealistic… at this juncture?"

She sat up, trying to steady herself. "You saying I belong…" She stifled a scream, biting her tongue, "...behind a desk?"

The figure laughed, gruffly, grabbing his cigarette out of his mouth with his left hand. "I'm a murderer, Miss Versio, not a chauvinisssssssst."

She caught a glimpse of the first two fingers of his left hand. His normally pale blue skin was either stained red, or missing entirely. Drops of blood dripped down the stem of the cigarette, drying on the paper as they got closer to the flame.

"Can you truly look at yourself right now, and see special forces material?"

"What does it matter to you?"

"Avoidance. Another question, then: is your cause truly jusssssssssst? Do you believe ssssso ssssstrongly in the Empire's aims as to give them your life?"

"Yes!" She answered without a second thought. "Yes, I do."

"Good answer." He put the cigarette back in his mouth, inhaling deeply. The tip flared up, briefly lighting up the bloodied left side of his face. "Very quick. Affirmative."

She took deep breaths, feeling the pain start to dissipate.

"But then… Why are you here without them?"

She did not answer.

"Genuine concern? Doubt? Sssssseeds of rebellious thought?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Or…" he took a step closer to her, standing uncomfortably near. She could make out tiny scratches and tears on his clothes. "Ssssssssimple glory? Not only are you on the winning team, but you led them there. You found the smoking gun, and brought the rebels to their knees."

She failed to look him in the eye, searching for a rebuttal.

"I'm getting warmer, aren't I?"

The pain had subsided enough that she could stand once more. She forced herself to her feet, tightening her belt once more. She unlocked her blaster, and took one last breath before wordlessly walking out of the shaft. All in your head, she thought, it's all in your head. Third Korriban… Marksman takes point.

87-Grek was just ahead. Something was different about this shaft. A bright, blue light streamed out, casting shadows of angry miners on the opposing wall. An ethereal hum, audible even through the ambient bickering of passers-by, sent a brief shiver up her spine.

A feeling passed through her mind, one which any rational person would call impossible, that maybe something was in there. Something that could not be seen nor heard; only felt.

But there was only one way to find out. It's all in your head, she repeated, silently, as she passed the glowing threshold.


Thire looked up from his work on the gunship, at the sound of glass clanking against steel.

"Peace offering."

He turned back, to see the General holding two glasses, and a bottle of Chandrilan '38 by his tools.

Lottlief uncorked the bottle, pouring the Colonel's glass first. "I deeply apologize if I came off… strong before." He then poured himself a glass before setting the bottle to the side. "I'm probably the last man who should be playing temperance judge, never mind jury and executioner." He chuckled, dryly. "Besides, I still have need of allies like yourself, Thire. You're a dying breed, quite literally."

Thire cautiously sat up and took the glass.

"Bottoms up." The General clanked his glass to Thire's, then took a long sip. "Simply phenomenal. How do you like it?"

Thire downed half the glass. In truth, he found it a tad weak, but why be impolite? "What you said, sir. Phenomenal."

"Splendid, splendid." He quickly refilled both glasses, before taking a seat on a nearby slag. "I see you're a fan of the old bubble design." He pointed to the gunship Thire had been servicing.

"Reliable old bastards, yeah. Got me and my men out of more than a few scraps."

"Quite true. Quite true. Have you seen those new ones Rothana is pushing?"

"You mean the ones with the…?" Thire waved a hand over his head, mimicking a kind of low hood.

"Yes, those ghastly things!" He and Thire shared a laugh. "Missing half the firepower, half the fuel tank, and half the speed, just to save half a credit."

"They certainly don't make 'em like they used to."

"I'll drink to that, Colonel!"

Thire found himself stuck in days gone by, yet again. "I find myself thinking about those days sometimes. It's always so vivid. Like you could just take a step back and be there."

The General nodded, solemnly. "Quite true."

"Then again, where's the point in dwelling? It's called the past for a reason."

"There's always a way to bring the past back. It just takes a little work."

Thire lightly scoffed through his nose. "Is this another political pitch, General?"

"Well, since you twisted my arm…" Lottlief produced a datapad full of senatorial sloganeering, offering it to the Colonel. "Chandrila needs new representation. I'm throwing my hat in the ring the minute I get back to the core, and I'd like your support."

"Wait." Thire took a proper look at the datapad, confused as to what he was seeing. "Chandrila? Mothma's seat?"

The General nodded, smugly.

"I thought you were on her side."

"Well…" He slowly rose to his feet, pacing about, glass in hand, "I share the goals of the ARR. Make no doubt about it. And they aren't getting anywhere with her shooting her mouth off at every turn. Most voters want the Republic back, and they want Palpatine gone. You can win on that platform. But then she always goes off about disbanding the military; tax hikes; returning the Jedi to a seat of power, like that's not what got us into this mess to start. She's a mess. A complete political disaster."

