Star Wars: Edge of the Empire

Episode XI: Making amends
zet's journal

It feels like a lot has happened since Palob died. Maybe we should’ve just taken the Void Crow and his remains directly to this daughter. But at the time we didn’t have the credits to get the Dash back from Teemo and we had no other way to get around, so we put it off. Then Shard and the Black Suns happened, and we went off on that detour with Ashur…

But we couldn’t put this off forever. The Rebels asked to borrow Callia for something and she accepted, so in the meantime, Santos, Qurzer, and I went to meet Palob’s daughter Sundance. The Void Crow had the location of a cantina she owns on Nubia so we figured that was our best bet. It wasn’t the nicest hole in the wall which meant it was my kind of place. We didn’t have any trouble getting in to see her, either.

I just kept thinking, you know, what would I do or think or feel if someone showed up one day and told me that one or both of my parents was dead? How do you break that to somebody? We did the best we could, and we told her we’d make whatever arrangements she needed to get the Void Crow back from Nar Shaddaa.

Her uncle was there too. Things got interesting as soon as he introduced himself. Joran Raider, formerly of BlasTech Industries. I’d never seen one of his custom blasters up close before. It turns out Palob had been delivering his blasters for him ever since he left BlasTech, and he still had one unfinished job. We agreed right away that we’d handle it for whatever his typical fee was. (Santos later reminded me to always get the ACTUAL number before the job. It’s not like I forgot. I just felt bad for this family.)

Of course, then we found out we were making a run to Coruscant of all places. And we couldn’t get off Nubia without getting into a fight with someone. I don’t know what’s up with the security droids on that planet, but they accused us of holding some kind of stolen information and then a ronto got free, a fight broke out, we blew up some droids and then stole a police landspeeder. All in a day’s work.

Sundance tagged along for the trip, which started out altogether too easy. No trouble getting into Coruscant, no trouble getting into this fancy admiral’s house, no trouble making the delivery and getting our meager payment. But as soon as we left the guy’s office we heard blaster fire, and went back in to find him dead. Coruscant is one of the last planets I want to be found next to some famous dead war hero. Unfortunately the authorities arrived too quickly for us to make an escape, and we all realized that the admiral’s Raider Arms blaster had been stolen. The police were ready to take us in to jail right away, but Qurzer and I convinced them to let us hunt for the real killer.

Honestly I was ready to skip out on that as soon as they let us go, but Sundance insisted that we needed to make sure that the blaster went back to Joran if the buyer wasn’t going to have it. We’d found a Black Seraph lighter in the room, so we figured there was nowhere better to start looking than the haunts of a seedy swoop gang.

We found our way to one of their makeshift death traps and talked our way in as potential racers. Santos took the swoop down to the track while Qurzer, Sundance, and I headed up into the manager’s box. Honestly, when Santos gets into stuff like this I can hardly stand to watch, even though I know he’s basically the best pilot ever. Qurzer kept an eye on the race and fed him information over the commlink while I took a look at the other patrons. Lo and behold, who did I spot but a Devorian I’d seen at the dead admiral’s party. After narrowly avoiding a shootout with the bartender (???) we had a little talk, and I convinced him to work with me to at least help clear our names. He lead me outside to show me where they were keeping the blaster, and Sundance followed at a distance.

It’s a good thing she did because the first thing this shuuta did was stuff me in a box. I heard blaster fire and then Sundance pulled me right back out of it. I have no idea if that Devorian is alive or dead. In the meantime, Santos was winning us a cool 59,000 credits in the swoop race. He showed up just as a bunch of Black Seraphs walked into the alley looking to start a fight. It was over fast, but not before their head mechanic got Santos in the leg with a vibroknife. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a stab wound that awful.

One of the other racers showed up to try to bully us into giving up our money, but Qurzer and I must have looked a little crazy by then so we managed to scare her off. We got back to the police, turned in the Devorian, and got the hell out of dodge.

We’re en route to Nar Shaddaa now, taking Sundance back to her father’s ship. I’ve got enough now to look into cybernetic eyes while we’re there. Then we need to touch base with Callia to find out where we need to go to pick her up, and then who knows?

