Echoes of a Past Life

[Drin Kizael]

"Fifteen minutes to lockdown," a mechanical voice bellowed from everywhere at once.

At least half of the inmates in C-Block had filtered back to their "quarters" as the Corporate Sector Authority memos referred to them. Stars End was definitely a unique place. It was undeniably a prison; gray durasteel walls, identical bar-coded red jumpsuits for all the inmates (racial design requirements excepting, such as for Trianii tails), force field reinforced titanium alloy doors, a staff of sentient and droid guards on par with any Espo command tower. Every minute of an inmate's life was scheduled, especially in the high security levels.

But it was also undeniably corporate; surveillance technology unheard of in any Imperial prison, policy memos, an efficient demerit and reward system that essentially tracked one's cost effectiveness, and a steady diet of propaganda fed into every cell, mess hall, rec room, and work area.

Some of the older inmates complained that they almost liked it better 10 years ago, before some smuggler and a Wookie blasted the place to hell during a breakout. Far more department heads than were needed descended on the place looking to place blame. Each felt they had to inject their input into the rebuilding plans, and this was the result.

Of course none of the amenities and environmental quirks made up for the fact that the complex was located on nearly literally the last star in the galaxy, Mytus VII at the edge of the Tingel Arm. The CSA's model penal colony was the only structure on the uninhabitable frozen rock, floating in a system that hung onto it's galactic orbit by a thread. For forty-odd years during the planet's solar cycle, the view at night from the southern hemisphere was of endless, empty space.

The complex was built intentionally with the solitary confinement blocks facing south. On rare nights, a prisoner on exercise time in the "yard" under the observation dome might be treated to one or at most two stars visible in the void. It was an effective reminder of just how alone you were out there.

Returning to genpop was always a mixed blessing for Drin Kizael. As much as he sought solitude, no sentient could be alone forever, especially not one with a strong pack mentality ingrained in their race's genetic memory.

On the other hand, finding the time and calm to meditate was more difficult by orders of magnitude. Even a Master Jedi had limits.

"Ten minutes to lockdown," the computer announced. Kizael made his parting bows to the inmates gathered around the makeshift dojo in the rec wing and made his way briskly up the stairs to the upper deck of cell rows.

Waiting at the top of the stairs stood J8-K33, a refurbished PD model protocol droid. Even the droid was an anachronistic hodge podge that somehow fit perfectly in Stars End. His was an obscure model of discontinued droids bought at wholesale. He boasted a highly polished blue frame, sturdier and more secure than typical protocol models, but with telltales signs of dents and other wear that must have been too expensive to fix, and a personality template that pre-dated the settling of some mid-rim worlds.

"Advisory: 186942 Zeta, your new cell mate has been assigned and moved in."

"That rarely bodes well, but thank you for the warning, Jake." Kizael continued on past the droid without much reaction. "It would have been nice to enjoy just one more day of relative quiet, but I guess that was too much to ask."

The big Trianii stopped short at the door to his cell in mid-stride. He turned his head and suddenly found himself blurting out, "Oh hell no."

[Roker]

Roker Rhyed sat in the bottom bunk inside the cell, reading one of Kizael's books. The Bimm crossed his arms and glared laser bolts back at the Trianii's entrance.

"What?" the little bearded alien scoffed. "You think I'm doin backflips over this? Thanks to you I got kicked off level 33. They have real food up there, Zael. Stall doors in the freshers. Their gym is a freakin SPA compared to what I saw down there in that sad excuse for a rec wing."

"Since when do you use the gym?" Kizael sniped back when he could finally get a word in.

"That's not the point. You--"

"Sixty seconds to Lockdown," the computer interjected, drowning out the rest of Roker's tirade.

"What happened to five minutes?" the Bimm asked the ceiling indignantly.

"He announced it," Kizael answered, stepping inside and swiping his book back. "You were too busy looking through my belongings to notice."

Roker scowled and reached over into a metal trunk on the floor. "Yeah speaking of which, what the hell's this? They let you keep this?"

The corners of Drin Kizael mouth tugged almost imperceptibly, showing the barest flash of teeth as he swiftly yanked the tiny metal device from Roker's hand. He thumbed a switch on the six centimeter disc. His eyes softened as a hologram flickered to life in his hand, then quickly faded with another press of the switch.

"Yes," he finally replied. "They do."

"Who's the kid in that with you?" Roker pressed.

A second later the barred door of the cell slid closed, locked with an intentionally loud clank, and hummed momentarily with the activation of the force field. Outside, J8-K33 began taking roll call.

Kizael eyed the corner of the cell where he knew a surveillance camera was hidden. Normally, he knew even the vast computer network of Stars End couldn't be bothered with monitoring every single prisoner. Now though, both he and the Bimm slicer had called too much attention to themselves. The CSA already knew too much about him for his taste.

"When I lived on Telos, I spent a bit of time with an old friend and his family. His daughter thought of me as kind of an uncle."

"What's her name?"

Kizael set the hologram emitter back in his trunk. Living with a convicted infochant was going to prove even more difficult than he thought.

"I honestly can't recall," Kizael said, shifting his eyes up in concentration. "We didn't spend that long together. I just like the picture because it reminds me of happier times."

Outside, Jake called Kizael's and Roker's numbers. They replied, at which point the big Trianii picked the Bimm up out of the bed and hoisted him up to the top bunk before he could even voice an objection.

"What the frak, Zael!"

"Bottom bunk is mine. I'll have them bring in a ladder for you. What did they feed you up there? You must way 60 kilograms."

Roker grumbled and rolled over as the lights went out.

[Drin Kizael]

The days melted into each other once again now that Drin Kizael was back with other prisoners. The routine of the daily schedules quickly settled him into what passed for a comfort zone in the cold, sterile prison walls. Weeks melted into months, and all too soon, it was a new year.

Kizael walked into the rec hall with an odd sense of tension. The Jedi paused at the doorway, shifting his eyes about the room. The feeling was more than the ever present unease that he'd grown accustomed to for the past several years. Temper flareups from inmates were so common as to be rote. Deception and distrust were a constant undercurrent to the emotions that ran through the whole complex, like a background hum in the Force. Whitenoise.

This was different. And worse, there was no identifiable source, none of the usual signs that signaled impending violence or a crisis in the making. Not like the spike of contempt that suddenly flared up behind him.

Kizael stepped aside, unblocking the doorway. A Barabel strode in, shooting a dirty look at the big Trianii. Kizael returned the glare with a polite nod. "Tabor," he said in greeting. The Barabel just grunted in response.

Tabor was a former all-company shock boxer, one of the few non-Wookies who could face Kizael at eye level. He had been the undisputed cell wing boss for years when Kizael arrived. Only two days in, Tabor made it a point to address the threat that a 2.2 meter, 130 Kilogram ex-Ranger presented to his status. That day, everyone in the yard watched the Barabel kick the holy hell out of the Trianii, keeping the balance of power firmly in place.

But as convincing as the performance was, Tabor knew that Kizael had taken the beating on purpose. The reason why he would do that confounded the ex-ring fighter. Moreover, the nagging doubt that others realized the truth plagued the reptilian, not that he would ever let it show. So long as no one questioned the outcome of the fight, there was no point in proving anything.

And although anyone else who had tried to cross the big Trianii made that mistake exactly once, and never again, the other prisoners seemed content with the illusion, if only to avoid the risk of taking sides and having their challenger lose the rematch.

Kizael made his usual show of ducking eye contact and walked toward a hologammon table. He sat with his back to the far wall, where a 185 centimeter screen broadcast the CSA newsfeed.

"Hey Drin," a number of voices chimed in sequence. The others at the table waved to him, save for a human, Seti Rane, who stared intently at the 3 dimensional game grid. Roker stood up in his chair across from Seti, tapping a long row of pieces which he quickly dragged up one level to the mixed groans and laughter of the onlookers. The pieces moved like a formation of starfighters, blasting away a lone freighter which disintegrated and promptly reformed as a tiny shuttle in the center of the grid.

"What's up Zael?" Roker asked nonchalantly.

"I was hoping you could tell me," Kizael replied.

[Roker]

The infochant narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Drin. Barely a week back and the big cat was sniffing around for trouble already.

"Nothing going on more than usual," he replied at length. "Unless you count Warden Massey scheduling every last minute of my day to the point where I have to give an explanation when I have to use the damn 'fresher. He just can't let go of how we skunked him out of the bribe he was getting for offing that kid. Margi, Meril, whatisname."

"Morgan," Drin added in a distracted tone. "You know, life down here isn't as cushy as level 33. Still coming to terms with the fact that it actually feels like a prison now?"

"No, fuzzball. I've been in worse places believe it or not. I'm serious. My point is, it's been two frakin' years. He's watching me like a farkin mynock on a power cable, lately, more than usual even. He doesn't think I notice, either, da chuba."

