I awoke from my short nap with a headache that hadn't much lessened, but had now centered itself into a red-hot spike just behind my forehead that pressed inward every so often, twisting and turning as it went. I sighed, reaching a hand up to rub the spot, and sat up. The mere motion brought rushing back everything that had provoked that spike into pressing its attack to begin with.

This was not supposed to be like this, I growled to myself as I dragged up from bed and headed to the 'fresher. This was supposed to be a simple fly-by pick-up of a miserable shipment of spice. Now I have insurrectionists, complete with air forces; there is something insidious about the local Hutt in charge, or supposedly in charge, and I have a shipful of prisoners....

The beating sonics managed to eliminate all but the worst of my headache, and when I stepped out to re-armor myself I found to my grudging delight that it had been reduced from that spike to a little pin. That pin, however, kept poking and prodding and pressing in constant reminder of all the joys involved in running a galaxy.

Sheesh, as Galen would have said.

Now I paused in momentary contemplation, debating as to which -- if any -- of the incarcerated I wanted to attend to. There was the matter of the Bothan spy and the jedi as well; they had been assigned to actual quarters with an accompanying squad of guards to assure they remained therein. Although to some the disparity of prisoners would seem highly improbable, I somehow couldn't help but believe they were all tied in to this growing puzzle together.

It doesn't matter, I finally ended my reveries with. They're going to divulge all they know when we get to Coruscant, and then we'll be able to really get into the nitty-gritty of what is going on with Tatooine.

The one thing which didn't quite compute in all this was the boy. He didn't look to be much older than 12 or 13; the obligatory med-scan for hidden weaponry and whatnot -- you'd be surprised how cunning rebels have been in the past in hiding miniaturized devices within certain body orifices or even internally -- had revealed the device slave-owners place in their property to assure their loyalties. The ease with which this destroyer's med-droids had removed and then disabled said device was almost laughable; they had instructions to preserve the thing for later re-insertion, but at least for now I didn't have to worry about the kid -- and thus maybe my ship -- blowing up en route to our destination.

So what was a kid his age doing messing around with rebel combatants in a surprise attack against an Imperial garrison on a backwater planet? There were other ways to commit suicide; see device mentioned above.

I shook my head. There was only one way to find out.

I didn't hesitate but headed off to the detention cells, my step firm but my thoughts dark. By the time I had arrived in that portion of the ship and had been taken to Jamel's cell, I had all but forgiven the kid and had planned his return home to whatever family he had.

All but, let me reiterate. I might have a speck of something warm left in my heart, but I still wasn't stupid. I stopped before his cell, and for perhaps ten minutes or so just stood there watching him mutely though the observation slit. The I motioned the guard to open the door, and I stepped into the cell.

The boy looked up with tearful eyes as that door slammed closed behind me. I didn't take another step closer, but just stood there, my hands casually crossed at the wrists and hanging low in front of me. People who knew me knew that stance, much to their eventual regret.

I cocked my head and finally spoke.

"So what is a kid your age doing caught up with the rebel scum you've managed to become entangled with?" I finally asked, giving him the opportunity to come clean of his own device instead of relying on the interrogation droids which would otherwise -- and eventually -- be pressed forth to serve their duty.

"You wanna tell me who you are, and how you've gotten yourself to where you've ended up here? Rebels throughout history have proven themselves to be rather desperate, but I was unaware they had been reduced to robbing the cradle for troops."

"I...I-" Jamel's soft, young voice came to a stutter of fear, and pain that had been drilled within his limbs from continious tears, and furrious attack on the wall. His legs shaked, soon to loose his inability to hold himself up for a short amount of time if he was not to soon regain his sense of balance.

Stiffening his legs as he sniffled up a bit of snot, but the true thing he was trying to absorb and vanquish was the fear that had disrupted his compuser. Attaining his goal of full composure- his body stiffened, and fist tightened into a grip, staring at the man- he began his speech to reveal his reasons.