Episode XI: In Which I win a race, and lose a leg
Santos' Journal

We finally got around to dropping of the box of Paleb to Sundance. Turns out she and her uncle, Joran Raider had been waiting for him for quite some time so that he could deliver a luxury blaster, custom made by Raider. Since we were vaguely and indirectly responsible for Paleb’s early departure from this world, we felt obligated to complete his last job, at the fee he had negotiated (for future reference, we need to multiply that fee by at least the number of crew members currently on board.)

Turns out the delivery was to a retired military officer, who lived on the Imperial Centre. That’s the best place for a force-sensitive Chiss to go right? I knew I’d fit right in! The actual delivery went off without a hitch. That is, until the man got himself murdered, and his new toy stolen. Police quickly came and blamed us for the entire thing, but Zet and Qurzer convinced them to let us investigate to find the actual murderer. They gave us 24 hours.

Earlier, we noticed an emblem on a lighter that belonged to a local gang, the Black Seraphs. They were congregating for a street racing event, which I was fortunate enough to join. The race was ridiculously dangerous, with every leg designed to kill. I mean, it was probably very dangerous for everyone else, but I had Qurzer feeding me information through our comms. I was kinda bored. With the passage of each leg of the race fewer and fewer racers remained, until at the last leg, a straightaway to the finish, my only competition was a hotshot named Sunny. She drew her blaster and opened fire at me, so I made the weapon fall out of her hand, took the lead and won the whole thing.

After crossing the finish line, I ended up running into Zet, Qurzer and Sundance in a fight with some Black Seraph thugs, so naturally I joined in. One of them didn’t seem to like that much, and cut my leg open with a vibroblade. Not cool! I think I’ll be limping for a very long time, but at least I won a huge pot of credits for my troubles.

A Quiet Conversation
Roleplay Log

Travelling amongst the stars in a large metal container means that one cannot avoid another forever. Especially when the other comes seeking that one out.

It’s during one of those moments when Santos is manning the cockpit in hyperspace alone that the Jedi wanders in. Her face is devoid of it’s usual dark makeup and she’s dressed down in comfortable trousers and shirt. “Ah. Here you are,” she states. “Are you busy at the moment?”

Santos looks back briefly at Callia before focusing back on his piloting. Sure, at this point, autopilot would work fine, but it gives him an excuse to avoid the rest of the crew. Looks like it didn’t work out to well.

“You mean aside from the constant recalculations needed to keep us from flying into a star? Not really. What’s on your mind?” Stupid question. He’s been avoiding Callia since he pushed Nissa to her death. What else would be on her mind?

Callia lets out a quiet snort, one eyebrow arching up at Santos’ back. “It may have been 18 years, but I do know that autopilot can do that for you.” She sits in the copilot seat, left leg crossing over the right. “You’ve been avoiding me. It’s understandable, of course. If this relationship were reversed and the situation reversed, I would be doing the same.” She lets that hang in the air for the moment. “I just wanted to talk. I know the aftermath of what happened isn’t easy and I am worried about you.”

“Yeah. As childish as it is, I have been avoiding you.”. With a deep sigh, Santos puts the Dash on auto and turns the chair to face the JEDI.

“‘Worried about Santos’ seems to a common sentiment lately.”. He says with annoyance tinted with guilt. “Actually, I’m kinda worried too. I lost control and did something I shouldn’t have, and it could have gone real bad. But I’m still me. Until the next crisis, anyway.”

“I don’t believe it’s childish.” Callia replies. “It’s a natural instinct, to want to avoid confrontation or what might be perceived as disappointment from a peer. I am not disappointed, though.”

She sighs. “I know you don’t want your friends worrying about you, Santos, but that’s part of the packaged deal. I know the difficulty of letting your emotions sweep you away in a situation like that. It’s going to be harder for you to keep from going back to that edge, as I’m sure you are already feeling. The Dark Side will tempt you with the easy route. It will always be there, taunting. Now is the time to truly learn emotional control.”

Well, that was unexpected. Santos was certain there would be a lecture when Callia finally cornered him. Maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise, though. Callia’s had her own recent brush with the dark side, and it must have been worse for her, having farther to fall.

“I get that,” Santos replies somberly, “but how do you control yourself when people you care about are in danger? You saw what that woman did to Zet, right? If she was still alive she be a continued danger. A continued source of fear and anxiety.” Much like Nossk, the Admiral, hell, maybe even Medusa now that she knows about him and Callia.