Kizael was still stuck on the new insight that Roker had been in another prison before Star's End when the newsfeed behind him switched suddenly. He glanced over, momentarily distracted by a story breaking all the way from Imperial Center. He looked back at Roker suddenly as if hit by a blaster.

"Massey has you under surveillance?" Kizael asked softly. Roker shook his head in disgust, wondering if his friend had been listening for the past minute.

The Trianii's eyes shifted subtly. An assistant warden with well known connections to the most corrupt corners of the CSA was keeping tabs on Roker's movements. And he was trying to be subtle about it, not putting on a show of security, but trying to follow him. That meant...

"So they never fou--"

Roker's eyes hardened and focused like they were shooting turbolasers at the big Trianii. Without saying anything or moving his head, he darted a glance at the other prisoners at the table, then at Jake standing on the other side of the hall. Fortunately everyone's attention seemed to be directed at the big screen.

Drin's mind turned over a galaxy of new possibilities. He had assumed that security had found the slicer's secret computer nest, wired into the complex from the deepest bowels of the maintenance tunnels.

It was an impressive feat of the infochant's talent to cobble together such an insane security breach in the heart of a prison complex, but apparently the Espos had finally learned of it's existance. More accurately, Salen Massey did. Or perhaps he was merely acting on a suspicion based on how easily Roker navigated their system during the breakout three months ago. Either way, if the Viceprex knew about any of this, he'd have Espos combing every centimeter of the infrastructure. So he obviously didn't know, which meant Massey was keeping it secret from the chain of command.

Murmers started rolling through the rec hall. Kizael glanced over his shoulder. If the newscaster was to be believed, the Empire had finally gotten around to crowning a new Emporer. Correction: Empress. The Jedi raised an eyebrow as the headlines scrolled by, then quickly turned back around again.

"It's powered down, I have to presume," he whispered. Roker nodded, adding a "duh" in his expression, punctuated by a "shut the hell up" glare.

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael's thoughts wandered again. So after all this time Massey was after Roker's secret techno-hideaway. Something must have finally tipped him off to it's role in the breakout. But to what end would he want it now? He knew the human better than to think it was for the security of Stars End. Did he really think he could keep it as secret as Roker did? His track record suggested that he was that arrogant. But with all eyes on Roker, what good did any of this information do him now when the Bimm had no way of reaching it himself either?

Whistles and catcalls erupted throughout the room, echoing off the durasteel walls. "Holy chuta she is smokin'!" someone yelled.

Kizael turned around again to face the screen. Suddenly his ears darted forward and the fur on the back of his neck rose. Someone next to him shouted, "When's my parole hearing? Send me back home!"

Kizael's mind spun. Memories collided with reality, sending his senses into overdrive. He stood up, slowly, taking measured steps toward the image on the newsfeed.

The Jedi stood in the center of the room, ignoring the protests from behind him, focused completely on the holographic screen. He narrowed his eyes and reached out to the Force. He took a sharp breath. His mind was too clouded.

"I vow to you that I will see this star-spanning Empire into an era of greater glory. We can no longer hide in Palpatine's shadow. As great as he was, as generous as he was, as committed as he was to the safety of all sentients across the galaxy... he is no more. But his dream lives on."

It was her. Sixteen years did much to a human, but there was no mistaking her face, her eyes. The tenor sounded off somehow, but the voice was hers, matured and with a Coruscant accent, but hers.

"I will continue to uphold that commitment to the security of all systems loyal to this Empire."

But what he saw was impossible. A clone? He shook his head, and refocused on the high-definition holoscreen, taking another cleansing breath. He looked at her as if for the first time, but once again his mind drew up the image of the human girl who he called Kozhi and raised as his own cub. With every word, every change of inflection and gesture, he saw Lianna.

Drin Kizael steeled himself as the girl who used pounce on his back when she was three years old delivered a glowing speech woven with subtle layers of racial hate and facist dogma behind the flowery words.

And then the name printed under her image finally registered. Miranda Tarkin named Emporer.

Tarkin.

He needed a place to clear his thoughts.

[Roker]

Roker shuffled across the rec hall, dodging careless sentients too engrossed in their own worlds to look where they were going. Just because they were so tall, they thought they didn't have to pay attention, Roker groused to himself.

Mail day was the worst for trying to get anywhere in gen-pop, too. Foot traffic in the halls was twice the norm. Packages filtered in one day a month, after everything was sniffed by the droids and searched by more discriminating Espo guards. For everyone that was so excited to get their crap from the outside, there were nearly twice as many given excuses about "lost" cases and "screwups" by the courier company.

The Bimm looked up as he rounded the corner in the general direction of F-Block. He nodded casually to a Rodian walking toward him. His eyes wandered the hallway for a second, quickly scanning the area as he walked. In mid-stride, he reached his hand out, smoothly taking a padded brown envelope from the Rodian as he passed within centimeters of him in the crowded hall, and tucked it away into his jumpsuit in the same motion.

A dozen or so meters later, Roker veered into the exercise facilities. An Espo turned to him in acknowledgment. Roker just put his hand over his stomach with a pained look in response as he opened the door and ducked into the only common area refreshers in the wing.

Once behind the privacy stall, Roker sat down and took out the envelope. The infochant flipped it over in his hands, regarding it with a sour expression.

He was worried about his pal, Zael. It'd been three weeks since he freaked out over that newsfeed from Imperial space. So they finally got a new emporer. And she's a girl. Whoopdedingdong. How progressive of them. What did that matter here on the ass end of the galaxy?

But it had a noticeable effect on the big Trianii. He was uncharacteristically urgent about needing to know how old the news was. Roker was surprised to learn through his friends on the outside that the CSA had pushed the announcement through almost in real-time. Normally it was not uncommon for them to take years to screen and finally approve news feeds, no matter how significant. Like Alderaan.

Though he'd returned to his stoic, quiet self fairly quickly, Roker could still see a difference in his friend. He was noticeably more guarded. And he suddenly took a keen interest in the Rehab Dept's tech workshop. He'd rigged some kind of crazy switch-lock to his favorite mag light that he used on work detail. Then he put a field conductor and an obscene amount of insulator around the power cell because he said it kept going out in the damp lower east tunnels.

The point when Roker first suspected his friend might be losing his mind was when he asked him to smuggle in a Diatium power cell small enough to fit in the hilt and all that insulation. How much light did he need? Enough to see Etti IV? Roker tried to tell him that the damn thing would blow up on him. The Trianii just replied with that all too clever soft smile of his that that's what the power vortex ring was for. Of course.

Just last week he was so proud of this new lamp that he made for their quarters. He'd used a magnetic stabilizing ring and modulation circuits to give it a funky laser light show and strobe effect. He claimed it was to help him meditate. It drove Roker up the frelling wall.

And now this. Roker sighed at the envelope in his lap.

The Diatium was easy to get in, hidden in a holovid player. But the contents of this little bag took more doing than the big cat could probably appreciate. First was arranging the theft -- the very secretive very specific theft for the items that Zael had been so earnest in detailing. Then he had to to get them fabricated into memory crystals so they would pass inspection as an addition to an inmate's music collection. He'd used way more of the only currency he had -- favors -- than he would have for anyone else.

Roker tilted the envelope and dropped the contents into his hand. First he eyed the small lens, for his tricked out flashlight no doubt. He dropped that into a concealed pouch he'd rigged for his prison reds and looked over the "memory crystals". He carefully applied pressure to one and popped it open, revealing a near perfect, multi-faceted transluscent crystal. Kizael had insisted on getting as many crystals that fit the minimum clarity and cut that he could score. They wouldn't all work, you see.

Whatever. They had absolutely no value in these walls. It'd finally happened. Stars End did it to everyone eventually. It must have been one stint in solitary too many.

Roker let out a long sigh and dropped the pretty rocks into his hidden pocket.

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael sat in the lower bunk of his cell, legs crossed before him in the lotus position. His eyes shifted behind his closed lids in rhythm with the dancing lights cast from the cylindrical stand on the small table next to him.

His mind's eye studied the memory of Miranda Tarkin's inauguration speech. Eidetic memory was not a talent that he invoked often, but the emotions swirled up in this particular case quite literally seared the image of the young human woman in his mind.

He'd spent the better part of a decade and a half trying to forget Lianna. No small part his motivation for trying so hard to shut away her memory was clearly guilt. He had failed her. Guilt was nowhere in the Jedi Code, affirming that he was no longer a Master of the Force, but he can't say that he cared anymore. If sixteen dead Espos littering his front yard after the murder of his wife hadn't already proven that, nothing will.

But emotions aside, he hoped that if he could sever the connection between them on every layer, physical and mental, then she would not look for him. And so he compartmentalized the memories of his life. It was the only way left that he could protect her.

And yet he kept her hologram in his trunk.