"My age has nothing doesn't have nothing to do with my duties with the Rebels. I was adressed to spy upon the garrison to inspect your security and possibly attack myself to hold your fleet off. In doing so I sent word to the fleet of the Rebels which had settled down in the previous months along the planet to attack finally. I, gaining their head General's trust was to become their right-hand man in Rebel Employment though it was my first mission. They were not desperate to the point of gaining a child, but gaining.." He came to a pause within his setence, yet one which consisted with a hum of his voice before he stated the lost words in the setence that he must have misplaced for obvious reasons. He wanted to intensify the statement, border it with the strong power that he had misplaced during his sickness when in bed during the morning when stationed on Tattonie.

"..a soldier!"

The voice thundered thorought the room, as his eyes narrowed down. His voice was slightly more deeper when the words that exposed him. Lightening the tone of his expresssion which was masked by a hardened tone. His eyebrows rose to its normal state, and his fingers untightened.

"Im sorry that I attacked you base, but that is the duty of your enemy, the enemies of the Empire. We are to bring back order to the life of the galaxy-the order of the Republic. Thats is all I have to say, as their is nothing more that I embody."

And finally with the last word, concluding his statement, he lifted his hand in a signal of salute to show his respect, and place his hand on his chest.

"For the Republic-BOOM!" The sudden explosion of his voice echoed thorought the spectrum as if he was to explode the plate with an item that had been implaced within his being for sucidal actions,b ut it was all but a joke.

He was to become their right-hand man, because he's a true soldier he declares. When rancors fly... I mused, letting a small smile come to my lips beneath the aloof countenance of my helmet. Then that smile faded as screaming through the incongruity of this child's statement there wafted something that was of more than a mere touch of concern to me, and through me, the Empire.

Why is it that everyone automatically hates that which brings change? I pondered. Other than the initial -- and in this case, very light -- loss of life and freedoms which are congruent with any takeover of any governmental system, there had been nothing but growing order in its wake. I knew it took peeps awhile for the shock to evaporate, but many had already begun to sit up and take notice that since Actar had come into the picture, there was not merely a growing orderliness in the galaxy, but growing prosperity as well. That had, after all, been his original plan: to rout the corruption so prevelent on many systems and thus bring order and prosperity back into a disordered system. Great Khaandon's Ghost, he'd even divulged to me his plan to eventually reinstate the Jedi Praxeum; it just needed temorary... disbandment while he settled his ideals on the systems throughout the galaxy.

But there was always someone who couldn't see beyond his nose, someone who automatically and erroneously correlated change with bad; now I actually snorted. Who was worse: he who killed to bring order, or he who killed to champion the return to whatever it was that had been holding the galaxy together -- barely -- in the days prior to Actar?

The snort brought me back to the reality of me standing in this kid's cell, uncomfortably aware that I had put a kid into a cell, and was probably doing nothing much towards altering his views of the Empire to what we truly represented. Now I did shake my head.

"Those are purty big words you're spouting, kid," I began lightly, now reaching up to tilt my helmet back and thus expose my face. Now I squatted down to be more on an eye-to-eye level with him. I sent a calm look into his eyes. "And those words and a quarter-cred will buy you a cuppa caf on most systems."

I paused a moment, continuing to present a calm appearance before this kid. I really didn't know what use he actually had been to the rebels on Tatooine, but it was a moot point now. The rebels -- or at least the majority of them -- were gone, the leader was in hand, and here I was with a kid who had delusions that he was gonna be Captain Wonderful and save the galaxy and life in general as we know it.

I smiled softly. "Kid, you really believed what they fed you, didn't you? And just look where it got you. You're lucky you weren't killed in that stupid attack."

I fell silent then, and rose back to my feet. Once upright, I placed my hands on my hips and just stood there, waiting to see how this kid was going to react. Judging from the look he had on his face earlier, I think he thought I was going to eat him or something. For some reason I wanted to assure him that this was indeed not the case.

Jamel stiffened himself as if attempting to reach the height of man, positioning himself in a military state. His head held up proud, though his statement's were clearly an insult to the alligence that he had taken so quickly.

"You are right, they were lying to me. It's not new though, I've got word from many former rebel squad employers that they were desperate people, but I was blinded by my dream. It was a crisis where I was qualified, and they probably would have thrown me into space, or just leave me on the planet during one of their missions and not come back." The words flew out his lips slow, but not with a single stutter. They were clear, and thought over before it had been said.

