Lurking on the back shoulder of Hutt Space not far from the Maw Cluster, Kessel was an obscene excuse for a world: a miserable potato-shaped rock that was only inhabitable thanks to massive factories which excreted a passable excuse for an atmosphere. The planet's crust was shot through with stygian caverns and mine shafts, where many thousands of prisoners toiled under the electrolash of their Imperial slave drivers—all to extract glitterstim and other spices, the profits of which would fill the coffers of many a Moff, Imperial bureaucrat, and underworld kingpin.

Death was cheap on a world like Kessel. Whether it was disease, hunger, brutal treatment from the guards, energy spider attacks, or the cruel blood sports put on for the Supreme Slavelord's amusement, anyone sent to spice mines of Kessel was sure to see a gruesome end.

This ongoing atrocity was naturally kept out of sight, as the Empire so often preferred with such things. The spice mines were all underground, and a casual observer would find little of interest on Kessel's surface. In fact, aside from the capital of Kessendra, there was nothing at all to see...except, looming on the horizon, a gleaming black fortress which was the palace of the Supreme Slavelord.

The man with whom Kyle Katarn and the surviving members of Bryar Force had some business to conduct.

During its flight from Searchlight, R2-Q8 had downloaded as much from the Bryar Force's computers as it could. This happened to include a collection of miscellaneous files which Shaparo and his inner circle had appropriated when they first went rogue from Alliance Intelligence.

Among these files was a scrapped plan to insert covert Rebel forces onto Kessel in order to instigate a full-scale slave rebellion. The files included some maps of Kessel's surface, the capital city, and the surrounding region, including a plan of the nearby spice mining tunnels, most of which were no longer in use.

So the Bryar Force had a way in. From that point forward, though, they would have to rely on their training and instincts.

Meteor showers in the Kessel system were as unremarkable as rain on Kamino or sandstorms on Lok. Nonetheless, Imperial satellites and patrols at least kept a perfunctory eye on them. So it was that a system patrol craft remarked upon yet another cluster of rocks tumbling toward the main planet. As they passed the Garrison Moon, it became apparent that they would fall into the region of Kessendra. This was a cause of concern...for a few standard seconds, after which scans indicated they were certain to burn up in the atmosphere.

Had the patrol craft's captain thought to take a closer look, he might have seen something unusual, namely two unmarked starships—an assault transport and an old Y-wing—magnetically locked to the rough surface of one of the asteroids.

With the ugly face of Kessel looming larger and larger in their viewports, the pilots brought their ships back online, detaching and switching to engine power mere seconds before they hit atmosphere. They hurriedly brought deflector shield power to full, and just in time. Not only was there the friction of a sharp descent to deal with, but they were also plunging right into a huge electrical storm skirting the edge of Kessendra's region.

With flame wrapping their craft in glowing cocoons, black clouds all but blinding the viewports, and eye-searing lightning bolts curling every which way, the Bryar Force broke Kessel's atmosphere in a manner fit only for the likes of hotshots like Natalie Darr, Cody Darklighter, and Rookie One.

Y-wings were hardy for their size, assault transports even more so, but they had no choice but to maneuver well afield of the rocks as they melted and splintered into a golden-crimson shower. In a few short moments the meteors were gone and the ships were clear of the electrical storm, angling their descent into a swift but far less alarming glide beneath a clear, brilliant pink sky.

"Whoooo! Let's do this again sometime!" shouted Kentamine Farwanderer. Even with life support set at maximum to compensate, that steep descent had left him sweating like a dune bantha.

"Let's not and say we did," retorted Natalie Darr from the comlink speaker.

"Cut the chatter, you two." That was Kyle Katarn; Kent imagined him planted right between the Bloodshark's pilot and copilot stations. "Make sure we're on course to the coordinates...and let's hope those AI murglaks got everything right."

"Copy that." Kent knew he'd gotten carried away, but he couldn't help it. He loved flying—always had, always would—and with everything that had gone so terribly wrong in the last few days, nothing could have done more to make his heart feel whole again than to pull a daring maneuver in a starfighter.

"Dweep booweep reep!" warned R2-Q8 from behind him.

But Kent was already keeping an eye on his sensors. "I know, I know. Bloodshark, I'm reading bogeys at two-mark-three and eight-mark-one. Looks like the Imperials have noticed us."

It was a sad inevitability. The original Intelligence plan had called for a true covert insertion, using specialized drop pods disguised as meteors to deliver Alliance SpecForce teams to the planet's surface. Lacking any such resources, the Bryar Force would have to rely on the element of surprise, blistering speed, and overwhelming concentration of firepower.

The voice of Cody Darklighter came over the comm. "Copy that, Rookie One. We should be at the coordinates in a few seconds."

He was right. Already they were skimming less than a hundred meters over Kessel's rocky surface. Up ahead, the coordinates marked a hill whose peak was capped by a disk-shaped durasteel hatch about sixty meters across. For the Bloodshark, it would be a tight fit.

"Target in range. Opening fire!" announced Wade Vox as the assault transport's turbolasers flashed, blowing the hatch to pieces.

"We've still got Imperials coming in. Looks like TIEs!" Kent warned.

Switching to repulsors, they lowered themselves into the shaft, soon emerging into a gullet that twisted its way through the rock—one of hundreds of spice mine tunnels that had been abandoned.

Kyle spoke through the comm again. "All right, Rookie One—take point. We'll keep the TIEs off your tails, and whatever else starts chasing us."

Kent flicked on his Y-wing's forward c-beams and deftly maneuvered around the lumbering assault transport. "Acknowledged, Bloodshark. Stay alert and don't follow me too close. We can run out of space real fast."