Today, as every day, he tried to figure out why he'd set himself on this new course of action. The eyes of the woman on the holovid were so cold and the conviction in her words were so powerful that he didn't know what to think. Had he failed her even more deeply than he always feared? Something in him fought the urge to accept that, as darkly comforting as the thought was.

No. A clone or a sister would definitely explain the cadence of her voice. Accents can be acquired, and her voice was of course far more mature then when he'd last heard it, but it wasn't her.

Was it? Or was he just trying too hard to convince himself of a fantasy so he could finally forgive himself.

Either way, the mere fact that he'd entertained such a wild conspiracy theory as a clone only proved that he'd spent far too long in this place among criminals. He had to face his fears, and deal with them. One way or another.

[Navaria Tarkin]

A long tired sigh escaped the teenager's mouth. She had to put down the sealant gun in order to bring some life back into her tired eyes. There weren't that many tools scattered about the wooden work bench, but the various wires, metallic casings and power cells more then made up for it. What she was constructing had begun over two years ago, it wasn't until now that proper instruction could be gleaned.

Two years on the run and only one year of trying to take her calling serious - It was difficult but Lianna had finally grown up enough to take up her Jedi training once more. Her only regret had been leaving Jonar and Kaida - her foster parents - behind. They wanted to keep her safe, wanted to provide her with a loving home and a family - and they did their damnedest. In the end, they could not replace her Gro'pal. Her Father first, before becoming her Master.

He had only begun to touch on the bare necessities of Lightsaber construction. Even though they had managed to find all the parts necessary, Drin wasn't confident in her control, no matter how often Lianna begged that she would never blow them up. At least, not intentionally.

Intuition with the Force had taken her so far. Lianna had memorized the schematics and the frequencies for the modulator and the core, but focusing with another Master had filled in the blanks and provided her focus. Something she lacked terribly.

Currently, the power field conductor mold was complete. It was drying at the moment and soon she could place the diatium power cell in the opening created for it, and that would be all for today. Her current teacher, Master Folsdar, had said, 'To rush the creation of your weapon will bring fault to the connection it brings to you and the Force.'

All she really heard within her mind was a deep, but gentle, Trianii voice. 'Your lightsabre's power doesn't come from the circuits or the field modulator or even the diatium. It is an extension of yourself. Its strength lies in your skill and focus in wielding it... But it does you no good if you blow yourself up building it.'

Frowning, she neatly wrapped up all of the tools and parts, separating them into specific components, before placing them in the empty tool kit that had been provided for her. There would be no more work on this today.

"You've drifted to the past again, Lianna." Folsdar's grizzled voice was laced with disappointment once again.

He was behind her so he didn't see the eyes rolling towards the ceiling. "I'm sorry Master."

She picked up a rag to clean off dirtied hands and faced him. He lost all traces of original color from his shoulder length hair. Three day old scruff had shadowed his grumpy face. Since he was sour, the scars he had received during the Clone Wars deepened the wrinkles above his right from shrapnel. The eyebrow never grew back from all of the scar tissue. His arms were crossed, like they always did, before he began a lecture. "If you are to truly move on as you wish, then you must let go of your feelings. The past binds emotions that will continue to block any further development in control which you lack."

There was defiance in her face, but she did not speak out of turn. Mainly because he was right, but he didn't have to be such a feke about it...


* * *

It was almost 9 months later and she had become so disenchanted with Folsdar's cold methods. He was rigid and fair, but try convincing a teenager of fairness when she was full of regret and loss, and she that refused to move past the reality that Drin was gone forever.

He was the perfect example of the old Jedi ways. Drin had taught her much of the Order's history and shared with her, at the appropriate times, his own views where they had failed. To be trained by a contradictory teacher was difficult and required more time consumption in being able to coexist with his presence.

So she left, leaving her training behind for a chance to find herself. It was a good excuse as any for a teenager to go joy riding throughout the galaxy without any responsibilities or purpose. Lianna just wanted to have fun and hopefully forget her pain. In her current state of mind, the young Padawan would be ripe for anyone willing to distort her perceptions and perhaps lead her towards another path ...

That path led her to Nal Hutta, or at least that was where the Cargo Ship was heading for at the time. Lianna was searching for a quick meal and any vessel willing to trade her technical expertise for a free passage off this Hutt infested hellhole. Black goggles and a sand colored hood covered most of her features as she went foraging for a cheap place to eat in the rain. It was thick with grease and quite odorous from how little the Hutts had cared for this planet. She almost wished she had cobbled together a enviro-mask instead of the goggles, but being sploshed in the eye with this rain wouldn't have been pleasant either.

Cupping her hand over her mouth, Lianna sloshed through the muddy puddles quickly, avoiding locking elbows with anyone in her way. It was working quite well, and then there was a part in the crowd. hey had dispersed to various taverns since the rain grew heavier. It was there that she saw a felinoid with a familiar stature of Drin. The colors were right too! It forced her to slide to a halt, kicking up black grease sploshes that splattered against her well traveled brown pants. Surprised eyes focused as best as they could under the goggles. She wiped the stains away caused by the storm and sprinted it towards the being she believed to be her old Master - her legs straining against the resistance of the mud.

"Drin?" She said, her voice barely carrying over the wind.

"Drin!" Lianna tried again in vain. She would just have to get close enough to ...

He turned around and she skidded to a halt once more, but with disappointment heavy in her heart this time. It was not Drin, just a Togorian on his way to wherever. A fact the teenager really didn't give a damn about.


* * *

The wind kicked up on the plains of Rinn, ruffling long brown hair that had been quite still for the last half hour. But that was all that stirred. Lianna sat comfortably in the lotus position, her mind clear of all distractions. Not even the sweat lining her forehead from the noon day sun caused her mind to shift from purging all emotions from her mind. She wanted to be immersed in the Force with a fluidity that had eluded her before. She wanted ...

Lianna rolled away and pushed up with an arm so she maybe stand upright, avoiding the blue flash of a lightsaber blade. She barely had time to grip her own weapon dangling from her belt, but the young Padawan was able to ignite the blade in time to parry the oncoming assault of her attacker. Purple and blue blades locked as Master and Padawan shared intense glances of concentration.

Folsdar smiled and backed away, "Good. Good! You were able to be mindful of your surroundings this time."

Lianna offered a genuine smile, something she had not thought possible to give to the old Jedi Drill Sargent. "Thank you, Master. It was close though." She looked down at her left arm where his weapon had singed away the fabric.

"True," he agreed, turning off his weapon, "But you were able to sense my presence and not get lost in your own thoughts so that you could defend yourself. You are learning ..."


* * *

"You are learning, Kozhi ..."

Navaria's eyes slowly opened to the sound of her Master's voice, startled that the vision had shifted Folsdar's voice to that of Drin's. She had come to terms with the Trianii's disappearance years ago, only mentioning her Gro'pal on occasion with fond remembrance to others curious as to how her training began. She had not felt such strong emotions about Drin since conquering her insecurities with Master Folsdar. If she had not, there was no mistake in believing her path was to be one full of doubt and would never have achieved the level of skill she possessed today.

Rolling out of the bunk, she rested the back of her head against the base to calm herself. It was instinctual at this point and her nerves relaxed - though her body was protesting from a troubled sleep. Muscles were stiff and she rose to do her morning stretches, peeking over occasionally towards the bunk, which had yet to stir. Her companion, Daria Nytherciria, was still sound asleep.

After coming to rest with a light kata, she pulled a worn white tunic over her head and buckled it with her weapon's belt after slipping on her pants. Those were tucked into comfortable brown boots which made no sound as she leaned over the bed to check on the Knight.

Daria was facing Navaria and sleeping calmly. For once there weren't any lines of tension creasing her features. The Miraluka was at peace. Only Navaria had been disturbed, and she was comforted to see that her vision hadn't infected her companion's dreams. It was difficult to gauge when their shared connection would immerse itself into the other.

With a light peck on Daria's cheek, Navaria straightened up and left.


* * *

In one of the archive rooms, Navaria resumed the previous days scan. While other Rebel Agents in the room were chatting, loudly at times, and getting up to take several walking breaks, the Jedi Master calmly reviewed interviews with Rebel Operatives that have come across Force Users during various missions. She was cross referencing the planetary database to search for matches in an effort to give these beings a choice to come with other members of the Wheel and begin to become an entity once more for mutual survival. It was a tedious task. Perfect for a well trained Jedi. Or a droid. Probabilities and percentages could be shrunk further by mere instinct, something a droid did not possess.

As one of her programs filed through Spar Sector on suspicious inquiries of a Miracle Healer, Navaria had another idea.

"Computer. New Program parameters. Trianii, Kizael, Drin, Jedi." It felt like a whim, but her dreams, the portents that had come in her sleep, had not occurred out of chance. There had to be a reason and the commands fell off her tongue with ease.

Match found.

Her eyes widened in shock as to what was displayed on the console. It had only been, what, barely a minute?

