Consciousness, when Kyle regained it, proved excruciating in a way that days of bacta immersion could do nothing to help. He came out of the tank shaking, wincing against the stabbing lights of the medbay as he dressed and listened to Dr. Zaposug. The Ruurian nervously chittered about how rapidly Kyle had recovered—and how Mort, still occupying the neighboring tank, would finish treatment in another day.

And that's the good news, Kyle realized.

Then he noticed Jan, coming across the medbay, walking faster than she needed to. Her hair was down, her eyes glistening, and her arms began to raise toward him.

Kyle felt his breath caught, knew that he wanted nothing more than to step into her arms...but he held up a hand to stop her. Before she could speak, he asked, "How bad is it, Jan? How many did we lose?"

Instantly she straightened, back to being a mission officer, giving a report. "Aside from Rianna and Zeeo...we lost Polio and Able."

He looked from Mort's floating, unconscious form to a nearby bench where the commando's cybernetic arm lay, having apparently been detached for repairs. MIMIC had survived; he must have told what happened to Rianna Saren and her droid sidekick.

"And Zak," Kyle added. "I saved him...and now he's back in the hands of the people I saved him from."

Guilt stabbed him like a blade, going deeper than the blaster shots he'd taken. He felt it, like a twisted Nagai Tehk'la knife plunging through his entrails. Even as the wound widened and widened, he tried to stem it—to tell himself that the Bryar Force was at war and there were inevitably casualties—but he was in command, so he had responsibility. And he remembered...

He remembered that moment: crouched on the refueling crane, the feeling of impending danger. The warning from Tash Arranda and Wade Vox that something was wrong, that the enemy might be on to them. The warning he'd ignored.

I had to do it, though. I couldn't just call it off. We might never get a chance like that again.

How much of that was truth and how much rationalization, he couldn't say. The fact was, he'd taken the chance—and lost, badly.

Almost roughly, Jan took him by one shoulder. She probably could tell what he was thinking. "Kyle, I know this is impossible, but don't start with this. You can't afford to—and we'll find him and get him back. We will."

Kriffing how? I failed to plant the tracker, and that ship got away. Only the pain, the knife in Kyle's guts, stopped him from snarling it out loud.

Jan went on: "And what happened to him, it's not just on you."

"You're right." The words almost came from Kyle's throat. "That damn idealist Shaparo. He's the one who said we had to take the kids along."

The anger chewed at his insides, spreading as deep as the guilt did, and Kyle couldn't keep still. Grunting a thank-you to Dr. Zaposug, he left the medbay and marched aimlessly through the ship.

Jan kept close, apprising and reminding him of various details, such as their orbital pursuit of the Gravestone, foiled by Black Sun's Marauder corvettes. Her professionalism cracked once when recounting the battle outside the freighter. "The rest of failed too, you know...but damn it all, if it wasn't for Fett, I think we would have made it aboard that ship."

Kyle shook his head. "It's more than that. You lost the element of surprise, but you weren't just caught. I've got a feeling those barves knew we were coming, which means Shaparo's boys kriffed up somewhere. How close are we to the Orion system, anyway?"

"Halfway—but there's another problem, Kyle." The gravity in her voice made him stop. "Natalie tells me she's sent several transmissions to Searchlight between jumps, but none of them have been answered."

Cold gathered in Kyle's chest and shriveled his heart. "That's not good," he said.

Jan shook her head in agreement. The silence was thick enough to cut with a vibro-axe.

Finally Kyle said, "Then do me a favor and tell Natalie we need to enter the system quietly. Alert me right before we arrive."

"Sure, but where are you going now?"

Passing her, he paused mid-step. "My cabin."

She nodded and gave his arm a squeeze. "Rest up while you can. And Kyle...just remember we've taken hits before."

Numb to her touch, he left.

In his cabin, Kyle ripped off his blast jacket, flung it into the corner. His equipment belt soon followed, along with the holster which would never hold his father's bryar pistol ever again.