Kent wasn't teasing Natalie Darr or Cody Darklighter. He had experience with this sort of situation, from chasing Imperial probe droids under the surface of Rhen Var to escaping the Imperial mining base on Dreighton. The shafts here looked just as treacherous as those had been, and getting through them in a zippy snowspeeder or even a YT-1300 freighter—that was a far cry from doing it in a full-sized assault transport.

Thankfully, Natalie took it in stride. "Thanks for the warning, Rookie One. Just keep your eyes peeled and follow the course on that tunnel network map. If it's accurate, it should lead us right to the palace and then...hopefully our luck holds out."

Luck's got nothing to do with it, thought Kentamine as he eased the throttle forward.

SWISH!

The security door flashed open just in time to admit the panting, nearly breathless form of Rax Joris, Major-Supervisor of the Imperial garrison on Kessel. "Report!" he wheezed.

The command center around him was in chaos. Computer screens and holo-displays flashed and flickered. Security personnel tramped back and forth with datapads and comlinks, while officers babbled reports from their disorganized stations.

"Sir, we have intruders in the sublevel!" one of them replied. "The palace is under attack!"

"Under...attack? How?!" The Major-Supervisor rubbed his sweaty brow and stomped closer.

The other man pulled up a holographic layout of the facility and pointed as he explained. "Two unidentified ships have landed in the sublevel—here, in one of the old spice docks. It seems they blasted their way in from the discontinued tunnel here. Security estimates about a dozen intruders, heavily armed. We've already lost contact with guard stations in the sublevel and Level One!"

Joris's face flushed. The alarms had only been triggered moments ago! "By the Emperor's Black Bones! Who are these intruders?!"

His subordinate was sweating as well. "We don't know, sir. They could be Rebel special forces or—"

"Wait a minute," Joris interrupted. "How the devil did two starships even get into the spice tunnels to begin with? They must have been spotted while still in the air."

"Uh, that would appear to be the case, sir," offered another Imperial. This one wore a comlink headset and was seated at a computer station. "I'm reading an alert that just went out. It seems two unauthorized ships, an assault transport and a Y-wing, were spotted by a TIE patrol on the outskirts of Kessendra. The TIEs pursued them into the mines but were, unfortunately, shot down."

The Major-Supervisor's red, sweaty face grew redder and sweatier. "Whoever failed to report that earlier is a dead man!"

"Yes, sir," said the officer with the headset, deadpan.

Joris sucked in a breath and ran his eyes over the screens and holo-displays before him. Many showed distortion and interference. Something was causing haywire in the palace's security systems. Even as he watched, the status markers of two main level security squads flashed from white to red. Any kind of Rebel attack on Kessel was already unexpected, but something like this was truly a nightmare...and not just because of the Rebels themselves.

SWISH!

The sound of the security door opening again chilled his spine, but the booming voice that came afterward froze it.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

The disorganized chatter and bustle of the command center instantly stopped. Rax Joris and the other officer turned to face their approaching superior, the Imperial Lord Overseer of Kessel. They faced him not because they were brave, but because it would take far greater courage to defy the Supreme Slavelord himself.

"Lord Trioculus," the Major-Supervisor gasped, "we are under attack!"

"I am well aware of that, Major-Supervisor Joris. What I'd rather you explain to me is the nature of this attack—and how you are dealing with it."

The Supreme Slavelord wore a black uniform with gold trimmings and spiked shoulder pads of gold-plated durasteel. Tall and powerfully built, he kept his black hair combed back and in many ways was quite handsome. However, his ruthless reputation and hard expression lent him an ominous presence—and the third eye which peered out from the center of his forehead was even more unsettling. Even after serving here on Kessel for nearly two standard years, Rax Joris was still intimidated by the mere sight of Trioculus.

The Major-Supervisor stammered his way through a summary of what he himself had been told, adding, "S-security is trying to contain the intruders..."

But the Overseer's three eyes had already turned to the security readouts, which showed two more squads of guards had been lost, and a large portion of the palace's main level was out of contact with the main security hub. Finally he thundered, "Are you blind?! Deploy the garrison! Surround them and crush them before they can penetrate beyond the main level! And you—" He thrust a powerful black-gloved finger at the officer with the headset, who flinched in his chair. "Raise the nearest patrols. Order another flight of TIE Fighters to enter the tunnels, and set up a security net over the Kessendra region—IPVs, TIEs, and the nearest Carrack cruiser. We can't leave those Rebels with an escape route."

He rapidly issued several more orders, and officers across the command center set about them at once. Rax Joris turned back and forth as though trying to catch Trioculus's words out of the air—until the Overseer paused to stare at him with his third eye. Rax wilted under his superior's displeasure and tugged at the sweat-lined collar of his Imperial Army uniform.

As far as Trioculus was concerned, the garrison commander had earned such disdain. Not only was Joris timid and indecisive, but he was also fat and slovenly. The slightest stress or exertion left him red-faced, huffing, and sweating rankly. He often let his command cap go askew, and his officer's jacket looked as though it would burst open from the constant pressure of his bulging stomach. To Trioculus, who had risen to his current station after a disadvantaged youth in the Empire, Joris represented a stain upon the otherwise glorious Imperial Military. Curiously, it was Trioculus's own mentor, Grand Moff Hissa, who had arranged for the man to be posted here on Kessel. Trioculus sometimes wondered if the reason had been so that he could shape Joris into a proper Imperial officer. He wasn't opposed to that, in principle...especially if there arose the opportunity to literally whip him into shape.