Thought he stood firm, the sorrow in his eyes flourished small tears of displeasurment, and fear. He stood back, the pain of his legs overwhelming him to the point of leaning against the concrete-materailed wall.

Staring at the man for his reaction, but simultaneously thinking of how he had been decieved. It was obvious it was true, it was not probable that one of his stature in age would gain such power over men.

Men..

He was not a man at all, he was a child-though a proficent child, the laborer of the republic was still a child. The boy wasn't prepared for the labor of such a being, though he wished, and dreamed of the day he would stand as a crown within the alligence of a squadron.

Against all adversaries he stood at the end, but this was all but a dream...

"Kid, you've been living in a dream world, and it's gotten you into a reality that isn't very nice." I came up to him then and reached out to awkwardly ruffle the youngster's pale hair...

...which only provoked another gush of tears from the lad.

I gulped in an other rush of sympathy. Like I keep saying, I wasn't born yesterday; I'm not stupid. But there was something about the plight of this boy that just aroused the father's instinct in me.

Must be because....

I snapped that thought off at its roots and turned abruptly back to Jamel.

"C'mon kid, you don't belong here."

With that I put my arm around this boy's shoulders and led him quietly from the cell. The guard outside widened his eyes in surprise as I came up to him with Jamel literally under my wing, but was too much of a professional to let that wide-eyed look linger. His eyes immediately returned to normal and he snapped to attention.

"Clean his cell, we'll not be using it any longer," I said quietly and continued along, my one arm companionably around Jamel's shoulder while the other rose to flip my helmet back over my face. Thus accoutred per usual, save for the added accessory of a 13-year-old boy affixed to my side, I continued along through the sterile corridors of this star destroyer, just letting the kid get used to the idea that not only was he free, but that maybe -- just maybe -- the Empire wasn't quite the monster he had been led to believe it was.

However, I had things to attend to, and I couldn't very well attend to them with a kid glued to my side. Even though I felt to the bottom of my bones that this kid was truly harmless, I still felt uncomfortable turning him loose in his own quarters. Then an idea came to me....

And thus it was that I took the boy to where Shawn and the Bothan were quartered, introduced him, and left him to their gentle devices. I'd be back for the kid...

...but later. Right now, as I said, I had things to do and people to attend to, and I wanted all the various and sundry loose ends tidied up before we came into Coruscant space.

Shawn was, however, interrupted when someone was brought to the room and left, a young boy of about 12 or 13 years old whose emotions seemed somewhat confused and very scattered. Shawn stood, his blue jedi robes falling loosely about him, and regarded the young boy kindly, taking in his bedraggled clothing and appearance.

He eyed the guard who had accompanied the boy inside. "You would not object to allowing him to clean up a bit and for his wounds to be tended to?" Shawn queried.

The the guard he'd addressed hesitated for a moment, seeming to be debating the prudency of letting either of them out of their sights for even a moment. Shawn took care of this concern by adding, "I can tend to his wounds here, and you can keep an eye on the 'fresher while he cleans up."

The guard agreed to as much, and allowed the young boy to clean up a bit, which only took a couple of minutes--not that the guard would have allowed much more than this. Then, leaving the boy to Shawn the guard returned to his post with the others, and Shawn sat with the boy, the look in his eyes calm and concerned. "I am Jedi Knight Shawn Petrolu," he indicating, answering a question that he knew would come up at least at some point, "Tell me, what is your name, and how is it that you have found yourself here?"

Suddenly the consciousness of the question had shattered his suprisment, and incouraged him to respond. Jamel smiled up at the man, showing his assurance that he was grateful of meeting the man, though without words it did seem somewhat an akward beam of bliss. The young boy opened his mouth, going through the process of responding. The soft tone, yet somewhat raspy, cunning voice unloaded the words of which he had similarities of what he had said to Mr. Tarnus within the cell.

"My name is Jamel Garth, I had alligence with the Republic Union-so I was considered an enemy and was taken to a cell. Mr. Tarnus took me out after a talk though." The boy said, still somewhat mesmerized by the sight of a Jedi Knight.

Though a question lingered in the young one's brain, wondering why such a person of high calibuer was held under the guarding of the Empire.