She cued up the matching file and was stunned to see it was Morgan Evanar's debriefing about a year ago. All this time since coming in contact with Evanar, he was the key in finding Drin! How she could overlook that seemed improbable. However, the Force had other plans for her. Searching for her Master would have been distracting. The revelation of her Sister and saving Miranda's life took precedent.

But now...

"Star's End?" She sighed heavily and leaned back into chair to gather her thoughts. Drin had found himself imprisoned along with Evanar. It was how they had met. They were cellmates two years ago. Evanar had been arrested on illegal slicing while Drin was listed as a political prisoner, which was surprising. It was difficult to wrap her mind around this. It just didn't add up, but one could argue the times and the years had changed him.

Navaria would disagree. He had fought Vader and somehow survived. Those were the facts so far. She would just have to speak to Drin in person to learn the rest of the story.

Since that was the only file regarding Drin, she uploaded the information into her personal datapad, shut down her station, and departed the Archive Room. She would need to meditate and plan her next move.

[Daria Nytherciria]

Daria awoke to find herself alone. She lay still for a long while, then reaching out to the sheets beside her, finding them cold, and wondered how long ago Navaria had slipped away. As she practiced a breathing technique which would bring her body to full waking and alertness, she quested with her mind beyond the confines of the small bunk, to the long halls of the Whaladon. Week by week, they were growing busier.

She felt Navaria's presence in a familiar place, the room they had converted into an archive of sorts. The ship had not been built to house a fledgling Jedi Order, but they had adapted as they always did. Daria sensed her companion's path was leading her back towards the bunk they shared, so she sat up and – with a feline arching of her back – shrugging into a pale tunic. Her feet were bare, but rugs had been laid out on the harsh metal floor; their rough textures were a comfort to Daria, who was only beginning to shake the discomfort she felt about space-flight.

She wondered what had drawn Navaria to the data-banks, and at the same time knew she would soon have answers to quiet her curiosity.

[Navaria Tarkin]

Returning to her quarters, a presence had stirred since last she was here. Daria had awakened and Navaria felt a twinge of curiosity coming from her companion. As strong as their bond was, the Miraluka was quite insightful due to her unique sensitivity to the Force - able to sense things on a far more intimate level then even this supposed young Master of the Force.

She stepped inside, with Daria already standing towards her and somewhat eager to learn what had provoked such strong interest in Navaria. The Knight wouldn't have to wait long for an answer. Why bother with such pretense for they knew each other all too well.

"My Master. He's alive," she said as the doors closed behind her. "Imprisoned on Star's End for political crimes."

Speaking the truth out loud, the years of distance she had placed between her grief and acceptance had come crashing down. Now he was alive and Navaria didn't know what to feel. Elation? Suspicions? Idiocy for her lack of foresight? She felt like a young impetuous child again who wanted to run off to the Corporate Sector - like she had run away from Jonar and Kaida years ago. Like she had done when Miranda was in danger.

She felt cold suddenly and looked away from her companion. "I know what I have to do, but I do not know how. Nor what will await me if I am successful since my vision has become clouded."

[Daria Nytherciria]

“Prophesy can only grant us so much,” Daria observed casually, as she too turned away. It was not modesty that averted her gaze, but necessity, as she sought out the rest of her clothing. She thought of Stars' End, its name evocative of the completely desolation its inmates experienced. She wondered, too, how long Navaria's master had been imprisoned there... how it might have changed him. Both hands smoothing her now shoulder-length copper hair back into a ponytail, Daria's white-white eyes lifted to her companion.

“When do we leave?”

[Navaria Tarkin]

Out of habit, Navaria's mouth opened to argue but nothing came forth, for she realized that well thought out excuses would not deter Daria in coming along with her - her vision of Miranda's death was proof of that. The Jedi remembered quite well how adamant she was then, and that wouldn't change now. They had learned how to become quite the effective unit for the Rebellion on numerous occasions now, even with how close they have become.

"As soon as possible. I've already spoken with General Woodsyde. He is aware of the generalities of the mission." There was an understanding between the Rebellion and the Jedi - as long as the integrity of their mission and location were not compromised, the more shrewd Jedi could come and go as they please. Woodsyde was just one of a handful of high ranking Rebels that were liaison to the Jedi.

[Daria Nytherciria]

Daria gave a nod. Her mind turned naturally to the others who would have to be informed of their departure, their students and allies. Wyl... Her apprentice. She had glimpsed him in dream-sleep and sensed he was not in immeadiate danger, though still could and would not set aside thoughts of him. As for the rest, it would be best for them to remain aboard the Wheel. Their gathering was growing in numbers and strength, and Daria was not about to risk gaining Drin Kizael only to lose one or more of the padawans to imprisonment, or worse, in his place.

“How are we to go about breaking into the CSA's impenetrable fortress?” she asked, a second question unspoken yet implicit in the tension that coloured the air between them: And how do we find one amongst tens of thousands of prisoners?

[Navaria Tarkin]

That was the question wasn't it? Navaria had been mulling over the possibilities of breaking in and out of one of the most tightly guarded prisons in the galaxy. It was a daunting task.

Pretending to be Miranda was a one trick Bantha. With her Sister's coronation, her face was distinguishable. Since Doldur, Daria's was as well.

"That's it!" she said out loud unknowingly. Daria looked slightly confused to the seemingly random outburst. Navaria clarified as she put a hand on her companion's shoulder, "We are captured inside the CSA territory and brought in for the Bounty on our heads."

Though no face was placed with the Bounty, a Lianna Mal Pannis, a young woman in league with Daria Nytherciria, was wanted alive for questioning. Rumors had spread amongst the Empire about a relative that had fallen astray or brainwashed by the redhead. At least, that was what the propaganda machine wanted their citizens to believe.

[Daria Nytherciria]

Although she had spent most of her adult life running, slipping from shadow to shadow to avoid the Empire's huntsmen, Doldur had dashed all of that in one moment. Her likeness was written in the memories of numerous Imperial agents, as well as on the hundreds of security holo-cameras that had caught their illegal entrance to and escape from the then-Moff Tarkin's offices. As a bargaining ship in ensuring the continued independence of the CSA, the Jedi Knight's life would be invaluable, commanding a price few others could. When she spoke, Daria's voice was soft, near-sighing.

“You risk a great deal for him...”

[Navaria Tarkin]

She was correct. This plan to rescue Drin was quite insane. Befitting of a Jedi who put their faith in the Force, but there were always consequences of actions. It might fail, having them ending up in the arms of the Empire or perish trying.

“He was a father to me before being my Master, Daria,” she answered. “I have to see him at any cost."

Gentle fingers caressed the Miraluka's cheek, "And if it were you in his place, I would risk just as much. It pains me to use us both as bait. I rather it was just myself going."

[Daria Nytherciria]

Daria thought of her own Master, Bra'jaa... dead, slaughtered by Darth Stratus. Looking into Navaria's eyes, she saw the same conviction and longing she felt when she thought of her old tutor – and, paradoxically, the monster who had taken his life. Their blades had carved her into the thing she now was, and given the chance she would have crossed the length of the galaxy just to stand in eitheir of their presences again. Locked doors and walls did not hold their kind apart; the Force transcended such things.

Faintly nodding, she laid her hand over Navaria's, gently lowering both from her cheek. “Who will collect the bounty?”

[Navaria Tarkin]

Her words were not used to change Daria's mind in going. It was just a verbalization in how much she cared for the Blind Jedi.

"Remember Azterri (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=18443&highlight=pursuit+of+balance)?" It was a rhetorical question. Of course she did. The mission to rescue several captured Rebels had been more of a test of their convictions and feelings then anything. On the opposite side of the cred, it healed much between them.

"That Smuggler we met by chance at the sabacc game you interrupted? He gave us his card. He has Imperial and CSA approved papers, which I had thought odd at the time. After some curious snooping, his loyalties aren't all together with either side." She smirked at how pleasantly devious the Rebellion was, "Seems our Mr. Anay Thrakin works as an information runner for the Rebels. His papers are forged and I'm quite certain that Rebel Intel will be able to dig up his whereabouts. Our journey begins there.."

[Drin Kizael]

Across the galaxy, the desolate orb of Mytus VII hid in the darkest corner of the Tingel Arm, host to a prison complex aptly named Stars End. It was not only the end of life's journey for the vast majority of its populace, it was nearly the last planet in its solar system, and so near to the literal end of the galaxy that the southern hemisphere was virtually starless at night during the latter half of it's long, lazy orbit around its sun.

Prisoner 186942 Zeta sat in silent meditation in his cell in C-Block, eyes closed to the smoothly flickering lights of a makeshift lamp sitting on a small table across from him.

"Zael!" Roker's voice burst sharply into his thoughts.

The Bimm quickly sat down right next to him, trying to nudge his much larger frame over as he reached into the trunk underneath the bunk. Kizael opened his eyes.