"Now then, as for these intruders," the Slavelord continued, turning his attention back to the monitors. The central one showed the ground floor of the palace, where icons representing stormtrooper squadrons were fanning out from the barracks. Aside from that, however, there was almost no data input.

"Why can't we see what's happening on the main level?" Trioculus demanded.

A nearby officer looked up from his station, containing his trembling. "The Rebels—assuming they are Rebels, m'lord—have been blasting out the holocams of every room they enter. It seems they also have a slicer with them. He or she is interfering with our security grid, bypassing doors, and so on."

"Do we have any images of these Rebels?"

"Just a moment, sir... Yes, this is a still from one of the sublevel holocams..."

The floor plan vanished. In its place there appeared a frozen image of a half-dozen Rebels charging through a dingy corridor, blasters blazing. The bright energy discharges and slight motion blur made it hard to analyze. Still, they looked like Rebels, all right. Not their regular forces, certainly. The lack of uniforms along with the variety of weaponry and equipment—much of it antique or surplus, from the looks of it—all suggested a unique strike team of some kind. Trioculus was not a betting man, but he had a hunch this was the doing of the Rebels' so-called Special Operations division.

"Hmmm... Center the image there," he commanded, pointing. "The human in the lead. Magnify and enhance. Who is that? He looks familiar to me somehow."

One of the officers briskly typed a query into his computer console, then reported, "We have a match, sir, from the Empire's most wanted. That human appears to be Kyle Katarn. A defector to the Rebels from our Officer Corps, who—"

"Who stole the plans to the Death Star battlestation," Trioculus interrupted, stroking his chin while his two lower eyes narrowed pensively. "He also sabotaged General Mohc and caused a great deal of trouble for Admiral Senn."

Major-Supervisor Joris and several nearby officers raised their eyebrows, impressed at their superior's knowledge, but the Slavelord made no other remarks.

"See if you can identify any of the others," he ordered, then fell silent, folding his arms behind his back. He had further knowledge of Katarn's recent exploits—knowledge which he would not divulge to anyone in this room. Similarly, his curiosity about the Rebels' objective here ran deeper than any of his subordinates knew. Above all else, it was the presence of Katarn (and these companions of his) which made Trioculus suspect there was more to this than a surprise attack by the Alliance. The questions on his mind, however, would only be voiced once the intruders—what was left of them—were secure within the palace's dungeons.

Several of the stormtrooper icons flashed yellow, with text blocks appearing over them: Enemy Engaged.

"Any day now, R2!" Wade Vox yelled over din of energy scatter and explosions.

R2-Q8 spun its red-and-white dome toward him and chirped, "Doopoordur zoo-nee!"

"Yeah, same to you, pal!"

Kyle Katarn blinked sweat from his eyes as he leaned around the corner, firing a flashing blue burst from his repeater rifle that sent a stormtrooper scrambling back the way he'd come.

With Natalie, Cody, and Hantor back aboard the Bloodshark, manning its guns, the rest of the Bryar Force composed the strike team. Several times in the past few minutes, R2-Q8 had already proven its Alliance Intelligence credentials as a slicer; now, plugged into the access terminal of yet another security door, it was hopefully going to do so again. The strike team's members were spread out behind the astromech, hugging corners, opulent pieces of sculpture, imported floral decorations—whatever cover or concealment they could find—as they held off a wave of white-armored stormtroopers.

Tash Arranda (who again would not take no for an answer) was pressed into a slight cleft in the wall beside R2-Q8. Both had no real cover except for 5/DX, whose heavy armor and large build offered some decent protection for anyone standing behind it. Mort was in the more dangerous position. On Nar Shaddaa he'd gotten his arm reattached and his Katarn armor fixed up. Now he was strafing in front of the door, firing from the hip and trying to draw maximum enemy fire away from the droid and the kid.

Kyle slid back behind cover and switched out his weapon's power cell. Imperial E-11 and repeater fire flew past him in a shower of red and blue darts. Over the cracks and booms of energy impacts, his keen ears picked up a new sound...rhythmic and coming closer...

Kla-KLANGGG, Kla-KLANGGG, Kla-KLANGGG, Kla-KLANGGG...

"Kriff me!" shouted Wade Vox. Eight or ten meters ahead of Kyle, the man left his cover and fell back through the open corridor, chased by stormtrooper bolts. A second behind him, the corner where he'd been sheltering was turned to dust by a laser blast too big to have been fired by a human-sized weapon.

A fresh squad of stormtroopers came into view, all crouch-running as they spread out...

Kla-KLANGGG, Kla-KLANGGG, Kla-KLANGGG...

...and behind them came a battle droid of some kind: four spider-like legs carrying an armored spheroid with gaping blood-red photoreceptors, and a long, heavy blaster cannon sticking out like the proboscis of a Kubindi msqito. The strike team tried to concentrate fire, but the droid proved itself well-armored; they might as well have been throwing iridium mountain gorg eggs. The bug-eyed head swiveled back and forth, kicking back as it fired. One shot nearly atomized Quagga, while another landed a short distance from Kyle's spot, gouging a crater almost big enough to hide in.

Kyle raised his arm at the last microsecond, and the sleeve of his tough blast jacket shrugged off the spray of hot, sharp debris. He tried to yell an order, only to gag against the smoke...but then he heard the voice of Rookie One, who was thinking the same thing he did.

"PAYVEES! We need some support here now!"

"Boda babashuda! Boda babashuda!"

THUMP-hiss-WHOOSH!