As it seemed Allaria and IllaAnda had been as well.

But, he did subscribe to the notion that the Force always guides people along in life, and he couldn't quite believe it was a matter of coincidence that he had suddenly and unexpectedly crossed paths once again with Sorben Tarnus.

Sorben knew of something Shawn had heavy on his heart even now.

But back to the question at hand. "I'm here as a friend to some folks, an ambassador of sorts," he replied. Then he pursed his lips, quieting as the Force prodded him once more, begging for his attention.

Maybe it was time he inquired about the sisters...

Despite that, she knelt against the wall and tried to listen for a sign of him. Nothing, as expected. With a sigh, she proceeded to talk through the wall to him regardless. "I'm so sorry Paul, I don't know what to say... I've dragged you and the others into this. I didn't know Tarnus was following me, I swear. Which makes me a lousy P.I., I suppose."

Jaz fell silent and figeted with her prison garb material. What was I thinking? Why did I risk a stunt so stupid as impersonating an Imp officer? Why did I think I actually might get away with it?

Again she spoke to her invisible adjacent cell mate. "I really was trying to warn you, not get you captured with me. I promise I'll plead for your release. The charges against me have nothing to do with you." Jaz wanted to say more, in case he could somehow hear, but she knew the Imps were listening and watching her. She wouldn't say anything that she wasn't willing to admit to Tarnus' face, and she wouldn't discuss anything that would incriminate the man with force-user eyes.

That lousy Grakko... I shouldn't have used that ID he gave me. She'd hoped to get the Imps on his tail, not hers. Yet here she was locked up, being shipped somewhere, likely Coruscant if not Kessel, while Grakko sat fat, dumb, and happy in his hideout laughing and prancing with his harem girls that he'd finally gotten rid of Paul Arrakeen and that annoying human woman who killed his Rodian guard. Jaz briefly reflected on the reason why she wanted to betray the Hutt so badly. Reasons no one else knew, except for one man. None of it would have come to pass if her ship had not been stripped and stranded on that hell hole planet.

Her ship... that was lost too, like everything. Now it and she belonged to the Imps. The impending interrogation with Sorben Tarnus was not something she looked forward to. He was a cold-blooded killer who even Stryker warned her to avoid. So far she had, staying away from Imperial interests like the plague... until now. How could she have known that particular spice shipment was so important to the Imps, important enough to have Sorben Tarnus checking up on it?
It's like a bad dream I can't wake from. Jaz knew she would have no choice but show some usefulness to Tarnus and his bosses. Not the type of job she was looking for, but there were worse in the galaxy. She had no love for the Imperials who took over her home of Coruscant and Stryker's homeland Corellia. But sometimes playing along was smarter, especially when you held a lousy Sabaac hand, which Jaz certainly did.

Once more she spoke to the wall with a tinge of regret, finding herself repeating the exact words Stryker had said to her not long ago. "Maybe another time, another place, things could've been different, but that's life, isn't it? I truly am sorry..."

Shaking his head in attempt to release the spell upon his eyes, he reached out for the seating arrangement to return to his placement. Throwing himself onto it, he looked around, still too immature to stay silent and await the time of their exit of the room.

Turning his head from side-to-side, he frowned in disagreement with the lull sound. He choose to observe his surrondings once more as he did when being placed in his seating arrangement by the Jedi Knight.

Glancing over at the Jedi Knight, he obsereved his clothing, it was of blue coloration, and sleaked down upon the surface. It seemed of ruggid materail, firm enough not to be rip by small particles, but not too much weight to laggard the man of the attire. He also combined the elements of his blue coverings with nice dark brown combat boots, he had seen many of those when venturing around the Outer Rim, not as much in the Mid Rim.

Taking a quick gaze at the Bothan, he absorbed in the the abnormal features of the being. She was the perfect description stature for such a Bothan, mid-height at least, and she wore dirty white garments, loosely kept upon her chest, keeping space for her boosoms. The brain-communicated-statement within had Jamel chuckling under his breath, which probably would have caught eyes in different locations, because of the timing and the replying of no verbal statement. She also had combat formated boots, but probably only of that nature because of the Tattonie soil, or because of an explorer lifestyle. She also had identicle coloration of her top to her pants, but the description was far different. It was a tighter hold, not as loose as the top.