“I did see what she did to Zet, yes.” Callia replies. “Disgust and anger bubbles at the surface when I think about it.”

She pauses and takes a deep breath in, then exhales slowly. “We have plenty of sources of fear and anxiety to go around, I believe. The Black Sun may be the worse of them or it may not, but it certainly isn’t the only one.” Another pause. “I have to compartmentalize, myself. I put my focus into how I’m going to protect those I care about rather than how I will destroy those who hurt them. Control is something you need to teach yourself to do and it comes with practice and time.”

“Practice, and time? I can do that.” Santos begins to sound more optimistic. “We’ll just have to find jobs to take that steer us away from the Black Suns and other threats for a while. Good jobs, jobs you would approve of.” He’s not really sure any jobs smugglers can take would get a jedi’s stamp of approval, but why let details get in the way?

“I know you can.” Callia agrees. “It may mean more meditation, which I know you despise. But I know you can do it, Santos. I will help you in any way I can, as well. We’ll both need to watch each other and make sure we don’t go down a path that will lead us all to destruction.”

She laughs softly. “We’ll find work doing what we can. I’m sure there are planets in need of food or medical supplies we can find.”

“Ugh meditation? There has to be another way!” Santos will never understand how Callia can be so enthusiastic about sitting in a dark room doing nothing. “How about I just focus on the stars in front of us, and call that meditation?”

“That would be a form of meditation, yes,” Callia smirks. “Meditation isn’t all about sitting in dark rooms and clearing your mind. It can take many forms, which I’m sure we’ve discussed before. Practicing your lightsaber kata, for example? It is one of my preferred methods of meditation.”

She pauses. “It will require more than that, as well. Meditation will be a good starting point to truly examine yourself and learn how to be at peace with everything around you in a controlled environment. You will still be tested in the rest of the world. More likely sooner rather than later, considering the lifestyle we lead.”

Finally, she leans back in the chair, staring out into the void of hyperspace flashing past them. “Do not let yourself be tempted by the Force in a way that you bend it to your will. Allow it to flow through you, to guide you.”

“I was more planning to hide the force away in a tiny mindbox and never let it out.” Santos replies, visibly uncomfortable. “But I get the feeling that won’t help matters, will it?”

Callia stays silent for a few moments, perhaps trying to wrap her mind around the idea of never letting the Force out. “I haven’t heard of anyone who has successfully done such a thing before.” She admits. “To be honest, I could not think of a reason why one would want to.”

The silence drags on longer until she sighs. “I understand that it’s hard, Santos. To have to police yourself, to have so much control on your own emotions and morality is difficult. The payoff is worth it, in the end. The Force can be dangerous, of course, but it can also be comforting. It’s all a matter of how you decide to use it.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Santos replies with a sign of resignation, “This is pretty much why I left Csilla in the first place. I don’t want to have to control my emotions, and become a good little frozen-heart Chiss, or a hollow jedi posterchild. There must be some middle ground. It can’t be just the two extremes.”

“I’m not suggesting you become frozen-hearted…” Callia replies softly. There is a note of melancholy in her voice. “I hope you don’t see me that way, Santos.” This isn’t about her, though. She needs to remember that. “We will find a middle ground for you.”

“No, not you. I know better than that.” Santos has certainly seen the extend of Callia’s emotions. “But the jedi did have a certain reputation, in recent history anyway.” He stands up, stretching his legs as much as possible in the cramped cockpit, then turns his chair to lean on it, crossing his arms on the back. “I believe we’ll figure this out too, for all my flaws, I am an optimist. I need to keep telling my self that if everyone is standing, and in one piece, that is all that matters.”

“Yes, I suppose they did. Even that was blown out of proportion. We’re all living beings, after all. No one is perfect.” She smiles. “I think standing and being in one piece is a good place to start. We are doing better than many in the galaxy.” She stands up herself and makes to leave. “We’ll get there, Santos. It’s just a matter of…figuring it out.” She pauses. “But if you do feel yourself slipping or the urge to do something drastic, please let me know. I will help you in any way I can.”