A pair of missiles blurred down the hall. The shock wave of the exploding spider droid threw the stormtroopers like rag dolls, splattering them against the walls. Those that survived struggled to reach for dropped weapons, only for Rookie One, Quagga, Jan, and others to make quick work of them.

R2-Q8 beeped and rocked back and forth, announcing that the door was unlocked. Kyle looked back that way to see Tash leaping to her feet, her eyes suddenly wide.

"Mort! There's troopers waiting for us!"

"Yeah? Watch this."

With a wave of his hand, Mort triggered the door sensor, popped a thermal detonator through as it opened, then hopped for cover. The startled shouts on the other end were swallowed up by the explosion. Seconds later, when Mort charged through with Quagga, MIMIC, and Wade, there was no welcoming party—only a white-armored arm, crispy at one end, that had gotten halfway out of the disintegration sphere.

Meanwhile, the hall behind them was strewn with dead troopers and choked with white smoke. As for the strike team, all remained battle-ready. Quagga had taken several minor hits, but roared in refusal when Dr. Zaposug tried to offer a stim-shot.

They swept through the doorway, immediately picking out overhead security cams and blasting them. 5/DX plodded through behind, then crouched slightly to let Payvees reload it.

Rookie One skirted around them and remarked, "The older I get, the more I grow to appreciate droids."

R2-Q8 cooed appreciatively.

"We'll see how long R2 can keep it up," commented Wade Vox, striding ahead. "I bet the higher we go, the more trouble he'll have with slicing through security...or, hell, how about that?"

He indicated the turbolift up ahead, the door to which stood open. Sure enough, the readout showed that it was deactivated, and there was no scomp link for R2-Q8 to plug into. The strike team formed a ring, facing outward, peering into junctions and twisting hallways that were eerily silent. They seemed to have broken the first major wave of the palace's defenses.

Their experience as hardened Rebels would not allow them to relax, however. They were still on the main level, and a fortress like this would have a lot more to throw at them. Not only that, but they had read what files they could scrounge together about the Imperial Lord Overseer. He had a reputation for cruelty as well as craftiness, so it was more than likely there were darker forces than stormtroopers and battle droids lying in wait for them.

"Chrono's ticking, people. We got any ideas?"

Wade Vox had practically said it through his teeth, and Kyle raised an eyebrow at him. Far Qasqi had changed the man. Hardened him. He hadn't been smiling or joking around much. He seemed more intense, too, taking point this whole mission so far, but his eagerness seemed almost to be breeding paranoia. Kyle could swear that he'd caught Wade double- or even triple-checking corners and flanks, glancing over his shoulder, or rubbing his eyes like he'd seen something that wasn't there.

In the meantime, though he was right. They had to get to the top of this place, find the Supreme Slavelord, and get the information they needed—fast, before reinforcements cut off their escape or overwhelmed them with sheer numbers. The fastest way to ascend was a turbolift, but the only one on this level wasn't working...

But they were Rebels. They could be crafty too.

Stormtrooper Sergeant TND-2020 could hardly believe his eyes! The heavily armed Rebel intruders had decimated his comrades on the main level directly below, and he—following protocol—had wisely locked down the turbolift from his guard station. Now, however, it seemed that the tables were starting to turn.

The console in front of him showed a live feed from one of the few holocams which the Rebels had neglected to destroy. There, urgently looking up at him, was trooper corporal TJD-1941, who held his blaster rifle over the bound, kneeling figure of one of the Rebels. A scruffy-looking nerf-herder, by the looks of him, with unsightly facial hair and a battered longcoat.

"The Rebels have backtracked to the west wing of the palace," explained the canny and brave trooper, the sole survivor of his massacred squad. "But I caught this straggler off-guard. Hurry and reactivate the turbolift so I can bring him up to Level Two! Maybe we can use him as a hostage."

Sergeant TND-2020 was amazed. He was acquainted with TJD-1941, and had never observed him to display such ingenuity. In fact, he had given the trooper poor ratings during their combat drills, and expressed the opinion that he certainly would not survive his first real combat engagement. Clearly, he had misjudged the man. The fiery crucible of this surprise Rebel incursion had revealed his true character: against all expectations, rather than falling to the level of his training, this lowly trooper had risen to the occasion. Truly this galaxy was a marvelous place, and the Stormtrooper Corps indeed continued to exemplify what caliber of man was produced by a society as well-ordered as the Empire.

Nevertheless, there were protocols to be followed.

"Acknowledged, trooper. For authorization, please recite Emergency Cipher Protocol X."

TJD-1941 did not hesitate. "ECP-X: Code Sigma-Black LMB."

The sergeant was satisfied. That passcode was a closely guarded secret of the Stormtrooper Corps. Even if it was possible that this was an impersonator on the other end of the comlink—and even if it was actually a scum-sucking Rebel impersonator on that holocam feed, wearing TJD-1941's armor—there was absolutely no way that he could recite that code. One would need to have graduated at Carida to know that—and everyone know that the Imperial Academy did not admit traitors.

Besides, the sergeant recognized TJD-1941's voice, and it perfectly matched the one he heard coming over the comlink channel.

"Passcode accepted, trooper," he said. His hands quickly moved over the security controls. "Relocate the prisoner to the turbolift at once. It will activate in twenty standard seconds."

"Yes sir!" the trooper said. Immediately he pulled the Rebel prisoner to his feet and dragged him out of the holocam's field of sight.

Sergeant TND-2020 turned away from the screen and signaled to his men. "Prepare to receive the prisoner!"

The chorus of yes, sirs that answered was music to his ears.