"You feel like you should be the one leading the Alliance."

"If not me, at least someone a damn sight more approachable. She can take her ivory tower and… put it away."

Thire took another sip. "She is popular, though. You're in for a hard primary."

"But an easy race! Chandrila is deep green. Not one Loyalist legislator. All Republican."

"And all loyal to her."

Lottlief paced about. "That's why I need all the help I can get. She's weak on veterans' issues. Your endorsement would devastate her campaign!"

"Sir, if I may…"

Lottlief stopped pacing, and turned to listen.

"It sounds to me," Thire continued, "Like you're intent on repeating the same mistakes that brought down the Republic in the first place. Unchecked corruption, political deadlock, a war it didn't need, and two ends of the galaxy that couldn't agree on a damn thing. I only lived in the Republic for 3 years, but I saw that rot firsthand. It was never gonna survive."

"My boy, this is how it has always been. The Republic survived for thousands of years this way. Of course it wasn't perfect, but it's far better than this."

"If we want the good old days back, sir, we need to be able to keep 'em."

Lottlief froze up, gauging the other's words.

"And I don't think you planned for that."

The General kept a stiff upper lip; an expert sabacc face. "Then you had better hope she has, or I may live to see the Republic fall twice."

The moon hid behind a bank of clouds as the General made his departure.

"Keep the bottle, Colonel. My gift to you."


The low growl returned, louder than before. Reverberating against the cramped quarters of Shaft 87-Grek. It erupted into a vicious roar, before dying back down to a simple growl. A two-legged beast had made this noise on Vardos; a sentient, covered in hair, standing several inches taller than her. She remembered chasing it down several city blocks, in connection with a spice smuggling bust. It evaded her, on foot, after scaling the stone face of a government skyscraper; an impossible task for most species.

This beast, from its roar, sounded like it was even bigger.

The blue glow grew brighter as she neared the end of the shaft. The walls around her appeared to be untouched by mining droids, as though this whole shaft had been dug with a specific goal in mind. The ground sloped downward, pulling her further below the surface with each step. Geothermal gasses warmed the ground at this depth. Surface frost melted into thick mud. Iden's boots stuck in the ground, ankle deep, before she forced them back out again with each step.

Stay. A faint whisper in her head. Please. Drowned out by the sloshing and bubbling of the mud.

Ahead, the shaft opened into a wider chamber, confirming her suspicions. Her eyes adjusted. The bright blue horizon refined into ornate ruins. Perfectly carved arches, statues of cloaked figures, a ceiling encased in solid, crystalized ice, even as filthy water trickled out the mineshaft.

A blast of cold air greeted her as she stepped in the chamber. The ground hardened. The temperature dropped sharply. Vent shafts, finely carved by centuries of devotees, channelled the world's natural gasses upward toward the surface.

But why was it so bright?

She turned to her right. At the center of the chamber, surrounded by yet more ornate sculptures in marble and stone, trimmed with aurodium plating, stood a single, solid crystal, floating several feet in the air. A single ray of moonlight shined down the central shaft, directed by networks of razor-thin mirrors, diffused by the crystal across the entire chamber.

"Let there be light," she murmured. "This must be what the Empire's been looking for."

The crystal might have been kyber, or at least looked as so to an untrained eye. Ice was another possibility, or some sort of dyed transparisteel. She didn't even question why it was floating. Part of her would rather not know.

"Just one more day, Mal. You know I'll deliver." A voice came from the opposite end of the chamber. Male, likely human.

Thinking quickly, she slid into a crevice between two statues, readied her weapon. Fog flew from her mouth with each heavy breath.

"Your abilities are not in question, Sleemo, only your necessity. You've become redundant; and a security risk, at that." The second voice was far higher pitched. Rodian, but speaking immaculate basic; albeit with a slight rural drawl, common with agricultural worlds of the inner rim.

"And that's my fault? I've done everything you asked, Mal! Everything! You can't just-"

The beast roared once more; loud enough to be in this very room. Iden pushed herself further into the crevice, pointed her weapon outside, finger on the trigger.

"If you continue to anger him, you'll see what happens first hand. His trophies aren't just for show."

"Hey, what are you…" The human sounded like he was struggling for breath. The beast growled sadistically.

"I'm sorry, Sleemo, but our partnership is at its end. Insiders and defectors grow on trees these days. You were always replaceable."

A blood-curdling scream reverberated off the hallowed walls of the ancient temple. A vicious roar underscored every note. Each climbed in volume with each passing second, until the former stopped entirely.

Iden slid forward slightly, peaking out at the central chamber with only her right eye. A loud thud startled her back behind cover.