“I will, Callia.” Santos concedes, almost under his breath, “if I know, anyway.” A bit louder, “my plan is still avoidance. If not of using the force, then of violent situations. Maybe we can go from planet to planet rescuing loth-cats from trees or something?” Not much profit in that, surely, but at least it would keep him in the grey.

“I think avoidance of violent situations is always a good choice,” Callia says. “I certainly don’t seek out those situations. They just seem to come to us of their own volition.” She chuckles. “Well, loth-cats are mostly on Lothal, from what I understand. I suppose we could just travel the planet rescuing them from trees. Perhaps we should find some reputable sources of cargo to transport.”

The Chiss stares out at the stars for a moment, doubting that he knows any ‘reputable sources.’ “Does Nebula count? He’d probably jump at the chance to work with you. Maybe he could give us a supply run. Something to make us feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

“Yes, I know he would jump at the chance. I believe I may owe him a favor soon enough, especially if I keep bringing strays to his step.” Callia’s wry grin is accompanied by a glance toward the rest of the ship where somewhere Ashur is asleep. “I’m sure Nebula has work we can do for him. I’m more concerned that it would be of a more confrontational nature.”

“He doesn’t seem to lack people willing to blow stuff up for him.” Santos’ experiences with Rakine suggest they are all to capable of confrontation in their own right. “And I’m not inclined to believe he’d risk one of the only surviving Jedi on a direct assault. We’re smugglers, and he knows it. If he’s smart enough to command the rebellion, he’d better be smart enough to trust our strengths.”

“That is true.” Callia replies. “He also knows the strengths and skills of a Jedi, even if I was never fully trained as one. We will see what sort of work he has to offer us.” She brushes her fingers along one of the panels, eyeing the readouts. “I should check on our guest, see how he is holding out. Perhaps we can open that holocron we discovered.”

“Alright. I’ll stay here and make sure we don’t die a horrible, fiery death.” Santos take the Dash off autopilot. “Let me know if you need help with that holocron. I have some experience with them.”

“You are good at doing that.” Callia grins with one final glance back at Santos. “And I will. You do have more expertise than I in that area. If I do not need your help, I will be sure to show you what’s inside, at the very least.” She smiles and then takes her leave.

Episode X: I don't test well
zet's journal

Before falling in with Callia, I honestly didn’t spend much time unearthing old stuff to sell it. Smuggling and grave robbing are overlapping but different areas of expertise. I’m really starting to see the potential payoff now, not that it makes her very happy…

Gorn tipped us off to some job in a university on Eriadu, so we went there, pretended to be prospective students and were promptly assaulted with an eight hour orientation and a barrage of tests, which I failed. I’ve never spent a day in school in my life. Qurzer had our backs though.

Then we were able to meet with Gorn’s scholar contact, Ashur Sungazer. This guy was obsessed with Jedi. I think once he spends some more time up close and personal with them, the novelty will really wear off. Everyone good at that kind of thing (basically everyone else) spent some time looking up information on this lost Jedi ship until they concluded we needed to head into the Deep Core to find it. At Callia’s request (!) I straight-up stole a precious Jedi talisman from the archives and then we had to hightail it out of there before the authorities could catch us.

Santos and GARBOL got us into the Deep Core without too much trouble, where we were able to locate the starship in decaying orbit around a sun. The thing was practically falling apart, and as we explored further we found a fully functional Basilisk war droid left over from the Mandalorian Wars. (See, I did learn something in university.) Santos ended up having to let off an EMP to mess the thing up, and as a team we managed to deactivate it. Then GARBOL kept it. That droid is beyond weird.

Deeper in the ship, we found some kind of weird old Jedi room, where Callia managed to pick up another one of those holocron things. Meanwhile, I made Ashur promise that each of us gets to keep one relic from the starship after he’s done cataloging them, so that’s gonna pay off huge. We don’t do charity work for nerds.

It was really good to have the whole crew back together again though. The pain in my head is fading, even if the dreams aren’t. I’m still broke, but once I get my hands on some credits again I want to start thinking about something cybernetic.

Episode X: Frosh Week
Santos' Journal

So after our daring and completely successful rescue of Zet, we decided it’d be best to stay away from criminal organizations for a while, just to help keep me from becoming the next dark lord of the sith.

