Introduction

It is a time of great change, and a new awareness is beginning to flood the galaxy. Hyperspace travel is a reality, and even though it is still time consuming, the trade industry and the wealthy elite have discovered a taste for this new technology. Scatterings of mystics are appearing throughout the galaxy, all tied to a curious abstraction that sets them apart from the other religious figures in the galaxy, whether it is called The Force, the White Current, The Will or a thousand other terms, these groups are beginning to become aware of the similarities between their paths and gifts. Planetary governments are becoming a reality throughout the galaxy; the banner of “One World, One Government” is being waved in nearly every civilized sector of the galaxy. However, this is not always a perfect arrangement, in many sectors these planetary governments are ruled by the will of a few tyrannical elite.

The burgeoning industry of hyperspace travel and trade routes is in its infancy. Everyday, someone finds a new world to open trade with and goods to import to their people, at a profit. However, for every one merchant trader, there are three smugglers behind the scenes. Although these respectable merchants offer good money for the goods being brought to them, there is another market (a less than legal one) that offers a far greater profit. In many sectors, a smuggler chief sets up shop in order to corner a specific market or trade route. Through the use of piracy, and other less than legal means, these smuggler chiefs work to control the trade in their areas and most times work right alongside the more respectable merchants (mostly as fronts). It is a time of great capitalistic ideals. The rule of the day in most sectors is; Money makes the rules.

Many of the planets are adopting a form of planetary government; most notably the planets of the Corellian Sector and Chandrila (the powerhouses of the new interstellar trade industries). The Chandrillans have gone so far as to form an Interstellar Navy in the hopes of building a strong defense of the planet and its resources and in an effort to thwart the attempts of the many pirates that have invaded their trade routes. The Corellian Sector has had less success in this avenue, due in part to their resistance to the idea that each of the planets in that Sector should join forces to create a unified defense of the area. There has been a great reluctance to turn over power to a single entity, but there is a force on the horizon that may prove able to complete the task of uniting the Corellian Sector under a single banner.

The Corellian Ship Builder Unions have already proven themselves to be the finest engineers of hyperspace freighters in the galaxy. However, the Kuati Drive Yards Corporation is in constant competition w/ them as the lead supplier of travel craft for the elite members of society, and recently they have been dabbling in the defense class vessels (much to the dismay of the Chandrillan government). A commercial trade war is in the brewing, especially if another player is introduced into the fray.

A strange and growing population of gifted individuals has begun to appear and congregate across the galaxy. Many of them have been called seers, or magicians, or even lunatics, and they all share a common bond, a connection to each other through an unknown “Force.” They are able to sense one another, even over great distances. There are three major groups (meeting in secret and slowly developing a series of doctrines for themselves); Followers of the Force, The Path of the White Current, and Those of the Will. They all seem to be setting out on similar paths, though each is only vaguely aware of the others. A fourth group (though unable to organize as a single entity), vastly different from the previous three, has begun to emerge as an antithesis to the other three groups. Where The Force, The White Current and The Will all lead their people to work in the greater interest of beings as a whole, the new group (known only as Dark Ones) deal only in personal gain at the expense of any and all who stand in their way. Soon, these similar and divergent groups are headed for a series of confrontations, spurred on by the advent of hyperspace travel.

The galaxy has become a fast changing and ever-growing realm, where the unknown and the known are in constant competition. And this is where our story begins: A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Chapter 1

The rain pattered on the window of the speeder Elassi Mehand was riding in. Hannah City, the capital of Chandrila, was currently in the rainy season. The elderly queen let her forehead rest against the cold glass of the speeder window. Outside she watched as damp people on the wet streets went about their daily lives. These people are why I am here. But do they need a leader such as I any more? My life is nearly up; they need someone new, someone with the vigor that I no longer possess. The woman sighed and closed her brown eyes. She was tired, but life had to go on.

“My lady, we are here.” The driver opened her door and held out a helpful hand. “Be careful, the steps are wet and very slippery.”

Elassi nodded at the helpful advice and walked slowly up the stairs. Behind her, a woman who had been on Elassi’s staff since she first became the ruler of Chandrila held up a parasol to protect her from the rain. “Thank you Shani, mind the steps dear, you and I both need to be careful, we are not as spry as we used to be.”

Shani laughed and took Elassi’s arm. Together they made their way up the stairs of the University of Knowledge. In a quiet whisper she said, “El, you and I both know that you are…”

Elassi gave the woman an uncharacteristic elbow in the side. “Shhh…” Then they both burst into a fit of quiet girl-like giggles.

Once Inside the majestic University, Elassi dismissed Shani. She was giving a lecture, not addressing the state; Shani would not be needed to keep up her regal appearance. In fact most of the students dressed in clothes that only a pauper would wear (beaten up jackets, threadbare pants, all complimenting the secondhand boots that were the norm among students).

The classroom she usually gave her lectures in was the largest in the University. It seated nearly five hundred, and sometimes more would come in. Apparently Elassi’s class was one of the students’ favorites. The classroom was also the closest to the main doors of the building. “Hello class!” She said in a singsong voice as she opened the doors to the lecture hall.

The class stood until she reached the lectern. This had become a standard practice of respect for all the professors at the University. At first it had only been an honor shown to Elassi, but she insisted that here at the school she was only a professor and if the students were going to treat her that way, that all the other professors deserved the same.

“Today I think I will talk about pacifism versus aggressiveness.” She smiled and walked in front of the lectern. It obstructed the students’ views of her body language, which was important to the students’ learning process. “For the past twelve years the government of Chandrila has been developing an Interstellar Navy. This is a common fact all of you know very well. But before this was in existence, when you were all small children, Chandrila was known for its pacifism. Much like Alderaan is today.

“However it seems that to continue protecting this planet we need to take a more aggressive stance on galactic politics. The systems around us are changing, and we need to go with those times. Smuggling is the largest threat to our well-being, and that is the main problem that the Interstellar Navy deals with.” Elassi paused to make sure that the class was absorbing her information. Her eyes passed over a young woman in the front row. She was biting her lower lip as if she had something to say. “Miss Tryashoenu, do you have something to say?”

The young woman stood up and smiled. She was very pretty, with long golden hair piled in a loose bun with small tendrils that escaped the hair tie’s grasp. A pale blue off the shoulder dress exaggerated her well-defined shoulders, but it slightly exposed a dark purple burn mark on her left shoulder. “Yes milady, I do have a question. Merely one of statistics, but maybe you could answer it for me.”

Elassi nodded, prompting the young woman to go on.

“Well, I was just contemplating the possibility of an attack on Chandrila from a nearby system, not that I am saying that there is a chance of something like that happening.” Xana Tryashoenu blushed at suggesting such a thing to the planet’s leader. “But would the Navy be ready for such a threat? And would we rise to fight back like all those other systems that have succumbed to violence as a way of life?”

Elassi nodded and said to the rest of the class, “Why can’t the rest of you come up with such questions! Young Xana here could be a member of my staff with such insights as this one.

“This question is very valid. But many variables come into play here. If a planet such as Corellia would threaten us, I doubt that we would stand much of a chance. Yes we are a very powerful trade planet, but I am afraid to say that we bought most of our Navy from Corellia.” Elassi paused before continuing. “But as far as us being ready for an attack from any system, I would say we are more prepared than we have ever been before. Thanks to Silvas Orian, who has done a tremendous amount of work for this project since I asked him to spearhead it for me.”

There was a bang as the door of the classroom flew open. “Speak of the man…” said Elassi as she recognized Silvas. “What are you-“

He cut her off, “Everyone must listen to me. There are some very dangerous men in the University right now.”

Chapter 2

A sleek, black and gold freighter is slowly making its way through the Perlemian Trade Route on its journey to the Corellian Sector. The navigator, and owner of the ship, is busily calculating the next hyperspace jump at the ship’s console. On the open deck behind him, a young woman is intently running through a demanding physical routine.

“Master, why must I always find a center to start from? Shouldn’t I have a different direction or at least some kind of motive for the things I do? Not everything can be given over to a ‘search for higher knowledge.’” Meesahran Tofallin asks of the gray haired man sitting at the navigation controls of the simple freighter craft, as she continues to perform a series of intricate movements with her body.