A moment later the turbolift door opened. Sergeant TND-2020 turned—

And couldn't believe his eyes.

There was TJD-1941, all right. But as the trooper emerged from the lift, both he and the prisoner—who for some reason was not bound anymore, but rather also arms—drew blasters on the stormtroopers who had come to greet them. Perhaps even more alarming, the lift behind them was inexplicably crammed with what appeared to be the entirety of the rest of the Rebel infiltrators!

As if this was not astonishing enough, TJD-1941 then disappeared in a swirled distortion of light, to be replaced with a spindly droid of some kind.

But then the firefight began, and seconds later Sergeant TND-2020 had no more occasion to be astonished about anything ever again.

Trioculus's fury carried him in a circuit through the control room like the stalking of a ferocious bull rancor. "I am surrounded by incompetents!" he thundered as the officers around him shrank away. "I'm being undermined by my own disciples! That gullible fool of a stormtrooper sergeant! I wish that he were still alive—so that I could sentence him to be fed to the energy spiders that stalk the spice tunnels of this planet!"

Not a soul in that room was brave enough to answer the Supreme Slavelord's wrath. Major-Supervisor Joris in particular felt as though the room's temperature had risen twenty or thirty degrees. Massive, dark pits of sweat oozed down from his armpits and pooled in the middle of his chest, and the collar of his uniform was choking him.

Finally the Lord Overseer returned to the main security readouts. Between the systematic destruction of the holocams and the work of their slicer, the Rebels were able to keep their activities shrouded—except for the stormtrooper squads they kept neutralizing. Trioculus closely watched the snippets of footage that were captured. He also read the auto-transcripts of stormtrooper comlink reports as they came in. A few times he amended the orders that had been given to the squads, positioning them to flank or ambush the intruders.

However, nothing seemed to be working. The Rebels ascended three more levels, and whatever obstacles they encountered, they either blasted through or found a way around them. The atmosphere in the control room grew progressively more intense. After his outburst, Trioculus appeared calm and focused, but his twitching right hand betrayed his impatience.

This situation truly was unprecedented. Kessel had faced major slave revolts before, and Trioculus had suppressed the latest one with spectacular thoroughness. There were also contingencies to fall back on in case of an assault by Rebel forces; the Star Destroyer Dark Justice was in position to respond, along with its escort. But the Lord Overseer had never accounted for a sneak attack like this, penetrating the palace so quickly. Obviously he would need to reassess the defenses of his sanctum. In the meantime—

"They've reached Level Four," warned the Major-Supervisor. They're slicing through the palace's defenses like a laser-scalpel through bantha butter!"

Trioculus glowered at him with all three eyes. "I wish you were as clever at battle tactics as you are at wordplay, Major-Supervisor. Clearly stormtroopers are not enough to deal with these intruders." His intimidating expression morphed into a sly grin. "Luckily, I have other tools at my disposal here—as you well know."

Joris nervously adjusted his cap, leaving it at an even worse angle than before. "Ah—ah—of course," he stuttered. "Shall I contact Mister—"

"Yes," Trioculus said impatiently, "but I'm keeping him in reserve. He must not show himself unless I give the signal."

He paused to study the floor plan. Then, pointing decisively with a black-gloved hand, he raised his cold, throaty voice. "Contact the troopers on Level Four. Instruct them to lure the intruders into the main thoroughfare here...except for Skull Squad and Torment Squad. They are to rendezvous with us at the turbolift."

The officer with the headset relayed his orders. Meanwhile, Rax Joris's jaw fell open. "Rendezvous with us? M'lord, you can't mean that you—I mean, we—ah..."

Trioculus crossed the room to a special equipment locker. After opening it with his Black Key, he retrieved a blaster pistol and a remote control, which he secured to his golden belt. "Yes, Major-Supervisor. It is time you were refreshed with some much-needed field experience. And as for these Rebel interlopers..." His face darkened with a nasty smile. "They will rue the day they dared set foot in the palace of Trioculus!"

Tash Arranda trotted alongside the astromech in the middle of the group as they came into Level Four—and that was where things started to go very wrong.

It was typical at first. This floor seemed to be meant for living accommodations...except that there was no one being accommodated. The strike team blew up a security checkpoint, then romped its way through dormitories, serving halls, lounges, and a gymnasium without ever encountering anyone except stormtroopers and droids.

Wade Vox's warning proved right; this close to the palace's summit, the security programs were stronger, and R2-Q8's slicing was becoming progressively less effective, beyond opening a few low-level doors. 5/DX was able to blast open some of the higher-security ones, but Payvees fretted, wanting to conserve the droid's missiles. Besides that, Level Four was tighter and had less open space, making the use of explosives more dangerous. Kentamine, Mort, and other strike team members complained of running low on power cells.

All of this Tash managed to take in despite nearly all of the fighting happening well ahead of her and R2-Q8. She was keeping her eyes peeled as best she could; more important, she was trying to stay focused and open to the Force, in case it was going to warn her about anything.

Despite having gotten into the palace without a hitch, she fully expected the mission to take a catastrophic turn. Not only would that follow the trend from Far Qasqi, but she had read everything she could about the Imperial Overseer of this planet. The Bryar Force had files that were originally compiled by Rebel Intelligence, but Tash had been able to scavenge more details from odd corners of the HoloNet. Some of the details of his military career had surprised her, but on the whole this Trioculus seemed like something out a nightmare, or a story told to frighten children; exactly the sort of extravagantly cruel fiend that Tash, Zak, and Uncle Hoole's luck would have them run afoul of. He was sure to throw something at the Bryar Force that was no less devious than it was dangerous.