The body of an unfortunate guild security guard slid past her, leaving a bloody red streak across the icy floor. His left arm had been snapped and ripped from the torso, the skin peeled from his face like a piece of fruit. A chunk of meat was missing from his neck; bitten off.

She covered her mouth, bit her tongue. Every instinct told her to scream; every rational sense forced her silence. Blood pooled on the floor before her, crystalizing as it froze.

"The time draws near." The Rodian sounded much closer now. His accent was clearer. "Are the men in place?"

The beast produced a low grumble.

"'Soon' may not be good enough." The Rodian seemed to be responding to what the beast said. "If those Stormtroopers realize we're down here, we could be bombed from orbit."

The beast failed to respond. The room grew quiet.

"Could you pay some god damn attention, Gorrr!? We don't have-"

Silence took over once more. A disturbing pause, punctuated only by the faint, distant noise of mining equipment. She could feel a sudden rush of warmer air in the crevice. Looking behind her, she noticed it extended further back than she'd initially estimated. It might not have been an escape route, but in a pinch, it would at least give her room to retreat.

The silence broke, as heavy footsteps cracked the ice beneath. Something sniffed at the air; slowly at first, then voraciously, like a Vornskr seeking fresh meat. A low, carnivorous rumble reverberated through the empty walls. Tiny flakes of ice fell from the ceiling; shook free by a controlled explosion several floors above.

She wanted to take another step back, but feared even the slightest movement would give her away. She prayed that her scent would not do that anyway. Cautiously, she lifted her back foot, noiselessly pushing it further inside. She had only her memory to keep it from touching the wall. As her boot lowered delicately, she closed her eyes and held her breath, focusing everything to guide it to stable ground…

Only to crack the ice beneath it.

The beast's clawed arm lunged at her through the opening. Had she reacted a microsecond earlier, its long claws would have cleaved straight through her helmet. The low rumble shifted to a vicious, angry snarl, as it grabbed at the air in front of her. It eyes glowed and its mouth foamed. Its head and body, completely covered in long, black fur, were clothed only by a bandolier. A scar over its scalp revealed a thin patch of pink skin, where fur did not grow.

Iden committed to the step back, then readied her weapon, firing half her clip into the monster's body. At least one shot hit its arm, making it flinch. The beast retracted its arm, forced its head in. Its roar flooded her eardrums, louder than the battlefields of Crait; its razor-sharp teeth stained with fresh blood.

Several more shots struck true. It recoiled, pulling its head out as she took a few more steps back.

The rodian chuckled darkly. "It's been a long time since he's done that!" His voice echoed through the tight crevice. "He has a thing for humans; especially the fairer sex."

Iden said nothing, dropping the spent clip from her carbine and replacing it in record time.

"You see, Gorrr here is what they call a 'Madclaw.' Exiled from his people, and for damn good reason. Rest assured, human, if I had the time, I would blow this wall open and let him have his fun… but you'll meet your fate soon enough."

Gorrr started beating on the wall to her right. A tiny crack formed along the side, growing slightly with each blow.

"Grancha karking gusha, ootmian." His tone shifted to address Gorrr. "Boska!"

The walls rumbled again, much louder than before. Distant, panicked cries wormed their way down. The beast had vanished, and yet the shaking continued. Tiny bits of rubble rained down on her as she tried to wiggle her way back out.

An alarm siren blared. An automated voice yelled over the PA system. "Hydraulic leak on level 38! Hydraulic leak on level 38!" The message repeated in Huttese, then again in Basic. "All personnel move to contain the leak!"

She made it back out into the main chamber. Gunfire could now be heard above her. The screams grew louder after each shot, barely cloaking the ringing in her ears.

Her commlink beeped. "Iden, where the hell are ye?"

Butch, she thought, "I found Malachi, but he escaped. What's going on up there?"

"Whole bloody place turned 'a shit! I 'ear blasters in every direction, and can't tell who the 'ell's firing."

The automated message repeated."Hydraulic leak on level 38!"

"And that too!" He added.

Iden started running back into the mineshaft. "What's going on with the hydraulics?"

"Can't say for bloody sure, but if it's military hydraulic fluid, the fumes could be caustic."

"Roger that. Filters on, and try to help the miners anywhere you can. We'll home in on eachother's positions and link up. ETA seventeen minutes, if we hurry."

"Copy that, love. See you there."

"And remember rules of engagement. Do not fire unless fired upon! I don't want another Ghorman here. Copy?"

Butch grumbled over the commlink. "I'll try, but no promises. It's gettin' bad in 'ere."

"Just make damn sure you're not hitting the miners. Over."

"Fine. Damnit. Filters on, over."