We got word that there was something of interest in a university, so we made our way there, and Qurzer easily forged some IDs for us claiming we were professors. Not a stretch for Callia or me, but the rest for the rest of the group, especially the droid, maybe a bit of a stretch.

We get through our orientation to the university and promptly bomb the entrance exam. Luckily our expert hacker Selonian cleaned up the results, and we were given free access to the school, and to our contact, Ashur Stungazer. Ashur led us to a room full of relics, one of which was of particular interest to Callia. Zet, the good friend that she is, naturally stole it for her, and we raced out of the university and off the planet before they could complete a lockdown.

The amulet led us to an ancient temple drifting in space, near the centre of the galaxy. Super creepy, and half of it was scarred with combat damage, and exposed to space, but we managed to board the vessel, and explore some. Then, we met the basilisk. There just happened to be a funtional mandalorian war droid hanging out, naturally. It looked like we’d be quickly killed by the droid, until I activated the on board EMP, which disabled it enough for the others to take it down. It’s on the Rainbow Dash right now. Thanks, GARBOL. The basilisk did nearly kill me before it was taken care of, but that seems to be a recurring theme lately.

With that done, Callia leads the way to what appeared to be a meditation or training room, where she found a holocron. Ashur nearly wet himself with excitement over all the relics we were able to retrieve. Zet negotiated for each of us to have first choice of relics before he turned the rest over to some institute or another.

So here we are, riding off into the sunset with a ship full of treasures, and a murderous war droid that will likely be the end of us all.

Episode IX: Reunion
zet's ic journal

Here are the things that happened:

On Nar Shaddaa, that bounty hunter (now I know she goes by Shard) caught up with us, nearly blew Santos and I away, threw me off a ledge hundreds of feet in the air, and then took me straight to the Black Suns.

Between her and the Suns I lost every credit to my name and nearly everything I own.

The cartel locked me up in a room alone with hardly any food or water for a period of time I still can’t account for. Then a vigo took my eye out.

None of that makes sense, and sometimes when I’m asleep I forget that I’m back on the Dash with Santos sleeping in the top bunk again, and I wake up and feel cold and alone until I remember.

My crew, my friends, came to get me. We fought our way off the top of some kind of insane tower on an ice planet, and in the end Santos threw Nyssa off the edge and probably killed her. He has a lightsaber now. I’m worried about him. I think it’s good that we’re together. He’s freaked out that he might fall and hurt me, and maybe that’ll keep him on the light side. I’m freaked out about basically everything, but now I can just look out for him (haha…) instead of having nothing to think about but myself and how hurt and scared I am.

I’m glad to be home. I’m never going to say that I hope things get back to normal ever again. It’s getting to be more and more obvious that they won’t. If this level of insanity is the new normal for us, maybe I just need to get right with it… and practice firing a blaster with one good eye.

Episode IX: On second thought, let's not go there.
Santos' Journal

Any chance I can just go back in time and redo one or two things? That’s how the Force works, right?

Don‘t get me wrong, we won, we saved the day. GARBOL has some badass programing, and Medusa was great with a gun, but not so much with her mouth. Zet’s safe and sound with us again. Well, most of her. I wonder if she wants us to go after her eye. There are just a few added complications to my life now:

1. Medusa knows about me. It wasn’t my fault either. Sure she was an ally this time, but she’s a mercenary. Who knows who she’ll be working for next time we meet.

2. The Black Suns know about me. Ok, this one was my fault. It probably wasn’t the best idea to jump carelessly into melee combat with their leader, lightsaber humming. That may not have been avoidable, but it’s definitely not good. They won’t hesitate to sell me to the empire if they get the chance. On a related note…

3. I may have killed Nyssa in a hate-fueled rage. That was definitely a bad idea. I don’t know how I managed not to completely lose myself to the darkside, but that’s a small blessing. The lesson here, for everyone else, is don’t fuck with Zet. I don’t like it, and don’t really have great impulse control.

I’m sure that’ll all work itself out.