"Yo Zael, Geckoo's new music collection came in. You gotta check it out. He's already hawking tunes out for smokes."

Kizael took the cue and moved over, replying idly about his favorite band. As he spoke, Roker put the hologram of Kizael and young Lianna on the trunk and flipped it on. Inside, the transmitter he'd managed to conceal in the base made a burst of static. Elsewhere in the prison, guards were treated to a loop of the two of them sitting on the bunk talking.

"Alright we got 90 seconds," Roker said as he quickly pulled out the bag of crystals. "It's got to be enough, buddy."

The Trianii's eyes lit up as the stones fell into his hand. "Thank you Roker," he added with a smile. Sifting through the crystals with a finger, he reached out with the Force, putting faith in his intuition over his eye to appraise their quality. One took on an aura immediately. To the naked eye it was not the prettiest of them, but he wasn't exactly going to be setting it into an engagement ring. Kizael plucked it out of his hand and pulled aside three others into a separate pile. He gave the rest back to Roker as an afterthought.

Roker looked at the discarded valuables with an incredulous gasp of disbelief. "Zael, I can't take this anymore," he bit out. "What the FRAK is going on?"

Drin Kizael counted the number of seconds left on the jammer's battery and took a deep breath.

"Telling you this puts you in greater danger than you've ever been in before, Roker Rhyed. Are you certain you want to know?" The Bimm just looked up at him pointedly.

"That is not a 'meditation lamp'," Kizael continued calmly but quickly, gesturing toward the laser show coming from the cylinder on the trunk. "The modifications I've made to that maintenance glowrod have nothing to do with seeing in the dark. Think what might happen if you channeled the energy of a diatium power cell through a magnetic coil, and focused it through this," he indicated the precision cut crystal in his hand. "And a good lens," he added with dry emphasis.

Kizael gave him a heartbeat and a half to try to digest that. The wheels behind Roker's eyes weren't quite spinning yet. His eyes darted to the camera, and then he added. "Before I came here, before I was a Ranger, I was a Jedi Knight."

Roker's eyes shot wide and Kizael instinctively put his broad hand over the little Bimm's mouth.

"Roker, I'm leaving. And if you want, so are you."

Kizael took his hand away. "So Geckoo's got Zhiara Zen in his library? Excellent!" Kizael sat up promptly, reaching up and lowering the top bunk back into position. "I'll have to see what he wants for it. Greedy little frog. And then I've got to report work detail in the tunnels. Thanks, Roker. Got to run."

Roker just stared at the wall in stunned silence.

[Daria Nytherciria]

Heat rose in Daria's cheeks as she thought of Atzerri, though she nodded and let the words of the Jedi Code rotate through her mind, calming her. “A smuggler... very well.”

Meeting with Alliance Intelligence proved more difficult to accomplish than first expected. Though a mutual trust existed between the Jedi and their benefactors, there were certain discussions that remained beyond even Navaria's clearance. It was, eventually, a junior agent who met with them, stumbling over himself to apologise for the delay. His palms were slick as he grasped their hands in greeting, and Daria felt his embarrassment as seconds later he wondered whether a handshake was really the appropriate way to greet two Jedi.

“Thrakin has worked with us on a couple of occasions,” he explained, handing a data-card to Navaria that detailed various operations, all within the last year. “The reports on him all indicate he can be trusted... though that is credit-bought trust.”

“Then we will buy his loyalty once again,” Daria stated, plainly. A man of Thrakin's ilk was not the kind to go into business with, but Daria would take a smuggler over a political activist on any day when it came to field espionage. An activist was too often all heart and no head; Thrakin would have the experience and know-how to get the job done, and done with authenticity.

“Here's the last comm-frequency we had for his ship. Looks like he was running the Tertiary Solenbaran,” the intel agent added, glancing expectantly between the two Jedi. Something told him that this information would be put into practical application sooner rather than later. “I can call ahead to the hangar if you want, have them prep a ship for departure?”

[Navaria Tarkin]

She looked down at her fist and brought the data-card between three fingers, "My Y-Wing if you would please."

That fighter had gotten the pair through quite a few adventures. Why should one change what isn't broken and has been dependable?

"No, prob. We'll get her fueled up and ready to go in 30. I'll go get the clearance. Unless something else you two might need?" he asks, eyes darting between the two women expectantly.

"No, thank you. We'll be ready to go in that time frame," answered Navaria for the both of them. It wouldn't take too terribly long for two Jedi to pack up a few meager items before departure. They were going to be captured after all.

The Rebel nodded and hoofed it back towards the lift, already calling orders to Docking Bay 4A. Navaria turned and gave Daria a wry glance, one that the Miraluka couldn't see, but there was no mistaken the acceptance in the Jedi Master's voice to what must be done. "Here we go again..."


* * *

Sernpidal -Several Light Years Outside CSA Controlled Space

The rocky terrain of Sernpidal proved challenging for Navaria. It was difficult to find plentiful stretch of land that wasn't over grown with sharp edges or protruding rock that would damage the Y-Wing's exterior. After circling for over an hour, she finally saw a safe 45 meter area that could be safely used by them, and their guest, for the meeting.

As soon as the fighter was ready to exit hyperspace, Navaria had awoken from her hibernation trance - her cue was the warning buzzer that would announce their reentry close to CSA borders near Pypin. It was the closest they could reach without getting noticed.

Using a relatively well known Rebel frequency that was used for Allies not firmly affiliated with the movement, Navaria hailed Thrakin. If his movements were to be plotted by previous runs correctly, his business along the Tertiary Solenbaran should have concluded and would now be navigating along the Hydian way towards Ninn.

The message was simple. The two women of Azterri calls for your aid. Please respond. It was enough to jog the Smuggler's memory and the use of the Rebel code would cause enough curiosity for a meeting. Plus, there were credits to spare as incentive.

Patience was rewarded a day later when Thrakin encoded a digital response message to meet him on Sernpidal, 100 km outside Sernpidal City, the capital of the planet. It was far enough away from the natural inhabitants that the Jedi could speak with Thrakin undisturbed.

Now patience was required further until he arrived. Both Jedi had disembarked 30 minutes ago, after Navaria had done a thorough sweep of the surrounding area through the sensors and with the Force. Things seemed quiet, but they needed to remain alert.

[Daria Nytherciria]

There was a stillness in that place that Daria welcomed. The feeling of solid ground – earth, scrub, life – beneath her feet was something the Jedi Knight had missed a great deal. Miles from civilisation, the wind winding through rocky crags was the only sound to be heard. The sheer emptiness of it all pulled more memories of Ambria and her reunion with Darth Stratus to the front of her mind, subconsciously colouring her vision with another layer of skepticism. Anay Thrakin was not a Sith Lord, but he could be just as dangerous, given half a chance...

The smuggler made no attempt to conceal his arrival. Daria heard the faint whir of a speeders engine in the distance and then, not long after, felt Thrakin himself striding towards their concealed landing point. “He's not alone,” Daria muttered, as the smuggler crested a hill pitted with boulders, sending pebbles skipping down the verge ahead of his descent. Urgently, Daria quested her senses towards him and his two companions. They radiated uncertainty, though it was closely guarded, but Thrakin seemed quietly confident, cheerful even.

“Didn't think I'd be seeing you ladies again so soon,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow as he closed the distance between them. With her arms folded across her chest, to brace against the cold, Daria studied him still. Though her white-white eyes gave away no hint of suspicion, she painted a stern picture, all enveloped in timeworn gray Jedi robes, with fire-red hair whipped by the wind and mouth a hard line.

“Still a ray of sunshine, I see,” the smuggler added, and Daria felt a thread of reckless excitement weave amongst the trio. The odds they had ever encountered Jedi before were astronomically slim, so it was no surprise that they took some giddy satisfaction from the encounter.

“No games this time,” Daria countered, once again recalling bitterly how she had manipulated Thrakin and his gambling partners on Atzerri. “We've matters of great import to discuss.”

[Navaria Tarkin]

Thrakin smirked, adjusting the wool cap that protected his head from the cold winds. Wisps of brown hair that poked out vibrated violently as a strong gust past over the gathering. Scratching at five day old scruff with a squinting eye, he cautiously navigated the the rest of the way down to smooth and solid footing.

"I was mildly surprised that you were Rebels," he admitted with cheerful brown eyes that surveyed the two women, "But Jedi?"

Eyes appraised them a momentary longer before introducing the rest of his crew. "This is Jucca," he nodded over to the younger human man to his right. A bandanna covered his head, but long black hair was tied into ponytail. Edges of tattoos peeked through the hem of his shirt and sleeves as inquisitive eyes were hidden behind a pair of mirrorshades. He dropped a nervous hand that had been rubbing his goatee and offered a wave.