She flipped off her commlink, started jogging down the shaft, rushing to link up with Butch. Again, her boots caked with mud. Again, a geothermal front heated the tunnel. And again, impossibly, she still seemed to be headed down.

Stay.

It was the same shaft, headed back where she came, only the direction had somehow changed.

Please.


The head of a simple wooden matchstick dragged across the rough layer of ice on the ground. Combustion. The chemical head burned away in seconds, leaving the flame to slowly eat away at the wooden stem. A death stick was placed above it. The glass tube was scorched, superficially; the liquid inside started to bubble.

The chosen one. He stared into the flame, intently, rotating the narcotic above it. The flame expanded and contracted as it journeyed down the stick; perhaps reacting to the cold. It matched his own breathing. Inhale. Exhale. The flame moved in tandem.

The wind picked up, towing a blizzard with its icy fist. The last stars vanished from the night sky; the match extinguished. It whistled a simple tune from the private's childhood; a promise of better days.

Snow gathered on the opposite wall in a chaotic pattern. A rorschach blot, changing shape with each blink of his eye. The face of Thire. Johan. Spinner. Butch… Iden. The visage of the living. Those who could still be saved.

The liquid gathered at the bottom of the tube, freezing solid. Ruined.

He looked left to witness a large explosion. The world glowed yellow for a few seconds, yet only the wind could be heard. Panic in the streets followed. He could see their screams, touch their fear, yet not a word could be heard.

The next sound was a footstep. His own. To his right, he saw himself, suited up, blaster in hand, running toward the blast.

Was this the man he wanted to be? He figured he'd give it a try.

He blinked once more. Sound returned. He wiped a flake of snow from his eye before opening it. He was already on his feet, blaster ready, nearing the site of the explosion: the market square. The last 2 hours expunged from his memory.

"Is everyone alright?" He asked. Troopers had already gathered to control the situation. Anyone with medical training was tending to civilians wounded by the blast. "What just happened?"

A trooper with a red cross painted on her arm waved him down, asked him to apply pressure on a bleeding male Twi'lek. "Some kind of gas explosion. We're not sure." She noticed a glaze in his eye. "Are you okay? Were you caught in the blast too?"

He tried to snap himself out of it. "I'll be fine."

She took his assurance, for now, focusing on pulling shrapnel from the man's chest. "Name's Brynn. I'm a corpsman with the 9th."

Rori nodded. "Could'a used you in the tunnels. A lot of good men died back there."

"Believe me, Nar Skocha's always got a few fires to put out."

The patient wheezed, gasping for air. His lung had collapsed. Blood oozed into the snow, and snow into his chest.

"It's no good." She shook her head and packed up, moving to the next patient.

Rori protested. "You can't just leave him to die!"

"He's gonna die anyway. But if we're quick, maybe no one else has to."

The patient's breathing grew faint. His eyes rolled into the back of his skull, as he gasped desperately.

Rori cursed under his breath, following Brynn to the next patient, a blue-skinned woman with what appeared to be minor burns.

"She'll be okay," Brynn assured, applying a shot of bacta.

Rori looked on at the mass of casualties. All ages, young and old. All professions. Men and women alike. Only one thing in common. "They're all Twi'lek."

Brynn looked up to confirm.

"All the victims," he reiterated, "They…"

"Well how about that." She finished her work and moved to the next patient, checking for vitals.

"It doesn't… You're not even the slightest bit curious?"

"This little trivia game isn't gonna help us save these people!"

Two more troopers ran in from the main road. "Situation's getting worse," one of them said, "Active hostiles in the residential quarter. Looks like it could be a terror attack."

"Are they targeting Twi'leks?" Rori asked without hesitation.

"Hard to say. Kelleon sent us down to find more guns. And a medic, if at all possible."

"Brynn's a corpsman. Will she do?"

Brynn chimed in. "No. No, she won't. I have enough on my plate as it is."

The other trooper grumbled. "Lady, I don't even know the goddamn difference. We've got people dying out there. If you can apply bacta, we need the help."

"I have people dying right here! I'm not running away!"

Rori interrupted. "I'll go. I'm useless here anyway. At least I can fight."

The trooper on the right nodded. "We still need a medic… corpsman… whatever."

"Here." She pulled a few syrettes out of her kitbag, full of viscous, baby blue gel. "Just squeeze a vein and pop it in. Even a child can do it." She tossed the syrettes to Rori. "It won't work miracles, but it might buy some time if you're short on medics."

Rori nodded. "I can do that."

The trooper on the right sighed in resignation. "Fine. We need to get a move on anyway. Check your weapons and move out."

Rori did as asked, disappearing into the raging snowstorm with the other two troopers. His hand began to tremble. He had already missed the sensation of ixetol, but now was not the time.

There may never be a right time.