“Are you so sure, young one? Is not the purpose of life to quest for knowledge?” The gray one continues his ministrations at the keyboard, pausing only to stroke his equally gray mustachio. “Perhaps you should spend a bit more time in meditation and less time on your physical training. The most important muscle in your arsenal is the one between those ears of yours...” Falion Mussiri chuckles a bit with his last statement and turns to his young travel companion. “Meesahran, you must be able to trust that your actions shall not be made in error, and the only way to assist you in that regard is to always be in a place of serenity within yourself. Only through peace shall the answers you arrive at, be the best ones.” Crossing over to the young woman, he takes hold of her shoulders and makes certain that she is looking into his eyes, “You shall know when you are at peace, passive, and from that center you shall always be true to yourself and to the Force.” She lowers her head and nods in obedience.

“I can see that now, Master, but it can be so hard to find that center when I am fighting for my life, or defending yours. How can I find my center when there is so much turmoil around me?” She brushes a lock of white hair from her eyes and again returns the gaze of the gray one.

“Only with time and attention shall you be able to master your own emotions, which is why meditation is so important to your training. Without it, you shall never find peace, and you shall stray from the path...” He stops for a moment and turns inward, closing his eyes for only an instant. “Meesahran, you should rest for now, I fear you shall tire yourself out with all of this physical training. Meditate for a while and then turn in. I shall man the controls for now.” The gray one returns to his station and opens a journal log. Calling over his shoulder, “Tomorrow, yes tomorrow we shall discuss philosophy some more, but tonight you must rest. Sleep well young one...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mees was shocked by Master Mussiri’s sudden dismissal, though she should not be by now. He was a terribly mysterious man, and there was still so much about him that she did not know. She knew he was from Alderaan and that his family followed The Will, and that he himself held many of their ideals as his own, but he was unable to follow their path completely and so he left his home to seek out his own path. She had heard of some of his adventures and everywhere they went, there was another being that considered him a dear friend. Smuggler’s, merchants, students, teachers, holy beings, politicians, militarists, and simple trades-people; all very different, but all knowing and liking the man she had come to accept as her “Master.”

She was not his slave, but his pupil, and a very willing one at that. Mees had virtually grown up on the streets of Coronet City after her parents had both been killed when she was very young. That thought made her clutch the chain that hung around her neck. The one that she kept safely tucked under her shirt. The one with her parents’ bonding rings on it. It was truly her only possession, other than the clothes on her back and the blaster at her side. And of course the mysterious tattoo on her left shoulder; the meaning of which, according to her last caregiver, was something known only to her mother and father. That thought brought her more sadness; Tadanna had been such a lovely woman and a friend of her mother’s before her death. But Tadanna, too, was killed during one of the uprisings in Coronet City, during the Dark Times, before the planetary government came to be and before relative peace had been bestowed upon all of Corellia.

Mees tried to meditate, but whenever she started she would think about her life and about all of the sadness that she had endured before she had found Master Mussiri. Before she had made a few loose friendships toward the end of her smuggling days. That thought brought her back to her good friend, Jae-Lee. The two had done a few jobs together when they were younger, working for two different, competing and collaborating smuggler’s groups, but their friendship had truly begun when Toman Higaeri had taken over most of the smuggling operations in the Corellian Sector. Toman had paired the two on many runs and missions in her last years under his employ. It was then she discovered that they both had been following the same life path and that they both seemed to have these unknown and strange abilities. They learned a great deal from each other and she was saddened when he told her that he was leaving to explore his own search for knowledge. It was a very long and lonely last year in Toman’s employ, until Master Mussiri came into her world.

Mees tried once again to reach down and find her center, and complete the exercise before she retired for the night. She closed her emerald eyes and let down her long, wavy hair. The cascades of golden hair surrounded her face and the streaks of white only accented her beauty. She opened her eyes and could see herself in the reflector. That white hair; how she hated it. She had tried coloring it before, but it simply would not hold the color for more than a day. Another after effect of the Tralusan Wasting Fever she had endured as a girl, the price for her first kiss (but she guessed it was worth it, the boy had been really sweet and very cute). But once again, Mees closed her eyes and looked deep within herself. Trying desperately to find that center her master had insured her was there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Falion Mussiri was a mysterious man, and so were many other beings in the galaxy like him. They called themselves the Followers of the Force, but they were so loosely held together that it would be hard to call them anything more than a collection of like-minded mystics. Still, Falion was certain that they were only missing some simple and key element that would join them together as a whole. It was just that he did not know what that something was yet. And so he continued his travels, in the hopes that he would find it, some day... He had been looking for a long time, a lot longer than many realized. His age was unknown to all, and he liked it that way. His face and his body would not betray him for some time to come. He did not know why, but of that he was certain. He could remember a time when hyperspace travel was only a distant abstraction, something discussed only in theory by the engineering elite. It used to take months even years to reach the next system in his youth, but he had been traveling the galaxy for a very long time. That thought caused him to pause and stroke his mustachio all the way down to the ends, where it gently rested on his chest. He supposed it was time to trim the unwieldy gray beast once more. When he reached for his sharps, he caught a reflection of himself and noticed that his braid was a bit disheveled: probably from training with his young companion again. She really was quite gifted in physical combat and the training seemed to help quiet her nerves on long flights between systems. He slowly began to unwrap his long, grayed hair from its braid and after combing through the mass, he meticulously re-braided his full and flowing hair. He remarked to himself that the hair seemed to be growing at a much slower pace now and it had been sometime since he last had to trim it. Perhaps age was finally starting to catch up to gray one, after all. He chuckled a bit at the thought, and then went about trimming his mustachio, once his hair was properly braided again.

Falion was a simple man by nature, but by his past, he was anything but simple. He was one of the first leaders of the Followers of the Force, and he had left the council in search of that missing link a very long time ago. Many believe that the “Original” Falion Mussiri is long dead, having become one with the Force, but there are a few who know of his quest and his existence. Elassi Mehand, leader of the Chandrillan’s being one of the most notable. He had befriended the adept when she was just a girl at the request of her father. Elder Mehand was a great man and knew of his daughter’s great gifts and sought out the leaders of the Followers of the Force to assist him in her upbringing. Falion had taught the young girl to harness her abilities and yet shield others from learning of them. Many years ago, the adepts were persecuted because of a fear of their powers and many people thought them to be witches and evil demons, often searching them out for destruction. Falion taught Elassi to respect her abilities and to use them only for the good of others, as was the way of his parents and the other Followers of the Force.

He and his young companion were currently on an expedition for the Ruler of Chandrila, though the girl was unaware of it. Falion needed to reach an old smuggler boss of Meesahran’s for Elassi and he did not want Meesahran to know the nature of the visit to Coronet City, to insure that the smuggler chief would not have a chance to become suspicious. He felt a bit of guilt at the deception, but until the girl was able to control her emotions on a higher level, it was necessary.

They had another two days aboard the SkyDancer before they arrived in the Corellian Sector and then another day to locate the smuggler chief and probably another day before they met with him and his people. Falion knew this was not going to be simple errand, not just because of the vision he received when holding onto young Meesahran, but also because of the nature of the request from his former pupil. This should prove to be a most interesting excursion, and there was not a doubt in his mind about that fact. But, perhaps this would prove to be a good test for his young pupil. Yes, a test of her will and her concentration. A perfect test for the both of them…

Chapter 3

Great prosperity has come to the planet of Chandrila. Now a trading giant in the galaxy, Chandrila has recently made a name for itself in the shipping world, and the people of the planet have begun to benefit from this prosperity. However, with prosperity comes trouble, and when the people began to become greedy, the smugglers were born. They brought down the value of goods, and began to make it hard for traders who worked for their livings, the hard and legal way. But when the smugglers started to become violent (assaulting and stealing the goods from other traders and transporters), the authorities began to crack down on them. In response to the threat, the Chandrillan Government passed sanctions that allowed for the creation of a protective force to combat the assaults in space and on trader’s ships. Thus the Chandrillan Interstellar Navy was born. Headed by Silvas Orian, a young hotshot and a brilliant strategist in the traditional navy of Chandrila, the Interstellar Navy program began to take shape. The Navy quickly became a major power in the galaxy, and Chandrila is now known as a safe haven in trading circles throughout the galaxy. But, with great power comes even greater responsibility, and even greater danger...