We did have a plan going this time, something kinda new for us. And it actually worked, despite Medusa’s inability to say words well. Callia gets a gold star! It was immediately clear to Nyssa, and hell, even to the grunt we talked to first, that this was all bullshit, but she committed to the role! And somehow, against all logic, Nyssa sent her exactly where we wanted her to be. Medusa, Garbol and I had to climb down the side of the building to a secondary entrance. Well, Medusa and I climbed down. Garbol just tumbled. Again, it miraculously was exactly what needed to happen, as it ended up shutting down the entire building, aside from the lifts. We made it back to the Dash with everyone alive and fighting. Of course there were some angry minions waiting for us, or they would be waiting for us if Garbol’s droid army wasn’t keeping them occupied. Nyssa was there too, until I threw her off the building. Again, probably a mistake.

Talking Points
roleplay log

It isn’t clear how long Zetnu’ri has been left to rot in the prison cell of a Black Sun hideout. The cards come sporadically, never frequently to drop off a bowl of what nobody considers food and enough water to ensure the desert-developed Twi’lek remains alive.

The increasingly familiar scrape of metal signals the opening of the heavy, rusted metal door. Rather than food, this time her captors enter. A Zabrak steps in quickly and takes position in one corner. The Rodian who often delivers the food brings in a stool and a folding table. He sets it up at her bed and takes position in another corner.

A few moments later Nyssa walks in, clad in a fashionable white tailored suit and sporting her usual ruby red sunglasses. They must be for fashion’s sake, because her unnerving yellow eyes remain visible over the tops of the lenses.

“Wakey wakey, sweetheart,” she says with a slither. The Falleen crime lord takes a seat at the stool, her posture impeccable, much for the sake of the strong and plated spines that her people have.

The Twi’lek has done what she can to maintain some semblance of schedule and normalcy in a situation that has offered her neither, but it hasn’t been enough. She sleeps, she wakes, she ravenously eats and drinks whatever they give her, she uses the refresher, she sleeps again. Sometimes she paces, sometimes she sits on her cot and memorizes the imperfections in the wall opposite it. As time has dragged on, she has proven that she’s not above asking and then pleading with the Suns who bring her food for information – what’s going to happen to her? When will she be let out, or will she be let out at all? How long has she been in here?

It’s the not knowing that has begun to weigh on her.

Zet actually isn’t asleep this time when her door opens, although she is curled in a ball on her cot with her jacket draped over herself — it’s proven to be a more reliable and less musty blanket than the one they provided to her. Her eyes are half-closed as her hands worry at a loose thread on the cuff of the coat. She hardly lifts her head until she registers that something is different this time, and she’s already half-sitting up when Nyssa appears in the doorway.

Warily, the Twi’lek pushes herself upright, crossing her legs on the cot. She pulls her jacket up around her shoulders, sitting back against the wall to put as much space between them as she can. Zet is not looking so good — she’s skinnier than she was when she was brought in, dark circles evident under her eyes from her irregular sleep pattern. “Finally here to deliver my sentence?” she asks with a weak smile.

Nyssa tilts her head to the side and smiles slightly, sympathetically. “Oh honey, I’m not the Empire. I’m not here to have a trial and lock you away,” she says to the prisoner. But she’s right, isn’t she? Nyssa is most certainly not the Empire.

“I’m a business woman,” she begins anew, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her thighs. “I’m sure you can appreciate that when someone takes a job, makes me a promise, and then fails to deliver-” she pauses to let it sink in. That is what happened, isn’t it? Nyssa trusted and was burned. How would anyone else react? “Well some point needs to be made,” she finishes, gesturing with her arms to the Twi’lek’s current abode.

Shard put it accurately. Zet saw a line in the sand and she refused to cross it. She doesn’t feel bad about it, and if she was put in the same position again… well, she just might do the same thing.

But Zet is a businesswoman too, and she understands what Nyssa is saying, even if she finds the slave trade repugnant. It’s not like she didn’t know the Black Suns dealt in that kind of cargo before she got in with them. Sometimes these are the choices you make when you’re just trying to feed your family. “I couldn’t make that delivery for you. Sorry.” Her voice is uncharacteristically quiet, and she fidgets twitchily with the zipper of her coat. “But I understand what you’re saying.”

“I forgive you,” the reptile says with a smile. She nods her head sympathetically. “These things happen. Let’s work on our future together, don’t you agree?”