A lounge past the gymnasium opened into an expansive indoor garden, with terraced paths of costly stone running between rows of copses and shrubs. Branches swayed in a soothing artificial breeze that was breathtaking, compared to the sterile atmosphere of Kessel, and for that matter the rest of the palace. Fountains in the shape of mythical and fantastic creatures loosed gently trickling streams into basins and canals. Among them Tash recognized Diathim, Duinuogwuin, and Molators.

The strike team hesitated at the threshold, their blasters at the ready. "Well, this looks almost pleasant," remarked Jan Ors. "You'd almost forget you were on Kessel."

Kyle Katarn nodded. "I don't like it. Everyone stay sharp."

Wade Vox was the first to creep forward. The silver-plated blaster pistol twirled in his left hand's fingers every few seconds—it was like a nervous tic for him now. Tash occasionally sensed spikes of anxiety from the gunslinger, like he kept imagining someone was next to him. So far his aim had remained true, but Tash still worried for him.

She had a weird idea that she might be responsible somehow. They hadn't spoken much, especially since Far Qasqi—she was sure he still blamed himself for Zak getting captured. However, Tash had talked him into accepting one of the Lorrdian gemstones that that strange woman on Nar Shaddaa had given her. Old Vima's instructions were cryptic, but Tash felt that these gemstones were important somehow. She knew that their history was tied to the Jedi as well as Lorrdian religious sects, and some such gems had been infused with the Force in some way. Tash could sense as much—barely—when she focused on them, and it seemed a shame to part with them, but she'd dutifully given one to Kentamine. Then, following her intuition, she'd given another to Wade, who himself was openly very interested in the Force, and even claimed to be guided by it at times.

But now Wade was acting strange and distracted, and Tash was doubting her decision. Her instincts did not always point her the right way, or she didn't not always interpret them correctly...and really, should she have been so trusting of Vima Da-Boda in the first place? Many times in their adventures, the Arrandas had encountered strangers who appeared kind and benevolent, only to be revealed later as twisted and malicious...

"Look out!"

Wade's blaster went off before the second word was out of his mouth. Sparks blossomed and a dead stormtrooper collapsed from one of the bushes to the side. White plasteel peeked through slits and gaps in the foliage, and red beams tainted the peaceful earthen tones of the garden.

"Everyone take cover!" Kyle Katarn yelled. At once the strike team spread out, crouching behind hedges and potted plants and whatever else they could find. R2-Q8 tribbled worriedly as it rolled behind a row of ch'hala trees, whose bark was swelling pink in response to the sudden violence about it. Tash joined the droid, covering her hands with her head. She still had that CDEF stun pistol—and still had no confidence in her ability with it.

"Heads up! They're behind us!" growled Mort.

When Tash dared to raise her head, she was the commando was right. The garden had a high ceiling, and several rows of shadowed balconies ran along the walls, ornamented with serpentine reliefs and grotesques, spilling curtains of ivy. Stormtroopers were leaning through archways, slinging bursts of laser fire. Mort, Quagga, and other strike team members answered with their own shots, while Payvees started lobbing thermal detonators and concussion grenades onto the balconies. Burned plasteel and hot pebbles fell like hail.

Meters ahead, Kentamine Farwanderer advanced, but a near-miss between his legs made him stumble to his knees behind another thick hedge of ch'hala trees. Those trees, along with the Wayland marble basin supporting them, were being ripped to burning shreds by a thunder of red bolts. Tash's eyes followed the arc to a balcony up on the left. The long, mean black barrel of a tripod-mounted E-web heavy repeating blaster protruded from the arch there.

Tash was not very interested in machines, let alone heavy weapons, but she recognized an E-web. That snowtrooper's ghost back on Hoth had been attached to one, until Zak's reckless antics had disturbed it and raised the restless operator's wrath. Now Kentamine was going to join him in death, unless someone saved him.

With only seconds to act, Tash took a deep breath and forced herself to focus. When she closed her eyes and thought of the E-web, she saw it more clearly than her eyes could. The saw the gun and its operator—as well as the thick cable linking the weapon to its portable power generator, being tended by a second trooper to prevent overheating. Tash imagined herself crouching behind the generator, then giving it a good, hard shove.

"AAUUUGH!" came a helmet-filtered scream.

Tash looked in time to see the whole catastrophe: The black metal box which was the generator tumbling over the edge, dragging its startled operator headfirst. The other trooper failed to react in time, so when the E-web was dragged down after his comrade, he went with it. The landing was hidden behind a wall of foliage which rippled and curled by the force of the explosion.

Tash felt sick. She didn't like using the Force this way, even if it was to save good people. If this was how Jedi had fought, then she was a long way indeed from becoming one himself.

"That was a close one!" Kentamine muttered, dusting himself off.

Around them, the strike team was advancing. It looked like they had beaten through another wave of defenders. Tash, however, wasn't going to relax. Wide, random shots were still coming at them from across the garden, and she sensed a more insidious danger, much closer—

"Kent, look out!" she cried, but she was too late.

With a sudden grind of sliding stone, the two square-meter tile which the pilot was crossing opened, revealing a short metal shaft that glowed with hellish light—light from the vat of molten metal waiting at the bottom! Kentamine's arms waved wildly as he was caught on the very edge of the pit, barely keeping his balance. Presently he lost one foothold—then the other.

His scream was cut off when Tash used the Force to catch him and toss him back onto solid ground. White-faced, he glanced back into the molten pit, then looked to Tash, but seemed to shocked to speak.