Jamel suddenly laughed again, much louder then previous. The thoughts that whirled through his brain may have been of perverted nature by some females, and very offending, but he still found them extravagantly jocose. Falling down out of his chair once again, he held his stomach as the sound started a rait of commotion outside the door. Two men came in, shuttling their feet with their weapons under their hard cluthes, pointing at the Bothan, then drawing the laser guns along the room, scanning it for any tamperings.

"Hmm, silly kid.." The eldest of the guards said, his eyes drawing down at the boy before a smile came to his face and the two ventured out the door.

Yet this sudden suprisment only drove Jamel to the comparability of insane laughter. The humor of the situation had overwhelmed him, and he was left rolling along the surface holding his stomach. He tried his hardest to incase this laughter within him, but it kept jumping out like a Ewok's personality, it was so jumpy.

He came to a slow, gradual stop holding his chest, lying with his frontier facing the foundation. His last chuckle came out, and he smiled with the amusement still running through his veins.

An hour has already passed...maybe more? Maybe less?

Paul lost track as he meditated, but the Force has abandoned him yet again. He was blind.

The Jedi tried hard to see outside his cell...but there was nothing. Just black, empty space. The Jedi can hear a voice amongst the darkness, but it was too small for him to hear. He couldn't sense anything beyond this prison.

Paul opened his eyes, breaking off his concentration. He uncrossed his legs, now no longer numb, and stood up.

Paul paced back and forth from wall to wall. The cell was small, and he was only able to walk about 5 paces from each side. But it didn't bother him as he went into deep thought.

I can't believe this. There were risks in the plan, but...I never thought it would go wrong this badly. Captured by the Imperials...

He shook his head, and started talking to himself. "None of this should have happened. In fact, it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't come here and joined that fat Hutt. I was right. Should've stayed on Hoth, Paul. Live a lonely, pathetic life in ice caves inhabitated by stinking corpses of dead animals or worse. It would have been better then getting other people killed..."

"But, no. Just had to go out and protect the galaxy, didn't you?" By now, the sentries watching his cell began to notice what he was doing. "Yeah, great job, oh mighty Jedi Master! Got thrown onto Kessel...wait, your not really a Jedi Master anymore, arent you? No, no, you lost that title after you lost your apprentice."

Paul stopped, right in the middle of the cell. He finally noticed his hand shaking. He curled it up into a fist and held it with his other hand.

"No...I didn't lose him," he continued. "I...I tried to save him. But he didn't listen to me. He didn't listen because I was blind. I blinded myself, believing...trusting..."

He stopped in front of a wall. "I-I don't know what to do. The Force...I have no control over it anymore..." He looked up, tears building behind his eyes. "Everything I do...to use it...hurts other people." Paul thought about his apprentice...the people on Corellia...the two sisters...

And Jazelle... Her name made Paul remember the voice he heard while he was meditating. Wait...that was her? That was her! Dammit, what was she saying?

He rested his forehead on the wall. "What was she saying? Is Jaz saying anything now?"

He stepped back, and closed his eyes. The Jedi quieted his mind, trying to summon the Force. He felt no warmth, no change in his body. Just the cold air from the cell.

I can't hear her now. Why does this continue? Why do I always feel...hated?

Frustration began to build up within him again, and his fist began shaking furiously.

I...I can't...DAMN YOU JAKOB!

With a yell, the Jedi drove his fist into the wall. An image appeared inside his mind as soon as the skin touched the surface. Paul saw flames, people screaming, and stars snuffed from the sky in a single moment.

Then it was gone.

The Jedi stepped back, shocked at what he had just done...and what he had seen. Before another thought came, before he even drew breath to speak, Paul lost feeling throughout his entire body and collapsed. His eyes closed as he lost consciousness.

"And he.. punched the cell block wall, solid durasteel nearly half a meter thick, and dented it nearly into the adjoining cell?"

The question wasn't so much in disbelief rather than affirming in my own mind the incredulosity of what had happened. "And this after yammering on something about joining a Hutt on Tatooine."