Nyssa doesn’t wait for the Twi’lek to reply. She reaches into her jacket pocket and withdraws something Zetnu’ri recognizes. “The Suns found this when you arrived,” she explains, placing the Pazaak deck on the small fold out table. “Why don’t we play a game?”

The smile Zet flashes back at her is brief and not even a little bit relieved. She doesn’t believe for one second that languishing in a cell for who knows how long and saying sorry is good enough for a vigo, and the word ‘together’ is setting off all kinds of alarms. She’d prefer to just cut ties, if it’s all the same…

Her eyes freeze on her cards. It’s more than just a deck — there is a main pazaak deck there, but there are also a small series of side decks she’s assembled over the past two decades, tweaking them, marking them, learning the way they feel in her hands and slide against each other any time she wants to stack her own side deck. “You want to play pazaak?” Zet shoots Nyssa a disbelieving look. “Uh, sure.”

Slender green fingers run across the cards. “Yes, certainly,” she slithers in reply. “It is obvious, as a fellow card player, that you care about these cards. They have meaning.”

She shuffles the cards with a few tricks, her guards looking on. Carefully she deals out the hand. “There’s a lot we can learn about each other playing Pazaak, don’t you agree, Zetnu’ri?”

“I’ve been playing since I was a kid,” Zet offers in return. She slides forward on the cot to be nearer to the table and picks up the side deck Nyssa has given her. Her eyes linger first on the ones Nyssa has taken for herself. At this point she knows every little nick and crease in her own pazaak cards, something the vigo must surely realize. That may prove advantageous but at the same time she feels a little strange about sharing them with Nyssa of all people.

Then her eyes lower to the ten cards she’s been handed, and after quickly identifying them she flips them over to shuffle them quickly. This round, she won’t cheat, but her hands snap and rifle her side deck together with the ease of a longtime gambler. Drawing her four side deck cards into her hand, she shrugs. “Yeah. Do you want to go first?”

Nyssa smiles and nods graciously accepting the offer to begin the game. “I grew up crawling around Pazaak tables myself,” she says. “First as a child, fascinated by the game and refusing to go to heat rock for the night. Later, the game played a role in helping elevate me to my current station.”

She draws her side cards, gives Zetnu’ri a wink, and ultimately frowns, maintaining her side cards and watching as a card is turned over, and another, and another still, leaving her bust.

“Heat rock?” Zet has met Falleen before, but she doesn’t know much about the way they live. She plays a quick, shrewd hand, standing at 16 when she sees Nyssa has already busted without playing a card from her hand either. Typically this is when she’d gloat, but all she does is sweep the main deck cards on the table back into a pile. Her hand pauses in the middle of what seems like an automatic gesture to pick up the deck, no doubt to shuffle it, and she glances uncertainly at her captor.

Nyssa nods and watches the victor’s hands as she shuffles the deck and deals. “Mhm. We enjoy sleeping on something hot,” she explains.

The Black Sun remain silent in the corners, almost falling into the background.

When Nyssa doesn’t object, Zet picks up the deck and shuffles quickly. No tricks. Setting the deck down, she nods noncommittally to Nyssa’s response and plays through another hand. The Twi’lek gets straight up unlucky when she reveals a ten that pushes her to 25. With a glance at her hand, she sticks her tongue out with a little frown. “No good.” As they’re setting up the next round she looks to Nyssa’s face. “What exactly are we playing for?”

Nyssa sits at 16 before Zet goes over. She decides to chance the draw and takes another card. The Falleen crime lord grins widely as she hits a perfect Pazaak without having used a card from her side hand. “Pazaak!” she exclaims the obvious with glee. Elegant scaled fingers collect the cards and set into a shuffle once more. Her attention turns to Zetnu’ri.

“I was touched that you carry such an old Pazaak deck. It was difficult to find – even the bounty hunter didn’t find it,” she explains. “I simply had to return it to you. Aren’t you happy?” Nyssa asks, staring at the prisoner.

Zet doesn’t correct Nyssa’s assumption. She would prefer not to inform someone who likely still intends to harm her that the bounty hunter who brought her in has a soft spot. “Yeah well. She didn’t find ten grenades, either, so…”

Settling in to the new hand, Zet nods. “I don’t have to tell /you/ how much time goes into constructing the perfect deck. I’d rather not start over again. Thank you.” She grimaces as she flips over a seven that puts her at 22, and plays a negative four from her hand. “I’m gonna stand.”