Getting some thanks was the last thing on Tash's mind, though, because that close call was only the beginning. As the strike time continued to advance across the garden, more pits were opening. Seemingly harmless fountains suddenly spewed deadly electrical arcs, and half-meter-long vibro-spikes shot like spears from the mouths and eyes of statues. All the while, stormtroopers continued to fire on them from above and ahead. There were other dangers as well: black, multi-armed Viper probe droids hovered about, chattering in their strange droid language and occasionally firing their onboard blasters.

The Bryar Force pressed on, again leaning on excess of firepower, blasting everything in sight. The stormtroopers, too, seemed to grow bolder, braving the death traps themselves to engage at point at close range. In this they proved brave but foolish. Tash saw one try to get the drop on Quagga, only to be snatched off his feet and tossed like a shockball into two comrades, sending all three tumbling into a lava pit.

"Come on, everyone!" Wade Vox shouted. "We're almost there!"

He was right. As Tash and R2-Q8 scrambled to catch up to the team (watching their footing all the while), she began to see the end of the garden through the haze of smoke and crazy bouncing laser blasts.

The Force urgently tugged her attention to the right, and there she found Wade. The gunslinger was stepping over plastoid-clad bodies, strafing suspiciously around a smoking, damaged fountain that had been shaped like a baying Gungan warrior. The statue, however, posed no threat to him.

But then the floor opened beneath Wade—not sliding like with the lava pits, but instead a long, rectangular segment swinging down, instantly dropping him. Tash screamed and reached for him with the Force, but only slowed his flailing descent for a few seconds; throwing the E-web had taken too much out of her. Ignoring R2-Q8's cautionary squeal, she charged through a smoking thicket and paused on the edge of the pit, looking down and expecting to see something that haunt her for the rest of her life.

However, rather than spikes or lava or a tank full of hungry kretch or something, the pit instead contained a steep, slick metal slide. Tash just caught sight of a fruitlessly struggling Wade as he disappeared through a hatch, which slammed shut after him. A second later, the trap door itself closed.

"Tash, get to cover!" shouted Jan Ors from some distance away.

Tash moved, narrowly avoiding a salvo of energy that pocked the ground where she had been. She burst through another row of bushes, then skidded to a halt. An Imperial probe droid was right on the other side, and she almost ran right into it! The black, disk-headed machine swiveled toward her on its repulsorlift, its dark bulb-like sensors glimmering. Tash's terrified eyes fastened on its blaster, but the droid didn't fire. Instead it mumbled something and floated away in retreat.

Dazed, Tash stumbled forward and half-collapsed behind a blaster-scarred chunk of stone. Seconds later Jan Ors appeared, pushing her almost to the ground before firing on the Imperials ahead.

The rest of the strike team was scattered around them, loosing a fan of fire toward what looked to be a final perimeter of stormtroopers before the garden's exit. In the middle of the white-armored soldiers stood fat gray-uniformed officer, waving a sputtering Imperial repeater rifle back and forth like a fire douser.

"Jan!" cried Tash, coming back to herself. "Wade's in trouble! He fell into a—"

But she was interrupted by a booming, commanding voice. Augmented by the garden's speaker system, it fell upon them all like a burst of thunder. "This is the Supreme Slavelord! All troopers, stand down!"

In unison, the stormtroopers ducked out of sight...except for two of them, who along with the officer continued to fire wildly, until the voice spoke again: "Enough of this, you fools! I command you: hold fire!"

As the stragglers obeyed, Tash felt something like a wave of cold air pass over her, an evil presence casting ripples through the Force. Hugging herself tightly, she raised her eyes to a large balcony directly overlooking the exit. A towering three-eyed man dressed in black and gold was stepping from the shadows there. It was indeed the feared Lord Overseer of Kessel, Trioculus. He was flanked by two heavily armed stormtroopers...but there was a fourth person up there as well.

"Wade!" shouted Kyle.

Bound at the wrists, Wade Vox hung his head—until the Supreme Slavelord gestured. One of the stormtroopers grabbed and bent him over the balustrade, pressing his face against the rough stone surface.

Trioculus replied without using the speaker from before. "Indeed, Katarn. Wade Vox is among the Empire's Most Wanted—though it seems you've brought several even more infamous criminals, to say nothing of your own reputation. I almost owe you a debt of gratitude; the Emperor is sure to be impressed when I deliver so many Rebel prisoners of this caliber to him all at once."

"Maybe you haven't noticed, Trioculus," scoffed Jan Ors, "but you don't have all of us in your clutches yet!"

"That will soon be remedied, my dear—because if you do not throw down your weapons immediately..." Saying this, the Slavelord put away the remote control he had been holding. He then produced a blaster pistol and held it to Wade's head. "...your friend will die, and all of you Rebels will join him soon afterward."

For a moment there wasn't a sound to be heard, except the soft crackle of burning foliage. The situation looked grim, most of all for Wade. The balcony, upon careful inspection, turned out to be tinted blue by the gently shimmering bubble of a ray shield. It didn't matter how fast Kyle and the others were; Trioculus was too well protected. Should the firefight resume, he could easily kill Wade and retreat before the strike team finished blasting through the ray shield.

"Kyle!" the choked voice came from Wade, turning his head to look out on his many comrades. Even this far away, Tash saw the tears in his eyes. "Kyle, listen to me: don't let this murglak play you! He's a slaver, a killer, an inhuman monster! I don't mind dyin' here—it's my own damn fault! All that matters is the mission! You've got to see this through, no matter what!"