An Explosion rocked Silvas from his feet. This was just supposed to be a simple bust... nothing more. As two shadows bolted for the exit, Silvas fired off some stray shots, bouncing off the wall and hitting a couple of cargo boxes in the back, exploding them to smithereens. He stood up from his hiding place, and with his entire team, began to chase after the escaped smugglers. Dodging blaster bolts and weaving throughout the entire city, Silvas and his team finally caught up to the smuggler duo.

“Stop! If you continue you will be facing even more charges.”

Then he said to his team:

“Neevar, Helaan! Circle around the blocks and try to head them off! If this goes on for longer, we might endanger the locals.”

Neevar and Helaan, along with two others, took a shortcut in the winding paths and began to try to cut the smugglers off. As soon as the team neared the ambush point, the two saw the incoming trap and bolted in another direction: right towards the Université of Knowledge, where Chandrila's elected ruler was giving her weekly speech for the Université students. Silvas dashed after the criminals in a valiant effort, but the criminals entered the Université a meter ahead of him. After entering the Université, he lost track of the criminals. Fearing the safety of everyone in the classroom, including the Queen, he bolted into the room, saying:

“Everyone must listen to me, there are some very dangerous men in the University right now.”

Panic started to grip the room, encasing it in a shroud of fear. The nervous students started to break for the door, trying to escape from the unknown criminals, but Silvas piped up before a single student could exit the facilities.

”Please remain calm. Nobody exit the facilities before my team can comb the area. If you leave, we will consider you smugglers. Your Excellency, might I ask you and your aides to calmly exit the classroom; and only you and your aides. Everyone else please stay in here; we will finish this very quickly. We appreciate all your help.”

The team entered the room quickly and with the offenders in shackles. Soon after their apprehension, Silvas and his team took their leave and departed for Space. Stressing the fact that they were hoping to rejoin the rest of the Navy in a training exercise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silvas headed towards the bridge of the Ocean’s Pride, a modern heavy transport for his team of Riptides. The sleek new Riptides offered a new tactic to the Navy of Chandrila. These fighters provided significantly more speed and a much faster response time. Although the Riptides were fragile, their speed made them more than useful in the Navy. After inspecting his own Riptide, Silvas headed towards the bridge in an effort to keep his mind focused on the simulation instead of what could happen next. But the day had something else planned for him, once again…

“This is the Corellian freighter Cloudrunner. We are under assault by a rogue smuggler group. Anyone in the immediate area, please respond. We need help at once!”

Silvas made a single glance at the captain, and without a word the captain knew his course of action. Silvas bolted for his fighter, calling up his team in the process.

“Neevar, Jalina! We have a situation that needs our attention. Get to your fighters immediately. I will fill you in on the situation as soon as you reach them!

Silvas jumped into his Riptide and began the startup sequence. He normally took care and cautiousness with his startup, but since he was going into the battle hot, he flew through the sequence. Soon, his team arrived, and in tandem the team finished their startups. As soon as they were finished, the captain announced that they were at the scene.

“Two light frigates and four starfighters are assaulting a heavy frigate and two medium frigates. The assaulting forces are extremely quick: that’s how they overwhelmed them so quickly. Be careful, Commander.”

“As always. Open the launch doors.”

The four fighters, Three Riptides and one Waverunner, a crude form of a missile boat, launched from the Ocean’s Pride. The Ocean’s Pride took after the light freighter, while the Riptides flew for the starfighters.

“Jalina, surge ahead of us and distract them. If they come for you, put them into a series of loops and turns. We will be after them shortly. Blue four?

“Yes sir?”

“As soon as you acquire a target, alert us, then fire. We will evacuate. You are our key person, so don’t mess up.”

“Yes sir.”

“Ok group, on my mark, lets go!”

Jalina surged forward, passing the two other Riptides. She fired off a couple of wild shots. They had no intention of hitting the enemy, just to get their attention. And it did just that. The four other starfighters forgot their intended target and flew for Jalina. Silvas and Neevar took after the fighters on her tail.

“Great work Jalina. Now loop around and head towards us. At the last moment, break up. We will hit them in the crossfire for a brief moment, hopefully destroying some. Execute... Now!”

In a series of loops and twists, Jalina brought her Riptide to bear in a straight line for her team. Within a couple of seconds she pulled up, exposing the formation of smugglers to her teammates. The other two Riptides fired off shots at the enemy, destroying one completely and seriously wounding another. The remaining two smugglers split; one headed for Jalina, and the other went after Silvas. Silvas and Jalina flew brilliantly, but one of the smugglers got off a lucky shot and tore through one of the Jalina's wings.

“I’ve been hit!”

“Neevar! Go help Jalina if you can! I can handle this last fighter!”

“Are you sure, sir?”

“Yes! Go help her!”

“This is Blue 4! I have a positive lock on your enemy, Commander!”

“Ok, I’ll head towards you. Fire the missile.”

“Yes sir.”

“Hang on Jalina! I’m coming to help you!

In the few tense moments of the battle, Silvas turned his ship around for Blue 4, and Jalina turned for Neevar. Neevar headed towards Jalina, pushing the capabilities of the Riptide to the limit. In a few quick seconds, Neevar lined up behind the smuggler and destroyed the fighter. As Jalina and Neevar headed back towards the Ocean’s Pride, Silvas and Blue 4 tangled with the last remaining smuggler.

“Missile fired, sir! It’s heading strait towards you.”

“Acknowledged.”

Silvas waited for the last moment until the missile came, then he pulled up. The unsuspecting smuggler never knew what had hit him, and the fighter erupted into a brilliant display of explosions and fire, until all the oxygen was burned up in the vastness of space and disappeared.

“What is the situation, Ocean’s Pride?”

“Situation is under control. The smuggler freighter left as soon as we began our attacking run. The other ships are fine, and we are to escort them to the planet. We will be ready to pick you up after you are finished.”

“Thank you. And good job, everyone. This was a good test for us. Jalina, how are you?”

“She’s inside the Ocean’s Pride, Sir. She's fine.

“Good. I’ll be there in a second.”

Silvas headed towards the Heavy freighter, and after a tiring day, retired to his quarters. He needed to sleep, and for a long time.

Chapter 4

Two men (one younger and one older, but nearly identical) stand opposite each other, Commenorian Battle Swords at the ready and poised to strike at any moment. The room is thick with the anticipation of the next man’s move.

Sweat pouring out of every inch of his well-defined body; Yorel Tryashoenu is desperately trying to keep just out of his Dear Brother’s Battle Sword range. With a deft and seemingly effortless strike, his much older brother nearly takes his left arm off at the shoulder, but Yorel uses his flexibility and youthful agility to avoid the blow by bending over nearly backwards before turning it into a back-flip, which lands him into perfect position for attacking his Dear Brother with a death blow.

Too late, Xaxan Tryashoenu realizes his predicament. In a mere millisecond, he will be the defeated for the first time in a sparring match. As the young man comes out of his back-flip and raises his blade to Xaxan’s exposed throat, Xaxan tries to admit to his defeat in as composed and dignified a fashion as he can muster, gathering up every inch of is chiseled body into a posture of acquiescence, “Well done! I am finished.” Dropping his battle sword at the feet of the younger man who appears to mirror his every feature (with far fewer years on them). “It seems that the Academy has not chosen to rest on its laurels in its training methods. So, who is your swordmaster, now, Dear Brother Yorel?” He casually asks as he reaches for a towel with which to wipe some of the perspiration from his distinctive brow.

The young man (with a slightly larger build than his brother) stands bent over, with his hands resting on his knees and panting heavily, “There is a new swordmaster at the Academy, and he says that he has studied many of the recordings of your battles at the Academy, in your youth.” The jibe does not go unnoticed.

“Ah, going for the old man edge, are we? Perhaps next time I shall not be as cautious in our sparring. It seems to me that you are much more taxed than I at the moment. Are you in need of a medic, my Dear Brother?” The older man throws the towel at his brother, hitting him squarely in his finely detailed abdomen. “Here, you appear to be all wet.” Sending the jibe back into his brother’s court.

Taking the towel and beginning to run it through his close cropped, dark blonde hair, he heaves a large sigh and sinks to the floor with an equally large thud. “I am slain by my Dear Brother’s wit,” and he begins to laugh quite raucously.

At that, the older man springs to the floor and places the younger man into a headlock, “So, who is the better man now? Huh, young one?” When the younger man begins to struggle against his brother’s wrestle, Xaxan reaches around and commences to tickle him unmercifully. “Answer me that, smart guy? Who’s the better man? What, what did you say? I can’t hear you through that girlish giggling...” Xaxan releases his hold and jumps to his feet.