He slumped onto the narrow bed and cradled his head. It felt like a sequencer charge waiting to go off.

I should just quit.

The thought was impulsive and childish and obscene and went against everything he believed.

He still thought it, though.

All the years of training and experience, top-notch gear, more than a dozen of the Alliance's toughest people backing him up—even with all that, even with those irregular, subtle gifts of the Force, he had still lost.

Losing Zak was the worst of all. Horrifying enough to imagine all the innocents that the Bryar Force had been unable to protect from the Transcendent, this perverse cabal that sacrificed children to their demon Cycsila...but now they had recovered a former victim—because Kyle Katarn wasn't good enough.

He didn't know if he could leave this cabin. If he could risk being in the same room as Tash. Just imagining what she must think of Kyle, what she was going through, what her brother could be suffering even that very moment—the thought was unbearable.

As the hours passed, though, the flirtation with cowardice ran its course.

Because even if Kyle did quit, what then?

There would be no returning to his old life. The Transcendent had the likes of Mon Mothma and General Cracken under their thumb, if not among their ranks; going back to the Rebellion would be a death sentence. He would have to run for the very fringe of the Empire—someplace like the Corporate Sector or Hutt Space, and restart his mercenary career from scratch.

And he would be leaving Jan behind. Jan, who at first had tried to talk him out of this, after his first encounter with Shaparo during the Madine scandal—but later came to believe in the Bryar Force as much as any of them did. As much as Kyle did.

Doing this was what he believed in and it was what Jan believed in. No matter how badly he had failed in one mission, abandoning the cause simply wasn't who Kyle was.

It wasn't the man that Morgan Katarn had raised on Sulon.

Sitting in the dark cabin alone, Kyle's mind took him back to a reddish-gold sunset on Dantooine, a place he hadn't thought of in years. The Burad Gorge, the thunder of stampeding pikets...the tears flowing as he discharged his father's bryar rifle again and again, to no avail.

Losing.

Not being good enough.

Then the miserable days of trudging back to the Mining Outpost with the huntsmen—and Morgan, blathering the way fathers always did when they thought they had a valuable life lesson to pass on...

But it wasn't just blather.

Strange...Morgan's voice was so clear there in the dark, the way it never had been in Kyle's memory...

"It happens, son. It just happens. It's not the end of the galaxy. You think your old man never missed a shot in his life? Well, let me tell you...

"...loosen up a little more. You might've been holding the rifle too tight, like I tell you. We'll get more practice, I'll make sure you hold it right. Sometimes it's really something bantha-brained obvious like that.

"...can't give up. I tell you, son, that's the most important thing. Some days you lose. You do everything right, but you just lose. That's a fact of life, it's gonna happen to you sooner or later, and when it happens, what you need to do is just come back and try again another day. Never, ever give up when you know what you're doing is right."

The pregnant skies of Brigia belched sheets of slate-colored rain into its untamed badlands. Side by side with Rookie One's Y-wing, the Bloodshark rested on a rocky bluff overlooking valleys and lowlands that were brimming over with slop. The assault transport's cramped conference room was situated fore of its dorsal fin, and rain pelted incessantly against its narrow overhead viewport.

Kyle Katarn hated the sound. After Far Qasqi, he might hate the sound of rain for the rest of his life.

Across the table, Rookie One slouched in his dirty orange flight suit, looking equally as disheveled as the astromech droid beside him. In fact, he looked prematurely aged since last Kyle had seen him: cheeks narrower, sandy hair lightened another shade. Seated with them were Jan, Wade, Dr. Zaposug, and Tash Arranda. The Bloodshark's other crewmembers were busy elsewhere—tending to the ship, fixing up the other droids, or continuing to recuperate from injuries.