Trioculus let loose a sinister laugh. "How very heroic! Defiant to the last, like so many Rebels before him. I'm a busy man, Katarn; don't keep me waiting! You've fought well so far, but I have reinforcements on the way. There is no hope of escape, so will you surrender or die here?"

Kyle Katarn was still as a crouching voritor lizard. Tash had sensed more than once that, for all the good in his heart, he was in his own way a man of darkness. He had done terrible things and made decisions that other beings would consider unthinkable. Their struggle was as desperate as it could be: the survival of the Rebellion, and by extension the fate of the galaxy, depended on the Bryar Force's success. And Wade Vox had even heroically offered his life. That was all the permission Kyle needed; though it would torment him until the end of his days, he would trade Wade's life for the mission.

He would fight—because he was a soldier and this was a battlefield. And on a battlefield, sometimes you lost people.

Tash Arranda, on the other hand, had a different perspective. For her part, she was guilt-wracked over many things, and the latest torment was moments old: that she had not been clever enough or strong enough with the Force to save Wade Vox from Trioculus's slide-chute trap. While the Slavelord presented his demands, Tash had frantically been trying to think of a way to stop him, to save Wade, but her power to affect others with the Force was diminished. There was no way she could safely get their captured friend off that balcony or disarm his captors. She knew that it was possible to affect the wills of other beings with the Force, but that knowledge did her no good. All she could do with the Force now was sense things, and when she stretched out toward Trioculus, she felt little other than his darkness; his boundless ambition and gleeful cruelty...and yet...

And yet...

Well...

Tash was well acquainted with evil. Darth Vader was the most horrible man she had ever met, and there had been others nearly as dark. Jerec, the Emperor's treacherous servant. Treun Lorn and Cornelius Evazan and Jabba the Hutt. On Dantooine, Tash had even encountered a dark version of herself, a product of faulty automated cloning technology, which created another Tash aligned with the dark side of the Force. And she could never forget Borborygmus Gog, a man with all the genius of Uncle Hoole, but turned toward evil...and Eppon, the little boy that Gog had engineered to be a ravenous monster that he alone could control.

Yet even Eppon was not completely evil, as Tash herself had discovered on Kiva, with some help from Luke Skywalker. In the end it had not been enough to save Eppon's life, but she had been able to reach his (for lack of a better word) humanity enough to change him.

In a similar way, though not the same way, Tash was able to sense Trioculus's black heart, and she saw that it was not quite as black as that of Darth Vader, or Borborygmus Gog. Though she would not be able to affect him using the Force, it meant that she had an opening, provided she said the right thing...

And Tash thought—hoped—prayed—that she had the right thing to say. It was something, at least, and it was time to see if her obsessive studying would pay off once again.

"Katarn," Trioculus declared, "you have ten seconds—"

"Stop it! Everyone stop!"

Startled by Tash's outburst, Jan flinched away. Consequently, she could not stop the girl from leaping out of their hiding spot and running into the open space between the two groups. Surprised stormtroopers trained their blasters on her.

"Hold your fire, you fools!" the Slavelord bellowed at them. "Can't you see that's a child?!"

"Trioculus!" Tash stopped in the very center of the scene, staring up at the balcony, her heart ready to split open like an overripe glump fruit. "You need to talk to us and listen! We—we need your help!"

"Tash, what in the blazes are you doing?!" Kyle shouted from behind, but Tash ignored him. She didn't dare look away from the Slavelord.

She continued, "This is a—a misunderstanding! We didn't come here to kill you or to—to steal anything from you. We only want information. We're after someone else, a group of people you're dealing with—who you're helping somehow, but you, you, you don't know who they are. They're cultists who kidnap children and who...who do terrible things to them!"

Again the garden was dead silent for a moment. Trioculus's three eyes frowned down upon her incredulously. "Who are you, girl?"

"M-my name's Tash Arranda," she yelped, wiping away tears, "and my brother Zak's been taken by these people! You sold them a, a freighter called the Gravestone, and a spice called morpheon that they use to drug children! But if knew, if you really knew what they do, you'd help us find them and stop them! We shouldn't be fighting here at all! If you'd just listen to us..." She couldn't go on. She had to stop and breathe.

Meanwhile, Trioculus turned his attention elsewhere. "Is this true?" he demanded of the Rebels, who still crouched across the garden, their weapons primed. "Is this hysterical child speaking for you?"

"It's true," called Kyle Katarn. "They call themselves the Transcendent. They've claimed victims from across Rebel-aligned worlds—and almost certainly Imperial worlds too. We came here to get you to tell us where they're hiding. Where their base of operations is."

There was yet another pause. Tash continued to cry, but there was joy in the tears as well; she was happy to have Kyle Katarn supporting her. However, their adversary was not yet convinced.

"Why should I believe you?" Trioculus demanded, sweeping his gaze across the ruined garden. "Why should I take the word of a band of Rebels—of spies and saboteurs—of criminals who deserve to languish in my spice mines till the end of their days?"

"Because you care!" Tash all but screamed up at him. "Because you care what happens to innocent children! I can feel it in you, and I—I read the files, and I know...there was a, a, some space pirates, two years ago, who abducted a bunch of children from their families at Bestine. They were going to sell them into slavery to the Hutts, but you stopped them! You took the ships that you had under your command and saved those children, because you cared and I think you still do!"

Now Tash really did have to stop talking; her head and shoulders sagged, and all she could do was keep her feet beneath her and watch her tears patter onto the stone tiles.

After what seemed an eternity, the Supreme Slavelord spoke again. "I am in a merciful mood today, Katarn. I hereby summon you to parley."

CHAPTER COMPLETE

PASSWORD: SEKOT