“You are definitely the better man,..” A mischievous grin begins to spread across Yorel’s chiseled features, “But I am the better swordsman.”

Before Xaxan can answer the taunt a member of his staff enters the training room. “Sir, I hate to disturb your sparring match, but we’ve just received word from Commander Orian that one of our freighters has been molested during a run from Corellia to Chandrila.” The man was obviously unhappy at having to not only disrupt his employer, but also to have to bring such news to him as well. He shifted uncomfortably, awaiting Xaxan’s reaction.

He did not have to wait long. With a great fury and in one swift movement, he grasps hold of his fallen battle sword spins his body to the left and sends the blade sailing across the gym and into the climbing wall to his left, leaving it vibrating from the impact while stuck firmly into the ferrocrete structure. “Get me Higaeri on the comm immediately! I’ll have his hide nailed to the hull of my ship before the chrono has a chance to recycle once more!” Xaxan bellowed his order for all to hear, and they all could. For the entire building went suddenly silent and his plodding and insistent steps could be heard in every corner.

Chapter 5

“I believe this falls into the category of the universe falling in on top of me.” The middle aged man exclaims as he reads the datapad that has been thrust onto his desk. Stroking his beard thoughtfully, he goes over the information one more time, “Okay, first things first; business. Get me a clear channel to Xaxan the perturbed. I have to clear this little matter up with him before I do anything else. The dear Commander can hold his fancy britches a while longer. And as for Mees and her mystic companion, put them in the anteroom and get them something to eat, and not that garbage I usually serve. Those two spend all of their time on that blasted ship, eating nothing but travel rations (I’m sure of that)... And tell them I will join them as soon as my business dealings have concluded.” With a wave of his hand, Toman Higaeri has set up the events to follow this most unwelcome news. The messenger departs quickly to carry out his employer’s instructions, to the letter (nothing less will ever do for Toman Higaeri).

Tapping at the console on his immense solid fijisi desk, he brings up the channel, which has been opened for him by the communications officer sitting near him in the office. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself for the battle that is about to commence, he then presses the key.

“My dear friend, to what do I owe the pleasure of your communiqué?” What follows is a string of insults that would make a Corellian sailor blush with shame. Toman takes every one of the slurs with as much patience as he can muster before he attempts to utter a single word. “Xaxan please!” Waiting the requisite amount of time for the other man to draw a breath, “Why would I send a group out to hijack my own cargo? Check the ship’s manifest...” The other man looks away from the holo-screen. “You will notice that there is a large shipment of goods heading directly to my brother from myself. One hundred percent above board I might add. They were gifts for my brother and his family. Now why would I send someone to disrupt my family’s Children’s Day celebrations? . . Answer: I would not. Now I must send a replacement shipment, at great personal cost to me, on one of my own ships and thus render it obsolete in my own operations.” Toman puts as much offense into his words as possible.

“So, what you are telling me is that you no longer have control of Corellian space?” The man on the other side of the vid-screen leers at Toman with his question. “Then why am I paying you to keep my shipments safe?”

So, that is the tack he is going to take. Toman sits back in his chair and ponders his answer. “Well, I don’t believe that will be much of an issue. If there is someone operating, independently, in this Sector, they will not be doing so for very long.” Toman then gets a brilliant insight. “Xaxan, my dear friend, are you certain that this is not some coy plot of yours to discredit me and take over the Corellian Trade Spine?” Toman shoots an equally coy question to his adversary.

“Now that is an idea!” His pause is somewhat disturbing to Toman. “Please, my dear Higaeri, the sole reason that I use your people in this manner is that it is far more cost efficient to do so. I would have nothing to gain by pushing you out. Besides, you are far more trustworthy and effective than the various security forces in that sector. I could go broke trying to keep them paid off.” And that, Toman knew was more truthful than any other statement that could be made. Their positions were now quite clear.

“Then I will ask you for your leave, so that I may begin an investigation of this latest turn of events.” Nodding to the vid-screen, his mirror returns the gesture in kind and the transmission ends.

Very clear indeed. There is someone operating in this sector and Toman will have to uncover their identity and their motives; quickly and quietly. Perhaps this visit of Mees’ and her mystic friend would prove to be beneficial after all.

“Sir?” The communications officer disrupts his train of thought as he rises from his chair. “What about the Commander, Chief?”

“Let him stew for a while longer. I will be having dinner with some old friends... And find me the Togorian; I have a mission for him. There is someone I want him to track for me.” The communications officer nods and returns to his station, and with that Toman departs the office in a flourish.

Chapter 6

Tap, taptatap, tappa, tatatap...

Alone at a data-recorder terminal, a young woman intently sits typing out her journal of the day’s events.

Day 167 of the Standard Chandrillan Year 8790
Morning Meal: Nerf Nausage and Aviata Eggs (Thank you Xaxan)
Afternoon Meal: Chandrillan Fruit Plate (Cafeterium)
Evening Meal: Fried Esgonna Leaves & Erryl Figs (Elomin Breeze Restaurant)

Lecture Schedule: Trade in an Insterstellar Universe
Hyperspace Astro-Navigation Systems
Philosophy of Galactic Governments
Laboratory: Xenobiology II
Financial Accounting: Pan-Galactic Exchange Rates

Notes: We had a disturbance today during my Philosophy lecture. Two suspected criminals attempted to hide among the students of the Université today. I got my first real glimpse at Commander Orian since his new assignment. He hasn’t changed much since he last visited us on Commenor (maybe grayer and a little thicker). His team quickly dispatched the miscreants, but not before Her Highness was forced to cancel the rest of today’s lecture.

I took evening meal with a few friends from the Xenobiology department and we had a wonderful time. There was a wonderful trio of minstrels at the restaurant and they played a Commenorian Folk Song for me. It made me think of Father, and how he would sing during evening meal.

The young woman stops her typing at the console, reads through what she has written and exclaims, “There, that should be enough for Xaxan for today.”

She sends the journal entry through the comm-station and stands up from her desk. Crossing the room to her pallet, her lithe form reaches into the bed table and withdraws a small datapad. Gracefully lowering herself onto the pallet, she switches the datapad on and brushes a stray wisp of flaxen hair from her face. She scoots across the pallet until she is centered, enabling her to rest upon the mountain of pillows at the head of the bed. Straightening her pale yellow sleeping gown across her legs, she reaches behind her, taking one of the firmer pillows and placing it on her lap to provide her with an impromptu desk for her personal datapad.

“Now, for the things that I cannot tell, Dear Brother Xaxan...” A mischievous smile crosses her delicate face, causing a very subtle blush to hit her otherwise creamy complexion. Bringing a finger to her chin as she slightly bites down on her lower lip, and struggles for the proper opening for tonight’s personal journal entry.

Day 167 of the Standard Chandrillan Year 8790.

The day seemed to be like any other this week. That was until the Chandrillan Interstellar Navy Commander came into the Grand Lecture Hall, the galaxy came crashing down around me once again. There were some suspected criminals hiding in the Université today. It seems that smuggling is becoming a terribly brazen practice in these times. I had so hoped to be able to hide from its ugliness for a while longer.

Dear Brother Xaxan has always tried to keep Yorel and myself from the horrible realities of his business, but it is becoming a greater reality for us everyday. Yorel is away preparing for his military career and hopes to be selected to join the Chandrillan Interstellar Navy (under Dear Uncle Silvas – though he would never use him as a reference, or even tell him he was applying to be assigned under his command). And I am studying under the hopes that I might be of some assistance to Xaxan and his business interests; though Dear Brother Xaxan tells me I should choose my own path and steer clear of the world of commerce. He worries about me so much that I dare not tell him all that happens to me here at the Université of Knowledge.

Dear Uncle Silvas was quite dashing when he arrived on the scene this morning. It almost reminded me of his visits when we were children in Mother and Father’s family estate. I have so few memories of Father, that I always adored Dear Uncle Silvas’ visits, for the stories he would tell of Mother and how Father had stolen her away from him and what kind of man Father was to him. Dear Uncle Silvas could always tell such wonderful stories, but I have wondered how much of them were true and how much was embellishment.