A plasma bolt grazed Iden's helmet. "Shit!" She cursed through her teeth and ducked behind a broken mining droid. She didn't get a good look at her attackers, but enough bolts were flying over her head that she could guess more than one.

The fire broke for less than a second. She took the chance to counter-attack, resting her blaster on the rim of the droid and firing a suppressive volley. One attacker, a Rodian in stolen GuildSec armor, ducked behind a support strut, while his identically-dressed cohort tried to land a headshot; missing entirely.

In total, she spotted three of them, all in the same stolen armor. Similarly, she recognized their weapons, not as military blasters, but stolen mining lasers. She ducked back behind cover, and began formulating a plan. Mining lasers were never designed to penetrate plasteel, at least not at range. They were meant to dislodge solid rock at point blank range; and their effective stopping power dropped sharply beyond the first few feet. If she took a hit, even center-of-mass, her armor should hold. All she had to do was keep her distance.

More volleys hit her cover, tearing off one of the droid's shrimpy arms. It wasn't going to last much longer. In one swift move, she pushed herself out from cover, firing full auto to cover her retreat to a nearby strut. The moment she reached a more tenable position, she swapped out her clip: a motion she'd practiced so many times, it had become second nature.

They didn't know it then, but they'd just been outplayed.

With her weapon full, she peaked back out, taking a few extra seconds to line up her next shot. This gamble paid off. The shot struck true, knocking the first rodian on his back. He was still alive, yelling and cursing in his native language for a medic.

The other two formulated a quick plan. The larger one switched to full auto to provide cover fire, while the smaller moved to apply first aid.

Wasting no time, Iden lined up a shot on the medic, nearly decapitating him with a well-placed blast as he tried to help his friend. The body went limp mid-stride, falling on top of the first one. She took a superficial hit to her breastplate, but as expected, it held.

The first rodian, still alive and covered in the medic's blood, screamed in terror. The corpse pinned him down, most of its lower jaw missing, bone fragments blending in with stray pebbles on the ground.

"Iden!" A familiar voice graced her commlink. "Come in! Ye' there?"

A bolt whizzed past as she ducked back into cover to answer it. "Good to hear your voice, Butch! I'm a bit pinned down over here."

"'Fraid I can't be much 'elp, love. Shit's worse'n I thought. 'Ole place crawlin' with them bugs, and they's armed to the bloody teeth!"

"Bugs?" A bolt singed her cover. She leaned out to return fire, hitting nothing.

"Them green cunts what got the buggy eyes."

She rolled her eyes. "Nevermind that. Listen, I'm about five minutes from the elevator. Can you meet me there?"

"I…" He was interrupted. Some sort of commotion could be heard on his end. Blaster fire, screaming, a faint explosion. "Iden, I…" He fell inexplicably silent. "Son of a…" A woman cried in the background, periodically screaming bloody murder. Iden heard deep, panicked breaths; seemingly his. "I got'a go."

The connection was terminated. Severed on his end.

Bolts of hot plasma flew by her head. Scorchmarks dotted the strut.

"E chu ta, ootmian!"

Another Rodian had joined the large one, firing alongside him. This one had a proper blaster. Distance wasn't going to save her. She peeked out of cover, ducked back immediately, narrowly avoiding a blast to the face. This position was no longer tenable. She needed to even the odds.

Her training was clear: firepower always won the day.

She unclipped a thermal detonator from her belt, and pulled the switch back, letting it cook. The explosive device buzzed and ticked rapidly, as it charged to critical mass.

Her abdomen started to hurt again. Not now, she thought, letting the rush of epinephrine bury the pain. She forced her eyes open, suppressing the urge to blink. Blaster bolts flew past her head. They had her fully suppressed. Any second now, they would begin their push.

The detonator beeped three times.

Now!

She dove out of cover to the opposite strut, pitching the grenade from her left hand in the split second she had in the air. Before she even saw the blast, the flash had blinded her. Before she heard it land, the blast wave had deafened her. She felt herself land on the rocky ground, close to the other strut. The abdominal pain convinced her she was still alive, but none of her other senses worked. The world had turned blank white, with barely detectable shades of alabaster at the edge of her perception. Only a high pitched ringing could be heard. No other sound may as well have existed. The only smell reminded her of the pungent exhaust of old speeder bikes, underscored with a stinging, acidic tinge. Like a broken fuel line. It smelled as if…

Oh shit…

She immediately reoriented herself, running her hand against her helmet in search of the filters. She should have engaged them earlier. The stinging smell deepened as she finally reached the button. Usually, the helmet would beep to inform her the filters were on. Maybe it did, but she had no way to hear it.

Her vision finally started to come back. Blurry, gray shapes could be made out, roughly corresponding to the shape of the tunnel.

The adrenaline faded. She was on her own against the pain.