"And this is Jessika." The woman appeared to be around the same age as Jucca and with similar features, noticed the Jedi Master. A thread of familiarity that connected the two was perceived by the Knight. Long, painstakingly, straightened brown hair finally settled from being whipped by the chilled wind. Green eyes appeared to look upon the women at first with interest but soon turned perfidious. She did not voice her suspicions, and was not polite enough to acknowledge being introduced.

"Now that you know my family, let's get to know yours," Thrakin's eyes already targeted Navaria. "Course we already know who you are but last time we checked, the Empress sure as hell ain't no Jedi."

Navaria's expression was grim at the obvious suspicion. To attempt and deflect a truthful answer would only waste time. She could sense that their curiosity needed to be sated or their departure would be hindered by an accumulation of mistrust between the three of them.

"This is Daria and I'm Lianna, Miranda's sister." To try and lie that they were not was foolhardy and stupid. They were identical twins after all. Navaria did not have to give credence to her true name, however. "It is a story that is far more intricate then that as you can imagine." Thrakin nodded in agreement. "It is something that can be discussed later if you are willing to take part in a rescue mission."

Jessika scoffed and turned her face away in obvious confliction. Jucca was still fascinated by the Jedi to say anything, eying the lightsabers in awe. Thrakin chuckled, "I'm going out on a limb here and thinkin' we're going after a Jedi friend of yours?"

His eyes darted between the two of them, but the Smuggler already knew the answer. "Am I right?"

[Daria Nytherciria]

“Rescue, a Jedi?” Jessika snorted a laugh and Jucca shot her a glance. She shrugged, with forced indifference. “What? You'd think a Jedi could rescue themselves.”

Once again, Jucca found his eyes drawn to the lightsaber's Daria and Lianna wore. He had a real desire to draw his pistol then and there and fire, just to see how quick both of them react. Fortunately, it was one reckless impulse he managed to ignore.

“An old friend, yes,” Daria answered, as she sensed Navaria's hesitancy. “He has been wrongly imprisoned... within Stars End.”

A shrill whistle rose from Thrakin's lips before the Knight could even finish. “Stars End? When you Jedi get yourselves into a pickle, you really do it right, huh?” He grinned as he spoke, but there was just as much nervous mania in that expression as humor.

[Navaria Tarkin]

Jessika shrugged, already making up her mind in this request and shot blaster bolts for eyes at Thrakin. "Tell them no and be done with it."

Her mind was set, but Jucca was looking hopeful. Danger was quite a fix for the younger sibling. Breaking a political prisoner, that happened to be a Jedi, was more then he could ever hope for. Bragging rights would have to be silenced due to the nature of the beast, but still ... Another Jedi? Three Jedi that were alive. He couldn't contain his enthusiasm. "Aw come on! You'd fly through an Imperial Blockade for the Rebels, but not this?"

"Our prospect in CSA aligned space would be over," she offered as counter. They made a good deal of money there, legitimately.

"She does have a point. We'd be toast after this. No way we could show our faces on that side of the Outer Rim without being shot on sight." Thrakin crinkled his nose in thought, eyes squinting, regarding the Jedi women. "Course, Alliance must feel it's important enough for them to loose an in in that sector."

Navaria had been quiet for the exchange, listening and learning as to their motivations. Both Jucca and Jessika wore their emotions on their sleeves. Money was not the issue with Jessika, she was distrustful. Something had happened in her past to feel so strongly against the Jedi, where as Jucca found them fascinating and was willing to go along with them. Anticipation made him antsy. He could barely stand still, waiting for Thrakin to make up his mind - which was still in debate.

"They have others, as you are no doubt aware." But the Alliance's resources, nor the crew's source of income, where the issue. Navaria decided to offer incentive. "I appreciate the jeopardy that you would be placed in. I know it is asking much."

Jessika audibly scoffed and was about to cut off Navaria, but Thrakin held up a hand to silence her. At least the young woman respected him enough to listen. It would silence some concern if they were to agree about ending this deal. The Jedi continued. "We would reward you for the risk, but I make no promises as to what danger might befall us."

Thrakin sized up the brunette. She was hiding something, he was sure of it, but he couldn't read her at all. He might as well be blind, because not even a trace of information could be inferred by her voice either.

"He means a lot to you. Doesn't he?" he asked in a gamble, playing on the hunch he felt and directed the question to Navaria, even though it had been Daria that mentioned they were old friends.

"Yes," she answered honestly, but would provide no other insight as to why.

[Daria Nytherciria]

When talk turned to potential losses for the Alliance, Daria bit her tongue. With well-practiced breathing exercises, she brought on herself the forced calm that the Jedi prized. There was nothing more important than the Will of the Force, not even the designs of the Rebel Alliance. If bridges had to be burned, so be it.

“Yes or no will suffice,” Daria cut into the silence that had fallen on the conversation, feeling the weight of their purpose pressing heavier on her shoulders, whilst the wind whipped at her back. Too many hours had already been wasted on bandying words, first with the commanders of the Wheel and now with these soldiers of fortune; time was of the essence.

[Navaria Tarkin]

She had felt a subtle shift in her partner's demeanor, which had been brief, and not at all pleasant. Daria's words caught the trios attention with a mix of reactions. Jessika was offended by the curtness, Jucca just stood there, perplexed as to what to say.

Thrakin merely laughed. "We'll do it."

"What?!" Jessika's tone was incredulous.

"Ya heard me," he said. "We got eyes and ears on the inside. It can work, though it'll probably be messy," he admitted.

"This is bantha dren!" and surprisingly, or perhaps not, Jessika stalked up the rocky edge to return to her speeder. Thrakin muttered a few colorful words before going after her.

Jucca was left standing alone, tight lipped and obviously full of embarrassment.

Navaria crossed her arms and looked off to the side in quiet contemplation. If this did not turn in their favor, not only did they have to think of another option, but precious time would have been lost for nothing. It was disheartening, but to dwell upon it for too long would accomplish nothing. Her exterior betrayed little, though there was no mistake in how urgent and personal this mission was her - something easily sensed by the Miraluka.

[Roker]

Roker marched purposefully through the common hall in C-Block, right up to J8-K33 beside the quartermaster's workstation.

"Jake," he called. "Got a sec?"

"Acknowledgment: Always for you, Prisoner 124913 Sigma," replied the droid. "I require only an additional 3.7 seconds to finish sending this form and you will have my undivided attention."

The protocol droid tilted his blue domed head down to make eye contact with Roker. "Confirmation: There. You may speak freely," Jake added with subtle emphasis on the last word.

Roker took a quick, uncharacteristically nervous glance around. "You were right."

Jake straightened. "Statement: Of course I was. Though, I require more data regarding what I was right about so I can gloat properly."

"Drin," Roker practically whispered. "He came to me, just like you said."

"Commentary: Ahh, yes. My probability algorithms never lie. It was always a matter of time, but 186942 Zeta's behavior ever since the Rebel incident, and especially after the INS broadcast altered the model significantly."

Roker had been turning events over in his mind ever since Zael dropped the proton bomb on him yesterday. None of this made sense. Unlike just about every other convict he'd ever met, Kizael seemed to accept his fate. He acted like he belonged here, almost wanted to be here. To suddenly find out that he could have escaped any time he wanted was turning his universe upside down.

"Query: Did he share his plan yet?"

Roker shook his head and answered truthfully, "No. Only that I could come with if I wanted."

The part he'd left out was the long, involved setup to the big secret plan. And he wasn't about to mention the fact that his best friend of six years had revealed that he was a Jedi Knight.

Jake tilted his torso to loom over the Bimm. As if reading his mind, the droid said, "Disclosure: You can stop being so evasive, 124913 Sigma. I know who and what he is."

Roker's eyes bugged out. He had no idea who his supposed best friend in this hellhole really was and the fracking droid knew? Of course, the fact that the security droid had approached him with all of this in the first place raised questions about Jake himself.

"Advice: Sshhh."

"Don't shush me, rusty," Roker cut in. "The only reason I agreed to this is because you said you wanted out. And I get that, one, ya know, one sentient to another. I'm down with droid rights and all that. They treat you like scrap in here."

Jake straightened a notch and lowered his tone a few decibels. "Correction: Do not patronize me. The reason you agreed to this is because I found your computer nest. I deduced not only its existence, but it's location, the coordinates of which I have not disclosed to Warden Massey. Yet."

"And what's to stop me from telling Massey that their chief quartermaster droid has gone native and needs a memory wipe?"

"Query: And that act would gain you.....?"

Roker hesitated, finally settling on just glaring up at the droid.

"Clarification: You were correct on one point. They do treat me like scrap here. Because in their eyes I am. I am as much a prisoner here as you are, just with better quarters." Jake straightened up, pretending to go about his work as an Espo guard passed nearby.

"Disclosure: This body into which they installed my binary brain was part of a wholesale lot of a failed droid model. But my core system -- my mind if you will -- predates the CSA itself. To say my talents are wasted here is a supreme understatement.