Her Excellency recognized me in lecture today, and I became quite embarrassed by her praise of my questions. She always seems to recognize me during lecture now. I have begun to receive ill comments from some of the other students because of it. I do hope that she will not call on me at next lecture period. There are many other students with insightful questions and intriguing ideas on the nature of government in these ever-changing times. However, it does give me a wonderful feeling of elation when she remarks favorably to my questions and insights.

I took evening meal with a few of the Xenobiology students tonight, but I think they were attempting to match-make tonight. Though very attractive and intelligent, he would never hold up to the scrutiny of Xaxan and Yorel, so I let him off early.

We ate at an Elomin restaurant, since most of them are vegetarians. They had the most wonderful minstrel trio playing there tonight. I asked them if they knew any Commenorian Folk Songs and they did. I almost cried when they began to play “Gray Sky Tears.” It was the one song that I can remember Father singing to us during evening meal. I can remember him saying that “good music was good for the digestion,” and Mother would always counter with, “then what is that good for, indigestion.” It was their little ritual, and one of the few memories I have of them together.

It is strange that I should remember anything about Father, since I was not even two standard years old when he passed from the Tralusan Wasting Fever epidemic that spread through the Core Worlds. We were safely visiting with Mother and her friends on Chandrila when the epidemic hit Commenor, and Father. Mother always said that my mind and my memories were my special gifts from Father, who she always claimed was the most intelligent man she had ever known. I find it hard to believe that anyone could be more intelligent than Xaxan, but he is after all the eldest son of the same man. Perhaps the erryl fig really does not fall far from the tree.

The delicately framed young woman begins to list her head to the side, as she is about to fall asleep right in the middle of her task. With a jerk, she sits straight up and closes down her datapad. Returning it to the bed table as she tries to fight a deepening yawn and begins to stretch from the tips of her fingers to the ends of her toes, somewhat resembling a felinoid house pet. Shutting off the glow-lamp on the bed table, she releases her flowing, golden hair from its tie and snuggles down into the fluffy quilt, burying her head deeply into the mountain of pillows. Letting out a very contented sigh, Xana Tryashoenu drifts off into a pleasant slumber.

Chapter 7

Corevi pushed back a thick lock of black hair from his piercing green eyes. It didn’t help much, the view before him still swam in a drunken haze. In one smooth fluid movement he threw back the last of his Lomin Ale before carelessly pushing back in his chair and awkwardly rising. Swaying a bit as he found his footing, he glared at the other Sabacc players at the table. “Yous all are cheetin’,” he slurred drunkenly pointing a wavering finger at the lot of them.

A heavyset woman with thick layers of makeup on her face glared at him. “Well Corevi, how else do you expect us to win.” She frowned as she put her nickstick between her lips once more, “I mean you always seem to know when we’re bluffing, when we’re not, and if you can beat us!” Her eyes, plastered with the artificial eyelashes narrowed, “If you didn’t have that sister of yours-“

Corevi lunged at her, “I’ll make you pay for that remark!” He managed to slap her across the face before the rest of the Sabacc players grabbed a hold of his arms. “Let me go! Now,” he bellowed, his face was flushed with rage. A brief struggle ensued, but Corevi managed to pull his arms out of his attackers’ grasp. Standing back he drew the trisaber that he always wore. It was a traditional weapon of the old Chandrillan aristocracy with three deadly edges complete with a current of energy running through the durasteel; in the hands of an accomplished fighter it was death to any opponent.

The group drew back; they had seen what the man could do with this weapon. “Now wait a second, Lord Corevi,” the woman used his proper title, hoping to mollify his anger. She laughed nervously as he advanced on her; “It-it was just a joke sir. Really, nothin’ more than that.” She backed into a wall and stared down the blade of the trisaber that was now pointed at her neck. The electricity made her skin tingle and she looked fearfully to the crowd that was just watching the scene unfold.

“Lord Corevi.” A voice from the door made the enraged man divert his attention from his prey. There were several officers of the local police force standing with their hands on their blasters. “Sir, could we have a word with you?”

Hesitating for a moment, Corevi looked at the woman and then back at the men. He drew in a breath, trying to resolve his anger before turning to the men. Scowling at them he sheathed his blade, “What do you want?”

The leader of the group motioned for him to step outside, “Please sir, we need to talk privately.”

Corevi frowned, but he was curious as to what they had to say. Once outside he stood with his hands planted on his hips. He only swayed a bit from the lingering effects of alcohol.

“Sir, we’ve been instructed to disarm you.” The man looked terrified at such a suggestion, but he held out his hands dutifully.

“And who has instructed you to do so?” He glared at the men.

“Th-the Lady Lusankya sir.”

Corevi held his breath at the mention of his sister. What did she want with him now? Reluctantly he handed over his trisaber, and the blaster he had strapped to his hip.

“Fine, what did she want?”

“Your presence at your home sir.”

“That’s all? She sent all of you here to get me, when she could have simply called me on the comm?” Corevi was shouting at the terrified men. “This had better be good.”

They motioned for Corevi to step into their speeder. He did so and they sped off, toward the Lusankya estate.

Chapter 8

Tapestries hanging from every wall allow for only minute amounts of light to transmit across the open and cavernous room. With his back to all who enter his palatial office, Vanquar Shesh rules in the manner with which he was raised, in ruthless accordance to the primary directive of all Kuati Elite; “What is in it for me?” Sitting in solemn contemplation, he runs his index finger along the embroidered patterning of his luxurious velvet robe, as he seems to unravel the problems of the universe with the furrowing of his well-defined and angular brow.

Deep in thought regarding the newest developments in his world’s interstellar turmoil, Supreme Ruler Shesh nearly misses the delicate sound of footsteps entering his office chamber. Listening for a moment more reveals to him the owner of those footfalls, “What brings you here, First Daughter?” He speaks without turning around and it stops the young woman dead in her tracks.

“Honored Father, how is it that you knew it was me?” The woman stands perfectly still, the only thing betraying her unease is the unconscious twirling of a low-slung loop of coal black hair on her shoulder.

“How many times have I instructed you to not fuss with your hair, my First Daughter?” He turns in his chair to face his equally regal child. “Valyr, my devoted First Daughter, you must learn to hide your feelings from others if you ever wish to succeed in our society. Emotions are a liability in our realm, they do you harm and show weakness to your adversaries.” Vanquar berates his child, but there is a hint of caring in his harsh words of reprimand.

“Yes, Honored Father,” bowing her head in acquiescence to her father’s reprimand. “I will honor your judgment, and ask your forgiveness for my betrayal of your trust in my abilities.” Kneeling, ever so slightly in an attempt to show subservience to her father, Valyr brushes her heavily embroidered cloak away from her slender form in the grand gesture.

A brief chortle escapes the man’s throat, “Totally unnecessary, my beloved First Child. I could never truly be angry with you, Valyr.” He stands and rounds the corner of his grand desk and gently embraces his First Child. Pulling her back from him with his slender, but powerful, arms, “So, what news do you bring me from the Board? Have they collapsed into another panic over the new Hyperdrive modifications that are being implemented? Or are they simply concerned that our competitors have continued to outbid us for the new military contracts? Sit please, and tell me of their latest crises, my beautiful First Daughter.” Motioning for her to take the chaise to his left, Vanquar makes a grand motion to seat himself in the throne-like chair on his right. Pulling his long, straight, coal black hair to his right shoulder as he sits back in the ornate, blood red chair.

Carefully placing herself upon the chaise, keeping her stately form in an upright posture and gathering her many layers garments about her in an orderly manner; one befitting her station. Bringing her legs into position beneath her, she reaches up to stroke her hair and stops suddenly and instead brushes her delicate fingers across the clasp of her cloak, releasing it to fall gracefully behind her. “Honored father, it is much as you have spoken. The board is convinced that this plan of yours to continue to build up our own defense force will only continue to cause difficulties in our bid to overtake the Corellian Shipbuilders Union. They have requested of me to impress upon you, once again, to reconsider this decision.” She betrays only the slightest hint of her novelty in this notion, and with the careful and deliberate raise of just one of her thin and angular brows, she makes known her own feelings on the issue.

“Yes, as we believed they would, my beloved First Daughter. Your insights have proven most discriminative in this odd play of ours. I believe that our backers will be most pleased with this recent turn of events... Have you any word from our associates in the Corellian Sector on their accomplishments as yet?” Vanquar allows only the faintest of smiles to cross his thin lips.

“As yet, no, but the reports from Chandrillan space have been most encouraging.” Valyr’s voice is tinged with the poison that she and her father have made their trademark.