Per Kyle's instructions, the Bloodshark had dropped into the Orion system at its most far-flung nav buoy. Before they could even think of approaching the fourth planet, they'd been hailed by a lone, unmarked Y-wing fighter, whose pilot grimly warned them that not only was it unsafe here, but there was nothing to return to anymore. So they had hastily relocated to Brigia, the closest backwater in the Tion sector for this meeting.

Each of the parties had a great deal to catch the other up on. As far as the Bloodshark's crew was concerned, it was everything they had most feared.

For Kyle's part, if there had been any tiny, lingering part of him that still wanted to leave the Bryar Force or in any way diminish his involvement, that part finally died by the end of Rookie One's story. There was no one left for him to pass the buck to with Shaparo and the inner circle dead; false humility could not survive in this new environment.

"So Krane was one of them," Jan was saying. "Our headquarters were set up right under his nose, and we never knew it. Shaparo was smarter than he knew when he said no one of rank in the Alliance could be trusted."

Kyle snorted. "More like stupider. For all his talk of caution, he probably got fooled by Krane's FleetNet posts, back during the Madine scandal—thought he couldn't be part of the conspiracy just because of that. He was overconfident...like all of us. This operation was never as vacuum-tight as we all wanted to believe."

"Krane said that he knew where your team was going, sir," said Rookie One. "That it was a trap set for you, but he wasn't very concerned about whether any of you survived. Whatever this group, the Transcendent, has planned, I'd say they expect to accomplish it soon. What that is, though, I have no idea."

Nor did Kyle, and at the moment he had no stomach for speculating on that.

Jan's cybernetic hand, resting on the table, clenched into a fist. "If the admiral knew what we were doing, it must have been a trap. That would explain why the mercs seemed to be ready for us." She looked between Kyle, Wade Vox, and the doctor. "That datapad you found in Sandov's office, with the e-mail that told us about the Gravestone? I'd bet all my credits it was planted there for you to find. That was the bait."

"Probably," agreed Wade. Like the pilot, he seemed different. Somber. Not a grin in sight. He kept fidgeting with his fingers, and his eyes would scarcely leave the table. "That doesn't explain the attack on Searchlight, though. How did they find out about it in the first place? Was it..."

Wade trailed off. He seemed to shrink into his chair as everyone looked at him. "Kyle, Jan, you remember how my ship got stolen on Nar Shaddaa? D'ya think maybe that's it? Maybe the Transcendent got ahold of it somehow and traced it back after all? Could this be my fault?"

R2-Q8 interjected with a whistle. Beeping at some length, it powered on its holoemitter and projected an image of an insectile droid. It had a narrow head with antennae, six legs, and half a globe on each side—perhaps an armored shell into which it could retreat. Kyle guessed that the model was an antique, but did not recognize it.

Rookie One translated for the astromech. "R2 says that they found this droid sneaking around Searchlight right before the attack. It self-destructed while Garek was chasing it. It must been spying on them for some time. He doesn't know where it came from—might have been sent out from Orion Base, or stowed aboard any of our ships."

"Like the Moldy Crow," Kyle said faintly. "That thing probably came from the Hospital Platform. We now know it wasn't just Sandov, Demarakesh, and Versch. Someone else on that station was with the Transcendent. Whoever planted the datapad must have sent this droid." He glanced at Tash. "And that crab-droid thing that tried to catch us in the sublevel."

The girl nodded, but looked preoccupied. Meanwhile the hologram faded away, and for a long moment no one said anything.

"They kriffing nailed us," Wade muttered finally.

Tash flinched, grimaced, then seemed to emerge from her thoughts. "Well, what are we going to do next, then? We...we can't just give up. Those people have my brother! There's got to be some way to track them down, or—or Shaparo and everyone else died for nothing!"

The astromech droid chirped excitedly, rocking back and forth. Again, Rookie One interpreted the Binary. "R2 says he pulled as much data as he could from Searchlight's computers—particularly what the inner circle was working on right before the attack. He'll need some repairs before he can retrieve it from his databank. He can't remember what exactly it is, but he thinks they found a clue that could help track down the Gravestone after all."