"Query: How else could I bypass the security programming they so crudely tried to install in me? How else was I able to ascertain 186942 Zeta's identity?"

Roker frowned. "You mean, Zael."

The droid actually sighed. "Clarification: Yes. Drin Kizael. I admit I did not know until he began constructing his lightsabre." Roker's eyes bugged out again at how casually Jake said that, but the droid continued without missing a beat.

"I had suspected him of wanting to break out based on his psychological profile alone. Had I not been studying his behavior already -- which I've been doing since he arrived -- I never would have figured out what he was building. But be that as it may, I have. And with that knowledge, I have my way off this rock. And you're coming with me. You should be happy."

"Yeah I probably should be," Roker admitted. "This is all just weirding me out a little."

J8-K33 turned his focus back on the slicer. "Statement: You will cooperate with 186942 Zeta's plan with one addendum: I am coming with you. If you do not, I report every detail of your escape attempt, including how you fell into my 'entrapment scheme' to reveal your plan."

Roker just stood there, mulling over the irony that he wasn't happy about the idea breaking out of jail because he was being blackmailed into it.

Jake added into the silence. "Statement: You get an 'inside man' to make your escape easier by orders of magnitude. I get out of this dreadful sector of space. It's win-win as the humans like to say."

Jake returned to his work. "Advice: Now if you'll excuse me, I can only keep surveillance occupied for so long before they send a technician. We all want the same thing, Roker Rhyed. Don't blow it now."

[Daria Nytherciria]

When the Kirkwood broke hyperspace at the border between the Aparo Sector and CSA space, the entire ship shuddered as if suddenly seized into real-space by an invisible hand. Their exit had a similar effect on Daria, who was pulled out of her meditative stance with a start. She gasped and in the same instant her senses seemed to gasp too, rapidly drawing in an awareness of everything that was around her. Steel, sweat, wool, grease, worry, anger, tension-

“Do you know how much they'll fetch? That Tarkin alone would get us enough to retire on.”

“I don't give a mynock's eye, Jessika – and if you think you're getting an easy life of it any time soon, you've got another thing coming. Not in this galaxy.”

The voices were muffled, coming from the room beyond the door that separated that Tarkin and her companion from the crew of the smugglers ship. Navaria stirred beside her as Daria rose to her feet, drawing her robes closer about her body. With a wordless glance at oneanother, they joined the crew who were now silent, Jessika's mutiny apparently subdued. Thrakin looked their way and nodded.

“Not long now. Once we past into the Corporate Sector, it shouldn't be long before we're met by some security patrol. They tithe the shipping lanes to within an inch, so they'll be wanting our toll soon enough.”

Jucca grinned. “Imagine the looks on their faces when they realise what we're bringing into the sector. They'll think they've struck a spice-vein.”

To this, Daria said nothing. As she looked out the main view-port of the Kirkwood, to the array of starts that marked the edge of the approaching sector, her features were a mask of focus. Surprisingly, it seemed she did not share the young smuggler's eager sentiment.

[Navaria Tarkin]

"And there ya go. CSA space has been entered," Jucca announced with such flare that made Jessika roll her eyes. He looked at her and shrugged innocently. "What?"

Navaria placed a comforting hand along the small of Daria's back. They realize that this was the best option to free Drin. By allowing themselves to be 'captured' and taken into CSA controlled space, they would be thrown into Star's End prison. There Thrakin's inside men could provide the means to move the pieces in place to not only get their weapons through security, but also provide an escape route as well. They were willing to risk it because Thrakin was paying them handsomely with Jedi credits.

The next minutes passed away in silence. Everyone was seemingly waiting in breathless anticipation. Save for the two Jedi that were in silent deliberation with one another.

You've been quiet since we've boarded. Even when they were alone to rest, Daria had said nothing. That was concerning to the Master.

Is there something you'd like to discuss?

You've been troubled since we left the Wheel, naturally, but now I sense it runs deeper.

We are surrendering so much control by giving ourselves to the CSA. It worries me.

They were putting much faith in Thrakin and his spies on the inside during their incarceration, which almost assuredly guaranteed the two Jedis separation.

It worries me as well, but our options are limited.

This is our only choice, the Force tells me that... I only hope I can overcome my own weaknesses, when the time comes.

You've risked far too much for me ... She couldn't finish the thought openly, but Navaria could not help feeling that some of Daria's weaknesses had been deepened, though not caused, by the turmoil in her life.

Whatever the Force wills must be done.

I know, but I worry about you as well.

You must promise that you won't let that cloud your judgment, if the worst should occur...

... she sighed and her hand slipped away. It is something I can promise, but can you?

The connection they shared made them a powerful duet, but there was no denying that Daria still struggled with her demons, no matter how close the two of them had become.

I won't fail again. I refuse to. Silently, Daria's lips framed the words of the Jedi Code, as her focus shifted to some point in the mid-distance.

Navaria smiled at her resolve though the mood had shifted with the others present. She had picked up on Jessika's unease before the girl even said anything. "We're being hailed ..." her voice was cold and eyes gave the two Jedi a piercing stare.

Thrakin on the other hand smirked as if this was the start of something fum. "Here's where the fun begins."

Flipping the comm over to receive, he waited for the usual CSA greeting to filter on in as everyone noted a Etti light cruiser in the distance.

You have entered Corporate Sector Authority Space, transmit your registration and license for verification. Stay on your current vector

"Transmitting now." Thrakin waited a beat since this wouldn't take long.

Ah, Captain Thrakin. What brings you back to our sector of space so soon?

He grinned to ne one in particular, but it helped to keep his act up. "Let's just say I've got a big surprise for you ..."

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael knelt by a supply locker deep in a grimy maintenance tunnel between the secure levels of Stars End. The emptiness of the area created the illusion of freedom, but the Trianii was acutely aware of the hidden surveillance and the deceptively close proximity of patrolling security drones.

Carefully concealing his motions as the act of returning his supplies, Kizael tucked the newly finished final component of his lightsabre into an unused circuit box mounted on the wall. His mind traced carefully back through the escape route he had mapped. This locker was in a perfect position to for a stop before getting to the hangar two level above.

His ears pivoted just as he closed the panel. "Drin!" an Espo guard barked from the end of the hall.

Kizael turned as he made a show of straightening up with exaggerated slowness. "I'm not getting any younger, Eckli," he replied.

"Neither am I waiting on your tail," the guard sneered.

Kizael just smiled at the guard, wiping his hands on his red jumpsuit. Although a hundred things could still go wrong, his course was set. All of the pieces were in place. Now he just needed the opportunity, and he knew exactly how to create it. He wasn't going to miss this place one bit.

Just as he started walking toward the guard, the steady thrum of the Force suddenly turned into a sharp ripple. He hesitated in mid stride, shifting his eyes off toward the tunnels that led toward the closest hangar bay.

"What the hell, convict? Don't try the 'I need a medic' crap. I've read your medical file."

The former Jedi ignored the Espo. His attention tried to focus on something that he knew to be far more important, but as soon as it hit him, it was gone. Even in his prime he never felt that strongly in tune with what holocrons called the Unifying Force. But here, in these dingy surroundings, buried under a billion tons of duracrete and electronics running through an atmosphere dominated by such chaotic emotions, it was that much harder to focus on anything outside of this place and moment.

Kizael frowned and joined his escort back to his cell. Whatever just happened -- or was about to happen -- would reveal itself in due time.

***

J8-K33 stood at his station, idly scanning through resource allocation reports while indexing post-lockdown census data. If it had a mouth, it would frown. In accordance with the new contract between the CSA and the Galactic Empire, another of those midichlorian scanners was shipped to the prison.

Thanks to a little tweaking of the bill of lading, it would be stacked with the rest in a dark and neglected corner of storage deck 25. Every time the head office asked for a memo on the test results, the warden would truthfully respond that he had no record that the scanner was ever shipped. So they just sent a new one.

But this was the third one now. Someone was bound to notice.

That done, he decided it was more productive to review arrest reports than to dwell on what was beyond his control. The records had barely just started to scroll by when Jake's processor did a double take. Visual confirmation left no room for error. An Espo unit had just logged the apprehension of two Jedi.

Jake replayed his last meeting with Roker Rhyed and reran his analysis on Drin Kizael. For 10 miliseconds he simply stared at the results returned by his probability algorithm. The timing of events was almost enough to make the droid believe in the Force.

In order to stop himself from getting lost in endless calculations in light of so many new variables, Jake diverted his attention to Drin Kizael's itinerary for tomorrow. Having determined the earliest meeting time and place that was logical, Jake shut down for the night.