“Well, then that will have to do for the time being.” Breaking her gaze, Vanquar reaches for the comm-station on the table at his left. “Please have my First Son brought into the Chamber as soon as he has arrived, Administrator.” Removing his finger from the activation switch, he awaits the response.

The careful voice through the speaker makes a request, “As you wish, Supreme Ruler Shesh, and as he is present now, shall I admit him?”

“Of course, and please remove yourself to the Antechamber until you are called for, Administrator.”

“As you wish, Supreme Ruler Shesh.” The crackling voice disappears and the doors to the chamber open, revealing a younger version of the man seated in his “throne.”

With a flourish of movement the dashing young man strides into the office. His straight black hair pulled ever so tightly against his scalp, however the back of his hair and his robe billows about him as he advances towards the two, seated figures. As he approaches them, his royal blue, silken shirt can be seen more clearly, as well as his bared chest. He is a rakish man, and his very aura fulfills this definition to the hilt.

“Dear Honored Father! How good it is to see you after such a long absence.” He outstretches his open palm towards the seated man. “Please, do not rise. It is I who should bow to you.” Kneeling at his father’s feet, the young man takes his father’s hand in his and holds it to his chest (a symbol of submission among the Kuati Elite). “You are well, it would appear. I understand you have the Board standing on their ear once more and the hearts of the Kuati people sing your name in praise of your efforts to protect them from our ancient enemies.” Turning his attention next to his sister, who has also remained seated. “And my dear First Sister, you are as beautiful as you have ever been and a credit to our lineage, as always.” Taking her hand in his, the young man places a gentle kiss upon the top of her hand. “I have also heard that you have been creating quite the stir in our beloved Honored Father’s business. It seems that the Erryl Fig does not fall far from the tree, my treasured First Sister. There have even been hints at death threats...” A look of feigned admiration crosses his extenuated face before he continues. “Congratulations, Valyr. Only our Honored Father has ever accomplished such a feat at so young an age.” Vanquar, the lesser, plays upon his beguiling manners to his First Sister as a taunt more than anything else, as most elder siblings are inclined to do.

As his brandish display concludes, his father motions for him to take a seat on his right. “My dear First Son, why should we need a sun to warm our planet, for you are the very light of our lives... And now that the pleasantries have concluded, may we continue with our business here today, Young Vanquar?” His father glowers him with a disapproving eye.

“Really, my dear First Brother, your charms are much more suited to the business in which our Honored Father has engaged you, than they are for gathering favor from myself, as they have no effect on those aware of your games.” Valyr could not resist a final jab at her First Brother’s pride. “What news of you from the dreaded Chandrillans?”

Feigning hurt, Vanquar the Lesser begins, “I am deeply injured by your jibes, but I will forgive it to your erasable disposition and bring you your news anyway...” Turning back to his father, “Honored Father, the Chandrillans are ill prepared for all out war, should it come to that.” He allows a simple crease of his elegant brow to punctuate his last statement. “And they are led by a fairly young man, who seems to favor chasing after smugglers instead of the protection of his people. I believe him to be beyond reproach, but perhaps some of his lesser officers might prove more pliable to our interests. I also believe that there is a chance that we will be able to make use of some looming turmoil in their government as well.” His father shows only the slightest hint of interest in this statement. “Yes, you heard me correctly, Honored Father. There are rumors abound regarding the health of their current elected ruler, and there are also reports of possible assassination attempts. None of this is confirmed, mind you, but I have it on very reliable sources that these attempts have occurred.” Vanquar the Lesser concludes his report and waits on baited breath for the response of his family.

Ruler Shesh, exhales sharply, and it appears as though a great weight has been lifted from his chest. “Well done my beloved First Son, as always. Your charms do suit the purpose for which you have been assigned and will continue to be assigned.” The man allows a look of reproach to meet his First Daughter’s eyes before continuing. “You are an immeasurable asset to your people and most assuredly to your family. You will find a reward for your service upon returning to your chambers.” Ruler Shesh gives his First Son a knowing look, “And yes, I knew you would not fail me, so I have already arranged your reward, with my own careful consideration. I believe you will find it to be most suitable to your tastes, my treasured First Son.” The elder man rises and moves toward his desk. Calling back to his children, “You are both dismissed. Please attend to your individual matters and do not fail to share the evening meal with your First Mother this day. She is expecting you both, and it would disappoint me greatly were you to fail in this duty to her.” And with a wave of his hand, the two children rise and exit the office chamber in silence and obedience.

Chapter 9

High above the Twin Brothers, Talus & Tralus, a ship explodes in space. With lasers flashing, and missiles detonating everywhere in sight, the remaining five ships continue to do battle. One ship, the smallest of the bunch, is a small angular fighter. It is being attacked by the rest of the ships; a group of marauders. They are all painted in the same fashion and marked with the traditional Corellian symbol of power, the Eye of the Corel. As two of the attacking ships appear to converge on their shared target from opposite sides, the endangered ship slips below one attacker, thereby shielding him from the other and almost causing the two marauders to collide. As the two pirate ships veer away from each other, the lower ship suddenly explodes from the laser fire of the little fighter. The ship passing above is hit by the blast and thrown back into a violent spiral. Before the pilot can right his ship, the smaller fighter (the original target) emerges and destroys it with a few well-placed shots. The two remaining attackers, who have circled around to approach their slippery prey from the rear, fire simultaneously and the smaller ship takes its first damaging hit.

UUNNHHH

The blast rocks the small fighter, throwing the pilot against his harness with a ferocious impact. Damage alarms begin to screech throughout the cockpit, but the ship continues on its wild course with blazing speed. His vision blurred, Jae-Lee catches a glimpse of a blinking red light coming from his instrument panel. Another missile, locked on and coming in fast, right behind him.

That makes 5 ships. Blast. 2 more. FOCUS

The first pirate fighter screams in from high on his starboard side, laser cannons blazing, but his vision has returned, and he switches off the redundant alarm. With his head clear, he knows what to do, and has already begun the turning maneuver, right into the oncoming ship.

The other ship banks right, obviously trying to avoid a game of chicken. "Sorry, pirate. It's worse than you think." Jae-Lee whispers to himself as he begins pumping laser blasts at the oncoming ship. As they draw closer, the attacking fighter's shields are beginning to falter, allowing a few shots to get through. The other pilot has stopped firing.

Yeah, you guys never see this one coming, do you? Probably working on your shields.

With a shake of his head, Jae-Lee stays with the other ship bank for bank, juke for juke, anticipating every move, lasers constantly firing.

The Heartburn is perfect for maneuvers like this one. A small 2 person, triangular scout ship, modified with additional weaponry and a few extra surprises, it is his pride and joy. He knows his attachment with the ship could prove to be his downfall someday, but he has owned The Burn for years and it responds almost as if it were his own hand being woven playfully through space.

You're not getting away, I need you now.

As the other ship approaches, Jae-Lee’s lasers blast mercilessly through the shields. They finally give out, and Jae flips a switch on his control panel.

With his shields gone, and realizing his fate, the oncoming ship's pilot finally manages to muster a single laser shot. It passes harmlessly into space.

Too little, too late.

As one light goes blue, Jae-Lee notices the red blinking warning light is growing to a steady glow. He releases his missile, and puts all power to forward shields. A nanosecond later, his missile collides with the oncoming ship, blowing it to bits. Big metal bits.

As The Burn passes through the debris, the ship is bounced about, but the shields hold and the damage is minimal.

Yes!

The trailing missile impacts a piece of the wreckage, exploding and sending a shockwave blast towards Jae-Lee. The blast hits just as he's reaching for the instrument panel.

UNNNNNNHHHHHHHH

Hit from behind, the ship begins to spin. The engines are faltering. Jae's hand has smashed the panel during the blast, and the power now goes offline. As he spins helplessly, he can see the glow of a ship's engines pass above him.

Probably that last ship. Guerfel! If I hadn't been so busy congratulating myself, I might have remembered to switch my shields back over to cover my exit.

The Burn continues to spin, and Jae tries frantically to re-start the engines, bring power to the weapons, anything. No good. The controls were shorted out when he smashed into the panel and the transfer circuits are not working. He has what he needs to fix it.

But I don't think this guy is going to wait for me, is he. Well.... I'm not dead yet.