Well... that latter certainly would justify my bringing him before Actar, I thought to myself as I reached forward to casually flip off the vidscreen where my search for specs on Paul Arakeen had just finished informing me who he was, and what he had done.

He's a Jedi Master... rather, ex- Jedi Master, I mulled to myself with a little sigh. Another Force user; why is it always me with the Force users?

I nodded in answer to my own question, now turning to retrieve a little metallic object from a cul-de-sac in my desk. I held it out to the gaoler.

"This is a force-cage," I informed him. "Please make certain that this... gentleman is encased within it before he regains consciousness."

I leaned back as the gaoler nodded, then left to carry out his orders to move the man to a new -- and structurally reinforced -- cell, there to be placed within the only thing preventing the Force from impacting a user, whether it was in an attempt to contact him, or his attempt to use his abilities on another. He would thus be nicely confined while I pondered exactly what I was going to do with him.

I flipped a control, and the specs for Jazelle Corona popped up for my review. I was halfway through them when the call came in that the jedi had been successfully moved and restrained.

That's it, the end. The remaining images blurred together... Jaz's world crashing down, Stryker leaving, offering to give her anything she wants, but she only takes her ship. Her ship and her broken heart.

Jaz's eyes flew open, but she remained on the floor a moment, adjusting to her reality. Sitting up, she pounded her fists on her temples and held back a wave of sobs that wanted to burst through. She didn't let them out... instead biting her lip until she tasted the salt of her own blood.

Composing herself, she brushed her bangs from her dark blue eyes and slowly let a breath escape, as if she were exhaling a deathstick.

Then she smiled, an almost wicked smile. I can be fiercely loyal, you taught me that well, Sir. To hell with your ideals and your warnings. I will survive this... survive you, survive the Imperials, even the man you feared, Sorben Tarnus. Then maybe these dreams will finally stop, and I will be free of you, FOREVER.

I stared at Jaz's specs for the umpteenth time, where a name was leaping out at me like the striking tentacle of a dianoga. Granted, the first time I read it I simply glossed over it as merely an accessory: an old love interest and benefactor of one Jazelle Corona, by the name of Stryker Renard.

Stryker Renard... now that's a name I hadn't heard of in a long time....

Then something else had begun to niggle, and it had taken me a couple of seconds before I remembered what it was niggling about... and why it was even bothering to niggle in the first place.

Sorben, you're getting old, I had berated myself as with a slight creak of armor I had punched the keyboard, bringing up to a now split-screen the specs on our other prisoner, the honorable Paul Arakeen.

And there it was, outlined in shining lights like Mos Eisley on Boonta Eve: the records of Master Arakeen and the two apprentices he had taught, one a young Bespin lady who had shown early tendencies toward becoming a teacher herself and had thus been taken from him...

...to be replaced by a second apprentice, a young man by the name of Jakob Renard...

...who had mysteriously died, purportedly due to some misaction on the part of Master Arakeen.

Jakob Renard... son of Stryker Renard.

I let out another unconscious sigh, and shifted in my seat, my eyes growing vague as I mulled this over.

Wasn't this just all cozy? Here I was, the proud possessor of one prisoner who was the alleged killer of the son of the man who was quite possibly the lover of my other prisoner... both of whom I had netted together even as the dust of a missing shipment of spice was scarcely beginning to settle onto the sere soil of that sorry hellhole of a planet.

Now, wasn't this just getting to be a small universe?

I slipped a hand up to rub my temple. This was enough to make a Bothan nervous. Which brought me suddenly upright in my seat.

In an action more instinctive than thought out, I slipped my helmet back on my head. Then I punched the comm, bringing up the gaoler's shining features. He snapped to attention with an appropriately respectful, "Sir!"

"Send me the Bothan we..." I paused only a moment, then continued. "...escorted from Mos Eisley.

"And put another Force-cage around Ms. Corona," I added as a precautionary measure. I knew the stretch was a far one, but this Jakob had been -- at least up until his death -- a fairly good force user, and from what I understood force tendencies appear to run in familial bloodlines... and my old buddy Stryker had acted as benefactor to the above-mentioned Ms. Corona.

Benefactor could very easily read out as... Teacher.