"Then that needs to be our top priority," Jan said, pushing her chair back and standing up. "I'll take him over to Payvees, have him get started right away."

She started toward the droid, but it burbled something, backed up on its drive treads a short way, and powered its holoemitter back on. Puzzled, everyone tracked the cone of blue light to the table. When stable, it showed a human man and woman sitting together, arms about each other's shoulders, grinning at the holocam. A little boy lay across their laps, aimless and content.

Kyle Katarn stood up and forced himself to breath. Two of these humans were familiar.

The child he had seen in the Madine files—and on Deena Demarakesh's datapad.

The man was Shaparo.

"Oh," Jan said quietly, and for quite a while that seemed to be enough.

Kyle stared and stared and stared, while his heart and stomach and mind did things all at once. When he could bear it no longer he looked away—and found himself looking at Tash Arranda, who was herself staring at the hologram like nothing else existed in the whole universe.

She wiped her eyes. "That's...they look really sweet," she blubbered.

"Dwoooooooo," cooed R2-Q8.

Rookie One—also standing—did not translate this time. There was no need to. They were civilized beings; they all knew a memorial when they saw it.

Finally the hologram disappeared and the room breathed once more. Everyone filed out into the hall. Kyle supposed he should go to the cockpit, talk to Natalie Darr and her co-pilots, and make sure of exactly what shape the Bloodshark was in, but he only made it two steps.

"K-Kyle—Jan—Wade!"

He turned. It was Tash Arranda, who wiped her nose on her sleeve before hiding it behind her back. The girl was keeping still with visible effort.

"I know the three of you are blaming yourselves for a lot, especially for Zak. But I'm his older sister, so I'm the one really supposed to be looking after him, so it's my fault too."

"Tash—" Jan started.

But Tash kept going, brushing bangs out her eyes as she went on. "But you need to know, I—we—I..." She swallowed. "I forgive you. No matter what happens to Zak, however he turns out when we find him—we're going to find him—I forgive you, it's not really your fault, and—and him and I both knew what we were doing when we offered to help you. You just have to...believe in that."

With that, she fled down the hallway before any of them could get a word in.

Wade broke the silence. "Kyle, we've got to find these people."

"I know."

"'Cause my disruptor really wants a workout."

A day passed and the Bryar Force took stock of itself.

With the director and his inner circle dead, the survivors now looked to Kyle Katarn for leadership. The position was not allotted by a formal vote or agreement; much less had he claimed it by his own choice. Once they all knew that Searchlight had been lost, the decision was unanimous, instinctive, and instantaneous. Shaparo had trusted Katarn enough to put him in charge of the Far Qasqi mission, so this perhaps implied a sort of posthumous nomination. More than anything, however, Katarn simply had the presence, the personality, and above all the reluctance of a leader—though he did everything in his power to keep the latter concealed.

By necessity, the group counted their blessings. The first was that the Bloodshark had only sustained minimal damage in its flight from Far Qasqi—nothing that Natalie Darr, Cody Darklighter, Hantor Loftus, and Quagga couldn't handle. Second, the assault transport had a month's worth of food and other basic provisions aboard, and when the Bryar Force pooled its accounts, they had just over forty-one thousand Imperial credits between them.

They would need every single one—not only to replace weapons and gear that had been lost, but to compensate for the shortage of an even more precious resource: information. Shaparo, Troomis, Garek, and the others had been the brain of the organization, with the expert knowledge of seasoned Intelligence operatives. Searchlight Station had housed all the tools and equipment necessary to put those skills to use. With both gone, the Bryar Force no longer had eyes and ears across the galaxy.

For deciding their next move, they had all put their hope in R2-Q8, and thankfully Payvees had it fixed up before long. Its databanks, when available, had little to offer in tracking down the Transcendent, but there was one important clue that had been found since the Bloodshark left for Far Qasqi...and it might just be enough to go on.