Pulling a small toolkit from beneath his seat, Jae-Lee quickly begins trying to patch together enough circuits to start his engines and hopefully, get him on planet.

Assuming this guy doesn't kill me first.

Wondering why he is still alive at all, he says absently, "Jeez, Maybe he is waiting for me."

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he caught a glimpse of a ship, much closer this time. Strangely though, given the one glance he had, it did not look like the same ship. "Oh, great. Just what I need, more company."

He slips the last of the replacement circuits into position and several sections of his instrument panel spring to life. The comm light is blinking rapidly, but starting the engines seems more important than another series of demands from a bunch of pirates. Reviewing the damage he sees that he only has about thirty percent left on the main engine. The other two engines are offline and will probably need replacement parts that he does not have in the toolkit from under the seat. It was enough to get him on planet, but just barely.

That last blast must have really got me. One more slip like that, and I'm done for.

That thought, disturbingly casual, stops him cold and brings him back to his current reality. He is in a badly damaged ship, high above the Twin Brothers with no allies, no defense, and no idea who was attacking him.

What happened to that last ship anyway? I should be dead by now....

The comm light was still blinking rapidly, so he turns it on.

Static fills the cockpit and he attempts to adjust the squelch and tune in the signal, hoping that his comm unit is not one of the other things wrong with the ship. Slowly, he begins to make out some of the transmission.

"Crassssssssssssss, Toma- accccccchhhhhhh, Trayg-Cresssshhhhh. Pilot Reklaw, this is the Toman's Emissary. Is Pilot Reklaw receiving transmission? Traygar wishes to speak with Pilot Reklaw." He finally brings the signal in and is astonished to find the somewhat friendly felinoid voice on the other end of the hailing.

"Toman's Emissary, this is Reklaw, and am I glad to hear from you!" Jae cannot resist the smile that falls upon his face. Maybe this day is not as bad as he thought after all.

"Would Pilot Reklaw allow Traygar to offer assistance and safe passage? Traygar’s master has business to speak with Pilot Reklaw about, and has asked Traygar to seek Pilot Reklaw out." Traygar's rumbled purr of a voice tells Jae that his appearance is no accident. However, the mention of Higaeri reminds him that his funds have gotten dangerously low, and perhaps this was another one of those happy coincidences.

"Pilot Reklaw would be very happy to accept Traygar's offer of assistance and the transport as well. Pilot Reklaw is transmitting The Burn's docking sequence now, and awaits the Toman's Emissary’s arrival. Many thanks from Pilot Reklaw to Traygar." Speaking in the dialect of the Togorian was cumbersome, but Jae always tried very hard to honor his old associate. It was hard for him not to, seeing as Traygar had saved his skin on occasions far too numerous to name, this being just one more.

Jae busies himself with what few repairs he can make as he waits for the docking sequence to be completed. He also is careful to gather up all of his data-chips and stow them in his satchel before the Emissary’s crew starts in on his fighter. Traygar and Toman might be friends, but they are also smugglers and information is a very valuable commodity in both of their businesses.

I wonder what Toman has in store for me this time...

Chapter 10

Ten days of conferences and ten nights of arguments are the result of a seemingly impassable stalemate. The young woman standing between the two middle-aged men seems to have reached her limit in civility. Two men, who have both had great impacts on her life: one, her former employer and mentor (the man who rescued her from a life of want on the hard streets of Coronet City); the other, the mysterious man who mentors her today (the man who has taken her under his wing and who has been teaching her the ways of his people so that she might someday solve the mystery of her origin).

But her position today is as negotiator between these two powerful and stubborn men: a job that she has not been having much success with, so far.

“Toman, please? I worked faithfully for you for many years. So, why would I now attempt to betray you in such a ridiculous manner?”

The heavier man strokes his beard thoughtfully before responding to the young woman’s question. “Mees, I hold nothing against you, but I know very little about this man with whom you are currently acquainted. For all I know he could be trying to put me out of business to set himself up in this Sector.” Pointing an accusatory finger in the gray haired man’s direction.

Meesahran lets out an exasperated sigh, “Oh, for all the money in The Core, what would ever bring you to that conclusion?” Throwing up her arms in gesture of incredulity, Meesahran falls back into the chair at the head of the table.

Toman rises uneasily from his chair, with a small groan from heaving his girth up from the seat. “There is nothing to show me why I should have any part of this plan you’ve cooked up, Wizard! And I will not sit here any longer and listen to your wild schemes until you can prove to me that this is above board and on the up and up.” Toman turns to walk away.

Leaning over to his pupil, Falion Mussiri whispers, “And now we will learn our price.” Straightening himself in his seat, Falion clears his throat, stopping Toman in his tracks. “Perhaps we should discuss this proof, Master Higaeri.”

Toman turns back around and motions to the man at the door. “Perhaps we should, Master Mussiri...” A sly grin crosses his bearded face, and as he sits back down, he begins to stroke his beard. “I have an idea of how you might prove to me your sincerity.”

Falion nods his head in affirmation, “I thought you might.”

Meesahran sits back up in her chair and listens as Toman Higaeri explains his plans.

“You see, I have this little disruption, that may well become something bigger, if left unchecked. However, my regular people are ill equipped for this kind of work. I have a contractor that I use, from time to time, but I feel this task may require the expertise of your student and maybe even a little wizardry.” Toman’s eyes betray his disgust at the gray one’s abilities. “Anyway, there appears to be a rogue group of pirates that have decided to impersonate my people and hijack ships en-route from the Corellian Sector and Chandrila in the hopes of discrediting my operation. However, they made a serious mistake by hijacking my own legal cargo. I need to find out who these people are and where their base of operations is located. And I need you to work with my contractor in order to secure this information for me.” Toman sits back in chair, relishing in his apparently successful tactics.

Meesahran begins to speak with words dripping in disdain, “Toman, I will not be a bounty hunter for you. My convictions on that have never changed. And for you to ask that of me and Master Mussiri is uncon-.”

“Please child! I am insulted that you would ever believe such a thing from me.” Toman sits up in his chair and leans in towards Meesahran. “I ask this of you because I know that only you can accomplish what I need without bloodshed. You and this mystic, along with my contractor can find these scoundrels and allow me to set up a trace on their activities... Think Mees... Do you really think a simple rogue group of pirates has the gall to not only go up against ME, but to also try to discredit me? . . No, there is far more to this than what is apparent right now. I need information from you and nothing more. Are we clear on this point?”

Meesahran nods her head, “My apologies, Toman. It has been some time since we last worked together. Maybe I’ve gotten too much from the Holo-Net reports lately.” She looks into her master’s eyes for confirmation of what she is about to say, and seeing it there, she continues, “We will agree to this mission, on some conditions.” Her master looks somewhat puzzled.

“I’m listening, Mees.” Toman finally relaxes back into his chair.

“First, you front for supplies and any essentials we might need. That includes a new data-pad console. If we are going to be able to relay info to you directly, I’ll need one of your encrypted systems.” She waits for his objections and when she receives none, she continues. “Next, you will begin putting the plans into motion. You know me, once I promise something, it will be done.” On this point she waits for actual confirmation.

Toman makes a few entries into his data-pad, “Well, I suppose those are fair demands. I can agree to that and-.” Meesahran interrupts him this time.

“There’s one more, Toman. This whole deal depends on this ‘contractor’ of yours. I will not work with just anybody, and you damn well know it. I’m not getting dragged into some hairy situation with some skifter card character. I may be used to your antics, but I refuse to expose Master Mussiri to your scum-bag ‘contractors.’” Meesahran looks to her mentor and searches for approval of her stance. Once again she finds that acceptance in his eyes.

Toman continues to tap on his data-pad, seemingly ignoring Meesahran’s final condition. “Toman, I’m serious about this, so don’t even try one of your little jokes.”

Toman begins to chortle, “Oh, my dear little vrelt. I learned that lesson with you a very long time ago. I believe I can allay all of your fears in just a moment. Our friend the ‘contractor’ has-.” The gigantic doors to the conference room swing wide open to reveal the silhouette of a man striding towards the table.

Falion Mussiri turns in his chair to gain a better look at the man entering the conference room. He appears to be a man of average build, wearing a dark colored flight suit and utility vest, carrying a satchel slung across his shoulder. Upon closer inspection, Falion notices that the man has brown hair, not short but not long, falling down across the man’s brow. On his face he sees something Falion was not expecting, recognition. He turns to ask Meesahran if she recognizes the man when he realizes that she has left his side and is running straight for the unknown man.