The gaoler nodded and the link snapped closed, returning from tri- to split-screen. I let out a puff of exhaled breath and sat back, continuing to read back and forth between the two sets of information, trying to glean every little bit that I could from between the lines. I was so wrapped up in this that I scarcely acknowledged the sudden intrusion of the gaoler, who was comming to inform me the lady was safely within a Force-cage in her cell, and that the little Bothan spy was on her way.

After brief contemplation, she realized, Blazes... they think I'm a force-user?

She started laughing out loud uncontrollably.If I was a force user, Mr. Tarnus would've had fun trying to haul me in with that net, leaving him sorry he didn't hit me with a dart the way he did Paul! Cautious, cautious. Mr. Tarnus doesn't trust anyone... probably why he's such a success.

She had to smile. Perhaps he had some miniscule speck of respect for her, to think she might try something.

Or he knew Stryker was once a Jedi and wasn't taking chances with his right-hand "man". That seemed more likely.

Now she was hungry, and antsy. Was Tarnus going to have a talk with her, or leave that to his superiors? No matter, but she was curious to meet him in person. Somewhat fearful, but curious, the way a little kid wants to stay up and watch a late horror holovid, even though he regrets it later.

Hugging her knees to her chest, she found herself thinking of Paul again, though she wasn't sure why. She'd said her apology, her "so long", and thought he was out of her head. Still she worried about him, wondering if he was in a cage like hers in the next cell. Or did they question him? And what would he say about her... "that crazy chick who bought me a drink before all hell broke loose" or "Who? Jazelle Who? Oh yeah... that chick at the bar who kept pretending I gave a damn".

Remember IllaAnda? The beauty that made sure he didn't give a damn? She wondered briefly how the two sisters and Petrolu were getting along. Allaria seemed to take to Shawn, poor sap. Interesting, both sisters went for the force-users right away. Then she tried not to laugh thinking what trouble "noble Shawn" would find himself in alone with those two.

"You think too much, Corona," she whispered to herself and smiled. "And it always gets you in trouble."

Maybe the kid wasn't used to such seriousness. But it was time he learned.

Shawn kept from rolling his eyes as he looked again to the young boy. "I fail to see any humor in this situation, and you would be wise to act appropriately. Your actions, especially at this point in time, will most certainly determine your destiny."

So the comment sounded like a Jedi. Well? So what, that's exactly what he was. And with that title came great responsibility...

Shawn stood, and approached a guardsmen who entered and begain ushering the Bothan out somewhere. "Excuse me," he said, "Please relate to Mr. Tarnus that Shawn Petrolu would like to know what became of two women by the names of IllaAnda and Allaria. One of them may be in medical need, and both should be here for questioning only."

At that Shawn simply stepped back again. The guard, without so much as an indication as to if he would relay this message or not, proceeded to lead the Bothan out of the quarters, leaving Shawn to wait and see what, if anything, would happen now.

"You may leave us," I instructed succinctly, falling silent and waiting while they nodded in synchronization and backed respectfully out. Through all this the little Bothan didn't so much as blink; she just stood there, her expression bright yet yielding to the obvious authority I represented.

I let a few moments slide past after the door closed behind the two guards before I finally spoke up.

"How would you like your ship completely renovated?" I asked her suddenly in apparent non-sequiteur to whatever she probably had been toying with in her head concerning her being brought before me. She didn't say a word, being the careful Bothan which she was, but stared at me for a minute or two before nodding her head, once.

I smiled behind my helmet, liking her more and more.

"A complete outfitting, all the latest updates, better shielding, enhanced hyperdrive, perhaps even something with a little more oomph in the armaments department..." I continued slyly, ticking items off on my figurative fingers as I went. My smile broadened to see her eyes following suit; she was doing a damned good job about not drooling right then and there.

She nodded again, with the utmost respect in every aspect of her demeanor.

I leaned forward, flicked a control... and a holo-image of Stryker Renard popped into view.

"Stryker Renard," I said simply, watching her as her liquid eyes seemed to narrow just the slightest in concentration as she obviously began drinking up the image, storing it in her wonderful memory. Her eyes then returned to their previous state, and she turned them up to me.