Kyle had forgotten this, but R2-Q8 had been trying to slice into the Imperial Narcotics Database since before the Hospital Platform—its goal being to identify the strange drug that was found first in Zak Arranda's bloodstream, then in his sister's, as well as in the imposter Utric Sandov. Kyle also recalled the bone guard he'd seen aboard the Gravestone who'd been injecting something into his own neck, and an utterance of Hellanah Glittersky: Here I thought someone had gone off his medicine. Maybe it was the same substance, used to control their goons as well as to immobilize child victims...

Whatever its uses, Dr. Zaposug's conjecture hadn't been far off. As the IND showed, it was a form of spice, known as morpheon. Noted for its potency as a hallucinogen, the Empire had also experimented with it for brainwashing purposes. Administering many small doses to unsuspecting personnel over time eroded inhibited pattern recognition and generally eroded their wills, making them more compliant.

Which brought them up to a grand total of two clues. Besides the name of the spice, they also had the Gravestone's identity beacon, which the Bloodshark had scanned automatically when they found it at the refuel station. If they could find out where the Transcendent's morpheon supply was coming from, or how they had acquired the bulk freighter, they would stand a good chance of tracking this cult down.

And if there was anywhere in the galaxy that either piece of information could be obtained—for a price—Kyle Katarn thought he knew where.

A cool, professional voice crackled over the comm speaker. "Coordinates are set, beginning approach."

"Copy that, Rookie One. We're right behind you," said Natalie Darr, brushing a strand of ebony hair back over her ear. "But stay sharp. The skies are thick. If anyone starts acting too friendly, let us know."

"Will do, Bloodshark."

The Rebel pilot signed off with a click. Ahead, the twin engines of his Y-wing starfighter glowed like red beacons in the swarm of Nar Shaddaa's orbital traffic: cargo haulers of every size and shape, nimble corvettes and lumbering bulk cruisers, ugly starfighters built of mismatched parts and passenger liners that probably dated to the time of the Jedi Knights. Some were coming and others going, but just as many were loitering in the upper atmosphere, their dubious courses all crisscrossing and spiraling, all poised on the very bleeding edge of chaos. Beneath them all, the infamous moon's curved surface was coated in kilometer upon kilometer of urban sprawl: docking bays and fueling stations, factories and shipyards, living and entertainment districts, the sleepless lights brooded over by drifting clouds of foul smog.

"I never thought I'd see this place again," commented Tash Arranda, sitting in a back corner of the cockpit.

Kyle Katarn turned to regard her from his spot between Natalie Darr and Cody Darklighter's stations. "What do you mean, again?" he asked.

"We stopped here once with Uncle Hoole to resupply our ship," Tash explained. "Boba Fett chased us on our way out. That was a little before we ended up on Dagobah."

"Was that the first time you ran into him?"

"No, there were a few other times before that. Tatooine, and..." Tash swallowed. "He actually saved Zak's life once, on Necropolis."

"Not from the goodness of his heart, I take it."

Tash shared in Katarn's scowl. "No. He only needed Zak alive in order to get to a bounty he was chasing."

In spite of everything, she had misjudged Fett. The Arranda family's unfortunate encounters with the famous bounty hunter showed that he was cold and ruthless, but Tash had always suspected he worked in keeping with some sort of personal moral code. An idea of justice which, lethal though it was, nevertheless set certain boundaries that he would not cross. Boundaries like unnecessary killing, for instance.

Obviously, Tash had been wrong. Because of Boba Fett, not only were Able and Polio Jode dead, but Zak was back in the hands of a horrible youngling-abusing cult. If the bounty hunter was willing to work for people like that, then he was truly a monster.

Kyle turned his attention back to the viewport, and Tash hugged herself to chase away the shivers. So much had been packed into just a few years since Alderaan was destroyed, since she and Zak lost their parents. So many memories...but after Far Qasqi, all those memories had turned bitter. They would stay that way until she got her brother back—and their uncle.