[Daria Nytherciria]

An acute wave of vertigo washed over Alcano Powell as he peered out of the near-panoramic window that wrapped around him. At the pinnacle of Stars' End, the Administrators office might have afford him an impressive view, had Mytus VII been anything but a ball of barren rock. As it was, the only thing he could see – besides the sheer walls of the prison itself – was the pale shape moving directly towards the compound, its engines a dim flare against the dark sky.

When the Kirkwood passed through the prisons shields, a crackling ripple of energy spreading from the point of entry, he was not the only one observing its arrival. Turbolaser turrets had tracked its course from the moment it had entered the planets atmosphere and now, at the base of the tower, further defences were being mobilised. With a lock-down in effect, guards whose post was non-essential were being pulled from their duties to man the prison's lower-most docking bay. Soon, Alcano Powell – the senior most administrative official at Stars' End, during the absence of Viceprex Estrago – would join them.

***

They were to be escorted from the Kirkwood in binders. The cuffs chaffed against Daria's wrists, but the pain was only a minimal distraction when compared to the fog of emotion that rolled outward from within Stars' End. When she reached into the Force, seeking some clue as to what the future held, the Jedi Knight saw only a murky darkness, in whose shadows paranoia crept and misery wallowed.

Anay Thrakin took one last glance at the three prisoners-to-be before he punched the release for the ship's boarding ramp. Navaria would lead the way, with his brother Jucca shuffling behind her, and Daria in turn behind him. There was no bravado in the younger Thrakin now; he rolled his shoulders and flexed his neck, restless with anxiety. As the ramp lowered, Anay and Jessicka took point and rear of the group respectively, each carrying a sidearm. Given the welcome they were about toe receive, they might as well have been unarmed.

“Step forward into the containment chamber!” a voice barked, and Anay Thrakin heard the faint but unmistakable sound of numerous rifles being readied, their energy cells powering to full. Blinding white spotlights zeroed in one the group, turning the guards into so many looming, faceless shadows. With one raised hand, Thrakin tried to shield his eyes and he caught a glimpse of an energy wall, separating the crew of the Kirkwood from the men and women they were now at the mercy of. Obediently, the group moved forward and within moments something hissed behind them, as a second shield activated, effectively sealing the five in and preventing any retreat to the Kirkwood.

With that, the lights died and, with the after-burn of the glare still in their eyes, the group began to perceive a lone figure moving towards them, towards the electric-blue shield wall. Alcano Powell came to a halt, his hands folded behind his somewhat hunched back, his fleshy brows set into a studious frown. Though he had composed himself into a stern figure, his eyes moved quickly between the faces of the Jedi, returning more than once to the likeness of the Imperial Empress. Powell pursed his thin mouth, the tip of his tongue darting out with amphibian speed to wet dried lips. Daria saw the flows of his energy, squirming and writhing, trying desperately to bind themselves into a cord of strength and confidence, but always fraying at the edges.

“Captain.. Thrakin, I presume?”

[Navaria Tarkin]

Navaria was used to the scrutiny by now and only held her head up higher as Powell studied her like a curious scientist that had been brought a new rat to study. She could sense his uneasiness, it threatened to consume him internally though his outward appearance was one that mustered strength and conviction for the men and women standing behind him. Of course there was the energy shield protecting them as well.

Navaria's brown eyes began their introspection from left to right, reading each guard and found an overwhelming sense of fear. A feeling not unexpected. Both she and Daria would have to remain vigilant that even the most subtle of movements could set them off.

Jessicka and Jucca remained confident with blasters pointed at both of the Jedi's back. Navaria had to admit that the brash Jucca was doing an excellent job at playing his part, whereas his sister did not need to hide behind a fake mask of loathing towards their captives. Thrakin took one step forward as indication that he was the one Powell was seeking, and nodded. "You got it. Lianna Mal Pannis and the redheaded Jedi as promised."

The Bounty on Daria's head had no name, and it would be impossible to think that these three scoundrels managed to break the Jedi into revealing her identity. The cover story of pretending to be Rebel contacts to lure the Jedi into a false sense of security was already thin enough.

"Hmm," he clasped his hands behind his back and regarded the Captain. "You have been wired 5 million credits, a third of what is owed. Once the prisoners have been processed and you are out of CSA controlled space, the rest will be wired to the account provided."

Thrakin laughed, "Don't trust us eh?"

"Precisely. Anyone cagey enough to captured these two requires a degree of suspicion."

"Fair enough. My crew and I will abide by your decision." He held up a hand to silence Jessika's usual complaint. "CSA has yet to frell me over and I realize the delicate nature of these prisoners. Especially that one."

He pointed to Navaria.

"I appreciate the extra cred to keep things quiet," he chuckled.

Powell waved Thrakin back, not amused by his insinuations. "Pull back."

The guards behind him shifted in their stance just enough for Navaria to pick up on. They were going to recalibrate the shields. She heard the crews footfalls begin to retreat and instantly the energy shield engulfed them fully, giving the guards time to surround the two Jedi. Brown eyes looked mildly around the energy prison, but she was more concerned as to how Daria was handling this. Confinement as such would begin to unravel the control the Miraluka cherished ...

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael filed out of the mess hall as dinner came to a close. His senses were hyper-alert as his mind cycled through all the possibilities he could imagine. Tomorrow would be the day.

An odd twinge in the Force accompanied the voice of J8-K33 as he motioned toward Kizael. "Request: Prisoner 186942 Zeta, a word please."

An Espo guard looked the droid quizzically, at which Jake simply nodded. "Explanation: I require only a moment of your prisoner's time to clear up a schedule anomaly." With that, Kizael stepped out of the slowly moving line and followed the blue plated security droid down the hall.

Once around the corner, Jake stopped and looked around with the slightest tilt of his domed head. After a short pause, he said, "Statement: I know who you are and what you are planning."

Kizael's eyes shifted around the empty hall. "What in hell are you talking ab--" he began to say, but was cut off by the sudden crackling of a device pulled from behind a workstation. Jake held the scanner in front of the Trianii, moving his attention between him and the readout on the liquid crystal display. The droid faced it away and the crackling noise subsided, then turned it back toward him as if to demonstrate.

Kizael quickly reached out and deactivated the midichlorian scanner with massive hand over the device. The felinoid's nostrils flared and the hair on the back of his neck tightened. "Where did you get that?" he demanded, managing to keep his voice low but with a distinct growl in his tone.

"Answer: From a storage bay." he replied. "Where two more are stacked among crates of backup fuses. I've been covering for you for some time Drin Kizael, but recent events have severely shortened our window of opportunity." The Jedi raised an eyebrow at the plural pronoun as Jake continued. "I brought this to expedite our conversation, skipping the part where you deny that you are a Jedi."

Kizael instinctively reached out with the Force, relieved that no one was nearby. He could only hope that the droid took care of any potential listening devices. He slowly exhaled.

"And why are we having this conversation?"

"Disclosure: Two Jedi were just delivered to the facility by bounty hunters. They are as we speak leaving the outpost 1 landing bay to be transported here to the tower." Kizael's neutral expression dissolved into a frantic mixture of alarm and confusion.

"The Corporate Sector Authority is holding them until a secure transfer can be made in accordance with its new treaty with the Galactic Empire."

"Who are they?" Kizael interjected.

"Statement: I do not know. They were processed under the open warrant for all Jedi. Supposition: I have no reason to believe they are here for you. The ship in which they were delivered has already left the system and the reward deposit has been paid."

Kizael started to speak but was sharply interrupted. "Advice: We have no more time for questions. If you do not allow me to finish I will simply escort you back to your cell, confiscate your lightsaber components, and allow the techs downstairs to complete reactivation of the stasis tubes to hold the Jedi."

Kizael's ears flattened, but his expression slowly relaxed as his mind absorbed those last words.

"Confirmation: Yes, Director Powell has ordered two of the stasis tubes that survived the Solo Incident ten years ago to be reactivated. It is the only secure way to house the Jedi for any length of time. Do I have your attention now?"

The Trianii's first reaction was annoyance with the droid, but he was too stunned at its obstinance get that across in his expression.

"Query: Or do you wish to attempt your escape while C-Block is about to be locked down for evening census, without having any idea where the Jedi are?"

Kizael frowned. Moments like this were why droids get memory wipes, and this one's was several decades overdue. But it was little to endure for the price of freedom.

"Declaration: I calculated your escape attempt to be within the next 5 days at 83.6%. But given this," Jake added, holding up the midichlorian scanner for emphasis, "and the imminent reactivation of the prison's stasis tubes, I would say your timetable has been pushed up to -- oh -- right now. The techs are having trouble with tubes, but it will only be a matter of hours before they repair the damage from the unexpected power surge that level just suffered."

The Jedi raised a curious eyebrow at the droid. It seemed to want to get out of here worse than he did.

"So you know about Roker's involvement in this, too."

"Affirmation: Yes, yes I will see to it that 124913 Sigma comes with us. We need him anyway."

"I take it, then, that you have a plan."