Dropping his satchel as Meesahran jumps into his arms. “Jae!” The two embrace fiercely. As they separate and the man reaches down to retrieve his satchel, “Master Mussiri, this is my old friend. Jae-Lee Reklaw, I would like to introduce you to Master Falion Mussiri.”

Jae extends his hand in greeting, but Master Mussiri only stands and bows to him. “Oh, don’t worry about him, Jae. It’s an Alderaani thing.”

“Well, in that case...” Jae clasps his hands together and bows deeply to Falion. “Good morrow to you sir.” When he rights himself once again, Jae carries an intoxicating smile upon his face.

“Ever the gentleman, huh Jae?” Meesahran says as she puts an arm around her dear friend.

Toman, a knowing smirk on his own face, strokes his beard and says, “So, I am guessing that this ‘contractor’ suits your standards, young lady?”

Chapter 11

Hunched over a data-pad console, fidgeting under the stress that is apparent on her angular face, Valyr Shesh absentmindedly twirls a loose strand of her coal black hair. As she cycles through the screens one more time, a man of similar features strides into her office unnoticed. Upon reaching the back of her chair he reaches over the back and begins to massage her shoulders. Startled at first she tenses up even more, but upon seeing her brother’s mischievous grin she relents.

“What vexes you so, my dear First Sister?” He increases his ministrations as he questions her. “And why do you allow yourself to become this tied up in knots? Do you not have a masseuse among your ‘staff?’” He raises a knowing eyebrow at his last comment.

“I am afraid that I do not revel in the pleasures of the flesh as you do, my dear First Brother.” Lowering her head, as he moves to her neck, “As for the former question, I am having a bit of trouble with the maintenance of the newest pleasure yacht model. And to make matters worse, there is someone out there who has figured out the flaw and is making money, not only repairing it, but exploiting it by improving the vessel’s performance.” Her head hung low as he continues to manipulate her neck and shoulders with a certain finesse.

Stopping a moment, and waiting for her to look up at him, “So, what is the problem? You just hire the person doing the work, exploit their knowledge and release them when they are no longer useful. Problem solved.” He then returns to his task at hand.

“If only it were that simple, my dear First Brother... First, I have to find this person, again. And then I have to convince her to work for us before she disappears yet again. She appears to be one of those smuggler mechanics, and an elusive one at that.” She places a hand on her brother’s to signal her gratitude and for him to cease his ministrations. “Thank you, dear First Brother Vanquar. I am deeply in your debt.”

Throwing his hands in the air, “No charge. It is the least I can do for the woman who keeps me from having to actually work for a living.” With that he flounces into the chair in front of her desk. “So, what has the old man been scheming in my absence?”

“Oh, the usual, but he seems to be in quite deeply with these mysterious backers he keeps mentioning.” Valyr continues about her work on the data-pad console without lifting her gaze to her brother.

“Are you not the least bit curious about the identity of these backers? I know I would be concerned about the old man’s safety in that kind of dealing. Seems to me he is playing with fire again. Do you not remember that fiasco with the Commenorian trader? He lost quite a few dataries on that debacle.” Vanquar the Lesser throws a leg over the arm of the chair and begins to pick at his fingernails.

“Are you bored with your new toy already? Or do you simply enjoy taking up my time with such nonsense?” Her gaze meets his and he finds the look a chilling reminder of just how ruthless his sister can be. “Our dear Father may have lost money on that deal, but the Commenorian lost twice as much fighting him and it weakened his abilities to transport goods, causing him to jump into bed with that smuggler chief in the Corellian Sector. This was all part of Father’s plan in the first place. And if you spent a little more time dealing with our family’s business and less time furthering your lineage, you might be aware of those facts.”

The jibe, though meant as a slight, is taken in kind and Vanquar the Lesser merely smiles at his sister, “Someone must further the bloodline, my dear First Sister. It certainly will not be you... Speaking of which, how is the arrangement proceeding?” Returning to his fingernails, attempting to make his interest seem waning.

“The ‘Arrangement’ is moving slowly at best. Father is convinced that they are using these stalling tactics as a maneuver to gain more favor from Father’s mining endeavors... I believe they have hit a snag with the delicate ‘Prince.’” Her tone has taken on a matter of fact tone.

However, Vanquar’s interest has been piqued, “The ‘Prince,’ are you insinuating that he is,.. less than a suitable mate?” Dropping his leg to the floor in anticipation of his sister’s response.

“Perhaps we shall leave it at the fact that he seems to have more interest in my ‘playthings’ than the business prospects this merger would create.” Valyr speaks with a facetious tone in her voice. “Not that any of that matters to me. This is only a business transaction and not a terribly beneficial one at that. Father is only continuing with the negotiations out of obligation to their family line. Once this falls through, he has a much better arrangement ready to be validated the moment it is an option.”

“And do you approve of this arrangement? Does he at least appeal to you?” Vanquar is on the edge of his seat at this point.

Valyr looks up from her data-pad console with a thoughtful expression, “I suppose he is attractive, he is a full-blooded member of the Kuati Elite class, and his family owns one of the largest ore processing companies in the Core. This would be of tremendous benefit to our fleet operations. It is a suitable match, as far as they go. I am just not terribly thrilled about any match. To be truthful, I am far more concerned about this impending strife with the Chandrillans to be worrying over a marriage that may or may not take place some time in the future. My focus is on the here and now, and that requires a great deal of my time and energy.” She returns to her work once more.

Vanquar leans back in the chair and shakes his head, “My dear Valyr, you are certainly a credit to the Kuati Elite. Business before all else! You shall waste away into nothingness, but behind you there will be a mountain of wealth to show for your existence. Tssk, tssk.” As in everything Vanquar does, he stands in a flourish, “Well, I must be off. I am to entertain one of Father’s clients this evening and I must prepare. Good evening to you, my dear First Sister.” Bowing at the waist with his right arm out and his left resting on his abdomen, “Great success to you in all you strive to attain. I will be departing on a sabbatical in the morning, so I will not likely see you for many days. Please be sure to take your liberties, and stay well, my most treasured First Sister.”

Valyr looks up just in time to see her brother exit her office in the grand style she has become accustomed to associating with him; cloak and flowing hair billowing out behind him and long, rhythmic strides with an air of superiority that would only befit the son of the most powerful man on all of Kuat.

Chapter 12

A large felinoid male sits at a tracking station console, making small adjustments to an incoming signal. He is watched by a middle-aged, bearded man and occasionally glances over his shoulder at the man.

“Well, is the transmitter working or not?” Toman Higaeri impatiently questions the statuesque cat-man.

“Hmmmmmmmm, the transmitter appears to be operational, Chief Higaeri... For the moment.” Traygar’s soft, purring voice betrays the ferocity of his words.

Toman runs his fingers through his beard for the umpteenth time, “What do you mean, ‘for the moment?’”

Traygar turns in his seat to face the man, and with bared teeth he explains, “The device is located on Master Mussiri’s vessel as well as Pilot’s Reklaw’s fighter craft. However, was not the device created by Pilot Reklaw and Mistress Tofallin?” Traygar waits for the man to react to his words. Before the full impact has a chance to take effect, a signal comes from the console. Traygar turns back to the console just in time to see the second transmitter signal cease operation. “And now the devices are no longer transmitting.”

Toman throws up his hands in defeat and storms out of the communications center.

Chapter 13

“So, what do you think of her? I had her painted recently...”

Mees takes a good look after crawling out from underneath the control panel. "Not bad, but don't you think that color is a little- ... I don't know,.. girlish?"

“So are you saying you like it?” Getting her attention, Jae-Lee whispers, “<Clear?>”

She motions no, "It's not bad, and I'll just leave it at that." Mees takes her comlink and speaks into it, "Master Mussiri?"

"Yes, Meesahran."

Jae looks around with a sideways glance.

"Signal terminated. You can put the comm interrupter back online." She turns back to Jae-Lee, "You were saying."

"Jeez, and with your own toys. They can’t really be that foolish, can they? How'd you get into all this again, anyway?" Jae-Lee flashes her a concerned and disapproving look.

Mees climbs up onto The Burn, peering into the cockpit, "Just doing a favor for one of Master Mussiri's old friends... You kept the second chair?"

"Sure," Jae walks around towards the front of the fighter, "it works great as a baggage compart