They were both alive. She was certain of that—Zak because she felt it, and Hoole because she refused to believe otherwise.

"Here we go," Natalie Darr said, gently guiding the Bloodshark's controls. Tash's blue eyes desperately held onto the last clean, unmolested patch of starfield before it slid out of sight to be replaced by the bottomless industrial excrescence that was the Vertical City.

They made their descent, gliding along after the Y-wing like a firaxan shark following a beacon-snark. Both ships carefully cut their way along chaotic swarms of flashing space traffic, entering the atmosphere gradually. Few of the ships they passed looked fiercer than the thick-armored, sharp-finned assault transport, but neither Natalie nor her co-pilot relaxed for a standard time part. The Bloodshark may have been a tough ship, but there was always a bigger fish.

Both Kyle Katarn and Wade Vox boasted that they had friends and contacts on Nar Shaddaa—Like that's something to be proud of, thought Tash—and so they had a place to land which they promised would be safe, at least for a while: a private docking bay calling itself the Star Stable whose proprietor, for a small fee, would accommodate the Bloodshark and the Y-wing (and the Moldy Crow, which remained in the former's spacious cargo hold).

"I always know I can trust you, Katarn," said the aquatic, tentacle-faced Quarren as he accepted Kyle's credit chips. "You've got a good face, and it's getting better all the time! Take my advice: keep the beard, and the females won't stop crawling all over you!"

Kyle Katarn nodded and shook his suction-cupped appendage; their hands came apart with a squishy popping sound. "Thanks, Jorble. I'll keep that in mind." He glanced aside to Jan Ors, rubbing his jaw. "Is he right?"

"Watch yourself, Katarn," was all she'd say.

The way Katarn told it, they wouldn't spend more than a local day or two on Nar Shaddaa, if things went well. He was going to use his contacts to hire an informant who, hopefully, would be able to help them track down the Transcendent—by finding the source of their morpheon spice, information on the Gravestone, or both. They also needed to acquire fresh weapons and supplies, and Wade Vox claimed to know vendors whose prices were reasonable.

The Bryar Force couldn't relax too much in the meantime; Jorble may have been providing four walls and a roof, but he wasn't offering security for their grounded ships. So half the crew went with Kyle on his errands, while the other half remained in the docking bay, in case anyone from Nar Shaddaa's effectively limitless population of troublemakers broke in.

And Tash, of course, was with them, cooped up in her tiny cabin aboard the assault transport, bored out of her cranium.

Because she was still just a girl and needed to be protected.

No, we're not taking you with us, Kyle Katarn had snapped. And if you really have been to this moon before, I don't need to explain why. It's crawling with bounty hunters, murderers, snitches, slavers...all kinds of scum looking for someone to victimize.

Tash's feelings were mixed. It was patronizing that these adults still treated her like this...though she couldn't really blame them, in light of what had happened to poor Zak. This was probably how he felt a lot of the time, though. Tash had never quite stopped mothering him even as they approached adulthood—not because she didn't want to, but because she couldn't help it.

I guess they can't help it either, she thought after Jan Ors knocked on the door to check on her for the zogteenth time. It was strange, remembering how Jan had been tough as nutorium nails back on the refuel station. Not just how she handled her blaster, but also how she'd taken charge of the others while Kyle Katarn was out of contact—and after he was hurt. Tash had sensed how terrified Jan was in those moments; she doubted anyone else was aware. It seemed very sad to her that this woman had become a soldier and a spy, a violent being—forced into it by circumstance, no doubt. Tash thought she'd probably be a great mother.

None of us really planned on being here, though, did we?

Tash yawned loudly and rubbed at her eyes. She supposed that if she was a real Jedi Knight, she would pass a few hours in tranquil meditation. As life kept reminding her, though, she wasn't a real Jedi Knight. Besides, she'd already spent the night trying to meditate—because she could barely sleep. Since Zak had been taken, she couldn't stay alone with her thoughts for too long. Whenever she did, she started to sense him, feel what he was feeling—anxiety, panic, misery...