The ringing slowly faded. She could hear the loud hissing of compressed air ahead of her, where the Rodians were.

"Hydraulic leak on level 44! Hydraulic leak on level 44!"

Her vision sharpened. She was almost ready to see color again. She slowly forced herself to her feet, fighting through pains old and new. Her left arm clutched her side. She hissed through her teeth, limping forward.

The lights flickered on and off. One lamp had come partially detached, and swung by a single cable over the bodies; which were mangled beyond recognition. A large dent had been blown in the stone wall, exposing a leaky metal pipe. A thin mist sprayed from within, its fumes slowly eating away at what remained of the dead combatants. Between this leak, and the one several levels above, these mines would soon be inhospitable to life itself.

As she limped, the bodies came into view. The big one had been killed by the blast wave, seemingly shredded by fragments of his own armor. The edges of his mangled flesh had begun to rot in the caustic air. His reinforcement was even worse off. He had been farther from the blast, and had felt the immense heat boil his cold blood. His skin was scorched to a hard crisp, smoke still emanating from his scrawny hand.

But most unfortunate of all was the one she had wounded, who fell behind cover, surviving the explosion for the time being. Microscopic fragments of durasteel dug into his throat. He shivered as blood drained from an open artery in his shoulder.

She paused, looking down at him with pity. He stared back, feeling only contempt.

He forced out his last words, spitting them through the bile that filled his lungs. "Killee meekoota."

Iden stoically raised her weapon to the dying man's face, firing two mercy shots into his head.

The first one ended his life.


Dead villager in the frozen street; partially decapitated. His attacker had taken a vibroblade to his head, narrowly missing his neck. The fatal wound cut sloppily across his jawline. Under all the blood, his skin was a common shade of blue, only visible on the tips of his lekku. Several fingers were missing from his hands, in what appeared to have been defensive wounds. He was unarmed; and he was not alone. Several more laid beside him, sharing similar fates.

"Monsters did this." Rori mused to nobody in particular. Himself, perhaps.

"Somehow," said the trooper to his side, a Corporal named Lar, "It's creepier to think that sentients did this."

The three troopers, Rori, Lar, and Commander Gro inched through the streets, their vision obscured by the blizzard. Moonlight did them little good beneath the overcast sky. Only the sounds of distant gunfire offered them guidance. That, and the powerful fog lights attached to rows of identical prefab housing units. Many of the bodies in the snow laid mere feet from their homes.

Each man wanted to move faster. Gro kept them in line, reciting the grim realities of urban combat. Every corner had to be checked, lest they fall victim to an ambush.

"Tighten up," Gro ordered, "Foot mobiles ahead. Civvies likely."

"You heard the man," Lar echoed, "Eyes forward."

Rori tightened his gaze on a large silhouette in the haze. Possibly only one person, or a few moving close together. Against his better judgement, he flicked the safety off, training his sights on the unknown contacts.

"Identify yourself!" Gro yelled, bracing for an incoming attack.

"Ap smasee keepuna!" A panicked voice from the distance. Female, and definitely not rodian. "Emperio nobata keepuna!"

"Civvies," Lar quietly confirmed. He lowered his weapon, trying to remember what little he learned of their language. "Hagwa… uh… dopee! Hagwa dopee!"

The woman stopped in her tracks.

Lar continued. "Kapa tonka! Hayla ponoya!" His accent was atrocious.

She raised her hands and ducked down as she headed toward the troopers.

Rori lowered his weapon as she emerged from the fog, her clear blue skin wrapped in thick winter clothing.

She fell to her knees as she approached, screaming panicked pleas for help. Behind her were two children. Hers, likely. They emerged slowly, shivering in the freezing cold. They didn't say a word.

"We can't babysit these kids," Gro surmised, "Ask her if she has anywhere to go."

Lar tried his best to translate. It didn't work. She kept shaking her head, saying "Nobata! Nobata!"

At one point, she tried to approach them. Lar warned her to get back, at the barrel of his gun.

Rori feared the situation was escalating. Something needed to be done. They needed a place to stay. He looked to the building on his right: a typical prefab. Mass produced, but well insulated. There likely wasn't anyone home… and it had a simple security flaw.

A single shot rang out, interrupting the argument. The door to the prefab slid open, no longer connected to the scorched control panel beside it. A few inches of snow spilled inside, scattering along the metal floor.

"Go on," Rori urged, not bothering to translate.

She looked at him with suspicion, her eyes drawn to the smoking red tip of his blaster.

"Lady, you need a place to stay. Here it is! Go!"

She nodded, urging her children inside before joining them. The front door wouldn't close, so the kids looked for a closet that was warmer.