I flicked off the holo-image.

"Last I heard he was on Corellia," I said quietly. I leaned forward toward her, pinning her lithe form with my visor.

"I need you to ascertain that is still the case, and if not, just where in Hell's Seven Circles the man has gotten off to."

I sat back again with a creak of armor while she digested what I had just revealed. She stood there quietly, then nodded again. I returned that nod.

"All has been undertaken, regarding your ship, Ms. Manth," I now revealed. "That is... all but the weapons upgrade. That shall be finalized when you return with the information I seek... oh yes. The remote destruct device will likewise be disabled at that time as well.

"I trust I have made myself clear, Ms. Manth?"

I fell into silence, nodding once to her in continued approval at her demeanor. These Bothans sure knew when to hold 'em, as well as when to fold....

I punched the comm, and the two guards materialized in my ready room.

"Accompany Ms. Manth to her ship, and see she is safely off," I instructed, then contacting the bridge to order a brief drop from hyperspace that this might be implemented. I rose to my feet in their wake, and paused for a moment before departing and heading now myself to the detention center. There I came up to the cell holding one Jazelle Corona and stopped.

I did not enter. I did not open communication. I merely stood there outside the small view-slit, watching her, noting with yet more approval the fact that she was handily ensconced in a Force-cage, waiting there in enigmatic silence until she finally looked up and caught sight of me standing there.

Then I stood there for a good five minutes more, nodded once, slowly...

...and returned to my ready room to think.

Maybe that was Ms. Manth reporting back already, I mused, reaching to open up the channel which was discreetly calling for my attention. We were fairly close to Corellia when we released her, and fates know Bothans are usually pretty speedy....

However it was merely the Officer On Deck, informing me that we were coming into Coruscant space, and that shuttles were being readied and provided with landing coordinates.

"The prisoners are already aboard, and en route to the surface," the young officer finished with a snappy salute that I answered only half-heartedly. Before he could begin to wonder if my lack of finesse was perhaps due to anything other than a touch of fatigue, I flipped the link closed and rose to my feet.

Well now, there's a pity, I thought to myself as I made my way to where my ship was docked. I was so hoping to get affairs underway before actually arriving back at headquarters. As it was Actar had ordered the immediate execution of the impersonator; I had to pull all the strings I could just to keep her alive. No matter how I looked at things, there was more to deal with here than just someone dressed up like a major in the Imperial Forces and traipsing about on a backwater world thus attired; this lady had some connection with what had occurred on Tatooine, I just felt it, and dammit but I was going to use her to get to the bottom of things.

But not without first obtaining certain...

Assurances.

I shook my head and entered the docking bay, and was soon aboard Ransacker. It didn't take long to slip her out of the belly of the destroyer Actar assigned to me, and make an uneventful arrival outside Imperial HQ.

I wasted not one minute but left for the Detention Center the moment I arrived. I wanted to ascertain for myself not only the physical arrival of Mr. Arakeen and Ms. Corona... but the fact that the latter was still alive and hadn't suffered any untoward accidents along the way. Khaandon knows Actar gets a streak in him at times....

But no. There they were, safely installed within the same heavily reinforced and totally sealed durasteel and concrete cells which once held Captain Danner and his crewman.

Once held? Now that boded no good, that's for certain. I wonder what happened to them; had Actar finally tired of feeding them and ordered their execution? Perhaps; but it was something else to check into, just for my own... edification.

I peeped throught the tiny slit at Paul Arakeen, who was sitting rather morosely upon his cement bunk, still imprisoned in the force-cage.

Good; he's quiet enough....

Then I moved into an adjoining corridor, down another, and into yet a third. I paused at the head of the somewhat lengthy cell-lined passageway: halfway down I found the sole inhabitant, likewise ensconced in a force cage.

I stood just outside her cell for a moment, debating whether to say anything or not.

Oh what the hell.

"You'd better not even squeak a word about wanting to speak with Admiral Actar," I said at length. "He wanted you spaced long ago; you have me to thank that you're alive at all.

"Maybe we'll have an opportunity to have a little... chat, sometime."

I nodded my head to her politely, then turned and went on my way. The esteemed Admiral mustn't be kept waiting, after all.