Then again, I'm so worried, maybe I'm just mistaking my feelings for his.

Just in case, though, she spent those restless hours trying to help him. Trying to tell him, Hold on, little brother. Please just hold on until we find you.

Tash thought that if she could feel Zak's mind, it should work the other way too. Again, though, she wasn't adept with the Force. She hadn't learned much from Master Yoda—or from Aidan Bok, the Jedi ghost she had found haunting the space station Nespis VIII. Maybe she was wasting her time. Maybe that just wasn't how the Force worked. And even if it was...

Even if it was, Zak didn't believe that he was sensitive to the Force, or he was afraid to admit it. Maybe he wouldn't even notice Tash reaching out to him; maybe his doubt was blocking her. Tash's hands balled into fists. Even after all the growing up her little brother had done, he could still be so stubborn and childish and stupid sometimes...

Even so, she didn't care about that.

She just wanted him back.

Jumping up from her bed, Tash pulled out a small holoreader she'd been given—loaded with galactic history lessons—only to immediately stuff it back into her pocket. I can't just lounge around here like a Sebaddon stump-lizard! she thought to herself.

The irony wasn't lost on Tash: usually her brother was the restless one who wanted to get out and move, while she'd rather curl up someplace comfortable with a good holobook. Now she had to distract herself.

She left her cabin and walked quickly through the Bloodshark, aiming for the ship's boarding ramp. On the way she passed the co-pilot, Cody Darklighter, a human of somewhat swarthy complexion with rich black hair and a matching handlebar mustache. "Hey, Tash. You all right?"

Tash only slowed down a little. "I'm fine," she said.

"You sure? Anything I could help you with?"

She stopped and rounded on him. "I said I'm fine. I just need to get out of the ship. I—I'm not going anywhere!" She remembered how how suspicious they'd all been of Zak, since he'd stowed aboard the Moldy Crow to come and help her. "I'm not like my brother," she added, "always wandering off and getting into trouble. I just want to look around outside the ships, that's all."

The co-pilot raised his hands. "Hey, hey, hey, just askin'. Don't let me stop you."

The docking bay was disgusting. The metal walls and floor were stained charcoal-black, corpse-gray, vohis mold-green, bantha-brown—a whole rainbow of unsightly shades, any one of which was enough to make a girl sick. Blocky cargo cranes looked ready to fall from their mounts at any second. Old crates and pieces of equipment were coated in dust the color of Ord Mantell licorice.

Standing guard about the landed Y-wing and assault transport were Hantor Loftus, MIMIC, and a few other members of the Bryar Force. They nodded or called hello to Tash upon sighting her, and she waved back distractedly.

One of them was Mort; his old Clone Wars commando armor wasn't fixed yet, so he was wearing regular clothes, albeit with a one-sleeved shirt that exposed his cybernetic arm. Although the veteran only gave Tash a stiff nod, she felt her throat tighten and immediately drifted the other way. Mort had lost his brother at Far Qasqi—and Able, murdered by Boba Fett, was never coming back.

Tash could barely stand to be near him. Though his face remained as hard as the visor of his helmet, she was able to sense the pain hidden beneath; she had done so in several unguarded moments the past few days, and it was so strong that she was afraid to feel it again. She had offered some encouraging if clumsy words to Kyle Katarn, Jan Ors, and Wade Vox, but she had no idea what to say to Mort, and that pained her. And it was yet another thing to remind her of Zak: how she had no idea where he was, what was being done to him, whether she'd ever see him again...and even if she did, what if he—

The terrible thoughts kept coming and coming, pressing on Tash's brain until tears started to muddle her sight. She kept walking, not thinking of where she was going—until a hand suddenly closed on her shoulder, freezing her in place.

CHAPTER COMPLETE

PASSWORD: HYPORI