Rori took a single peek inside to make sure they were safe. As he turned, he realized she was still in the doorway. Her lips met the side of his helmet for but a split second. A simple reward, in a universal language.

She ran inside like it had never happened, looking for a warm closet to hide her kids.

"Smooth," Lar complimented.

Rori rubbed his helmet in disbelief.

"Back to work," Gro ordered, "We've wasted enough time here."

"Not wasted" Rori took point, trudging through the ever-deepening snow. He averted his eyes from the bloodied corpses left to freeze ahead of them. "We're here to help these people, right?"


Iden's boot splashed in a shallow puddle of water, pulled out again in under a second. She didn't break her jog for a single beat, but paced herself to conserve her strength.

Almost to the elevator… She let her mind race, focusing not only on the goal, but what would come next. Imperial doctrine emphasised the importance of securing any and all routes in or out of the battlefield. It only made sense that the partisans would do the same. She was ready for a fight to secure the elevator; one that she knew she could win. However, her work would still not be done. She would then need to call in backup, and evacuate any surviving miners before the mines were completely saturated in caustic gas. With any luck, she could then focus on finding Malachi, and any 'insiders' who helped him pull off this attack.

Her breath started to fog up her visor. One of the downsides of keeping her filters on for too long, but she couldn't risk turning them off until she had safely gotten outside. The gas was colorless and technically odorless. It didn't so much stimulate one's sense of smell as corrode it. Its victims felt the hairs in their nose burn away first, before it attacked their nervous system. This sensation was easily mistaken for a strong smell, and led some to underestimate its lethality.

She could deal with a light fog. She would have to. She could still see reasonably well, only a little bit of detail was lost in the distance.

Murmurs could be heard around the next corner. A crowd of voices blended into one. Their tones echoed a range of feeling: despair, frustration, agony. A stray scream of pain fit between two or three screams of rage.

And one distant voice stood out from all the others. "'old bloody still... 'ang on."

Suddenly, she realized these weren't partisans.

She turned the corner to find a dense crowd of miners, some holding makeshift cloth masks to their face, gathered around the lift.

But not on it.

Three twi'leks stood apart from the crowd, shouting obscenities at eachother. A rodian tried to calm them, to no avail.

A member of the crowd turned and saw her. "Trooper!" He shouted, almost as if he was relieved. He was holding his coat up over his nose to block the fumes. "Trooper! Your friend trooper!" His basic was better than most. He started waving at her, trying to usher her into the crowd.

"Me?" Iden asked.

He waved again, nodding at her. "Trooper, come quick! Need help!"

"Alright." Curiously, she started walking through the crowd. The miners gave her a decent berth, either out of fear, desperation, or genuine trust.

"Iden!" Butch's voice bellowed through the stoney walls. "Getcher arse over 'ere! Need 'elp!"

She forced her way through what remained of the crowd. The last two bodies parted to reveal her comrade knelt beside the wide platform of the elevator, desperately holding onto a twi'lek trapped in the gap between the platform and the rock floor.

The lift itself parked at an unnatural, slanted angle. The left side had completely fallen off its track, sloping downward. The right side was still attached, but the lopsided weight had bent the support beams inward. The whole structure listed slightly, pinning the trapped miner in place. The platform dug into his back, compressing his chest against the rock. He struggled to take even a single complete breath. He was one of the lucky ones. Five other intact bodies were bunched up around the bottom of the platform, with only a broken strut keeping them from rolling off. Only pieces remained of the other victims, the largest being a head still connected to its left shoulder. Bits of meat, bone, and bloody cloth dangled from the massive gears of the machine, giving some clue to their fate.

"Iden, don' just bloody stand there!"

She hurriedly grabbed the miner's other arm with both hands.

"Now pull!"

Iden dug her boots into the ground, summoning all her might to try and free the unfortunate miner. Butch did the same, each one pulling to the upper limit of their muscles, only managing to make the man scream in further pain.

"Wait, time out!" Iden called, as she stopped pulling.

"You lost ye' senses? 'E's gonna die if we dun' 'elp!"

"This is gonna break his spine! We have to find another way!"

"There is no otha bloody way! You gonna move the bloody lift?"

Iden took a deep breath, her eyes darting around the mine. She cupped her hands around the miner's hand, trying to comfort him while she found a solution.

"Well?" Butch said, impatiently.

"I'm working on it." She tried to talk herself through possible solutions, mentally connecting anything she saw on site.

A pair of high-tension cables dangled from the left side of the mechanism, recently liberated from their durasteel tracks. They were still connected to the derailed platform, however, and one had been damaged just enough to expose its inner wiring.

"Those cables." She pointed toward the other side of the lift.

Butch turned to look at them.

"They're still connected to the motor at the top of this thing. If you could start it back up for just a few seconds, it could set this guy free."

"Or cut 'im in 'alf," Butch countered, worriedly.

"It's our only shot. You have a multitool?"

He let out his frustration in a loud sigh, realizing she had a point. Without hesitation, he pulled a datapad out of his kit bag and jogged around to the dangling cables. He dared not step on the platform, keeping his feet firmly on terra firma instead.

"What happened here anyway?" She finally asked. "Did they bomb this thing?"

Butch scoffed, reaching his arm out to try and grab the damaged cable. "Yeah ye moight say tha'. 'Ole bloody thing just came screaming down the track after the blast. Poor guy's lucky there's a damn thing left of 'im." With the tips of his fingers, he finally managed to bat it into his grasp. Looking down, he realized he was leaning uncomfortably far over the precipice. He steadied himself and pulled back, looking for the exposed wiring.

"Was that their plan? Sabotage the mines?"

"Looks as though." He stuffed the ends of two severed wires into the port of his datapad. It was a sloppy plug, and risked damaging the system, as if that mattered at a time like this.

"How many people were on the lift when it…?" She couldn't bring herself to finish the question.

Butch tried to focus on his work, but the image of the crowded platform came back to the forefront of his mind. People packed shoulder to shoulder like frozen nerfs, not even afforded the space to stretch their arms. "I'd ratha' not think about it." He couldn't even count how many were on the trip down. If this doomed trip was anything like that one, it could mean hundreds of victims.

Iden silently concurred.

The trapped miner started to sob. He had long since lost feeling in his legs, no longer knowing if he still had them at all.

Iden tried to comfort him, rubbing his hand with her thumb like he was a child. "It'll all be okay. We found a way to move the platform. Then we can pull you up and get you to a medical center." Her words did little to calm him. Perhaps he simply didn't trust her. "You'll get through this," she promised. "Don't worry."

"Oy!" Butch shouted from the other side. "We in luck! There's still a wee bit o' power. I can start this thing, but you need 'a 'old on toight. If 'e falls in the gears, this was all fer naught."

Iden smiled and turned back to the man. She grabbed both of his arms, inviting him to do the same. "We're getting you out! Grab my arms, and pull when you hear it start to move." Once their arms were locked together, she signaled the other trooper enthusiastically. "Ready!"

The celebration was cut short by an ear-splitting metallic creak: the uncanny, horrific noise of durasteel bending under immense weight.

The miner started to panic, tugging furiously on Iden's arms as if to drag her down with him. She was caught off guard, nearly losing her footing, but quickly steadied herself. "BUTCH! DO IT! QUICKLY!"

Butch furiously swiped his fingers over the datapad, desperately trying to restart the power. "It's not responding! Somethin' must've broke!"

A cacophony of metallic creaks and crashes erupted beneath them. The very ground shook beneath their feet, as small stones fell from the ceiling, dispersing the crowd.

The miner cried out in pain, tugging even harder at Iden. She pulled back, hoping against all odds to pull him out in time.

"It's too bloody late! Leave 'im!"

She didn't listen. She might not even have heard him. She switched up her stance, trying to pull from under his shoulder. This was riskier, but afforded her much more leverage.

"Sod this!" Butch dropped the datapad, charging at Iden as fast as his legs could take him, weapon in hand.

She could feel the tension shift. A tiny pocket of air had opened up between him and the platform, maybe only a millimeter wide. A few more seconds, and she could have dragged him out, alive and well.

The crashes got louder, travelling up through the trench as each support beam failed in sequence. Large chunks of rock were pulled from the wall by durasteel rebar, dragged to hell with the machine behind them.

Without another word, Butch raised his rifle, blasting the trapped miner in the face, before throwing his entire weight on Iden, tackling her out of the way of the collapsing behemoth. His arms wrapped around her shoulders as the dead man's grasp went limp, finally releasing her.

"NO!" She screamed, as the man's body was sucked into the plunging tempest of stone and steel. A part of her realized she was only a split second away from joining him.

The chaos eventually subsided, but the crowd had long since run off, into tunnels that were no safer. Their makeshift masks would never protect them against the hydraulic fumes.

"GODDAMNIT!" She cried out, pulling free from Butch's arms. "I ALMOST HAD HIM! HE WAS ALMOST OUT!" She crawled to the edge of the cliff, staring down at the calamity, or what little could be seen through the blizzard. She collapsed to the ground, lying on her back. "Damn it…"

Butch sat up, panting for breath. He never was much of a sprinter. "A li'l bloody gratitude, please. I just saved yer arse, and I'm in no mood to deal with yer delusions of grandeur."

"He was moving," she lamented, "There was space. I only needed a few more seconds."

"If I was one second slower, yer 'ead would be at the bo'om of this trench."

"You can't know that."

"Well I do. Yer welcome, love."