The Falleen tut tuts and lays plays a +5, landing her at 20. “Ah, lovely. I win again,” she says calmly. Then she pushes the cards to her opponent and arches her back, stretching with a sigh. “It takes time to build something important. Don’t I know it. I can tell you put time into this; care into this. I get the sense you think before you leap,” Nyssa says.

Exhausted and starving as she is, it’s comforting for Zet to sink into something as instinctive to her now as a game of pazaak, even though Nyssa only needs to take one more hand to win the game. She sweeps the cards back into her hands, just holding them for a moment as she listens to Nyssa. “Most of the time.” The deck flashes between her fingers again. “I dunno if I always leap the right way. It probably depends who you ask.” She punctuates that with a self-deprecating little smile, and right at that moment twitches the edge of her pinky out of the way of her shuffle to ensure she’s facing a stacked deck. It’s subtle: she’s a practiced cheater, and a less perceptive player might miss it.

The cards are dealt out and Nyssa’s yellow eyes narrow. The hand goes in Zetnu’ri’s favour, though not so much as to arouse suspicion. She truly is a practiced gambler.

“Oh dear, I almost had you,” the Black Sun Vigo slithers, her lips curling at a devilish smile as she gives her captive a once over. Nyssa leans back and crosses her leg, resting her elbows on what small amount of chair back is available. “You’re really quite good,” he continues with a snap of her fingers.

The darkness moves, Zabrak and Rodian lunging for Zetnu’ri to grapple her. The Zabrak is a brute, large and overpowering who uses his weight to strangle her at the throat from behind and bear himself down on top of her. The Rodian pulls a black bag over the Twi’lek’s head and draws it tight. No air, no light, no escape.

But there is something in the bag. A heavy scent that burns and tickles the Twi’lek in strange and unnerving ways.

It’s only a nineteen, and she has to use a card from her hand to do it. Zet knows better than to grant herself a pazaak on the basis of the main deck alone. She sits back, looking pleased as she slides the deck across to the vigo.

The Twi’lek looks up in alarm at the sound of feet scuffing against her cell floor. She’s not strong enough on her best day to physically fight off a being as imposing as a Zabrak; she just goes down on her face with a breathless squeal, tangled in limbs and her own loose jacket. Nonetheless she squirms, gasping and trying to drive an elbow back towards his ribs.

True panic sets in when the bag goes over her head. Zet bucks violently, coughing as she draws more of whatever that is into her lungs with each frantic inhalation. “Please! Please don’t-” At least she’s not above begging, but whatever else she was going to say is lost to another fit of coughing.

It feels like forever before the bag is pulled off and Zet is released. Or it feels like the elevator is dripping to the main floor. Wait – what?

As completely messed up as it is to be held down and strangled with a bag, the spice gets to the Twi’lek fairly soon after inhalation. When there’s nothing but spice for you to breathe, it hits you hard and fast. Zetnu’ri’s tingles turn to a straight up glow. She’s fucking glowing as the spice warms her in ways she likely hasn’t experienced before.

The blast of air once she’s released probably feels amazing. Everything is pretty much amazing. Soft. Vibrating. Numb. Hard to focus on.

“Hey,” a voice drips to get her attention. Nyssa is sitting there patiently waiting. She’s dealt out the cards for their next hand. “Congratulations! You won.”

It doesn’t take long for the small smuggler to stop flailing around. She recognizes a wasted effort when she sees one, and besides, her brain and limbs don’t seem to be communicating as quickly as they should.

Zet drags in a harsh breath when she feels relatively fresh air on her face again. She blinks once, twice, her bright green fingers digging into the rough weave of the blanket, then twitching away at the intensity of the sensation. It’s not the first time she’s sampled spice, although she has likely never taken so much so fast, nor used any of particular quality. Academically, she’s aware that she’s high as a kite, but every time she tries to focus in on that knowledge, she can’t seem to feel nervous or angry or anything at all about it,

“Huh?” She looks up at Nyssa, then warily glances around for the thugs before she tries to sit up again. “Only that hand, I thought…” Zet picks up her remaining side deck card from where it fell beside her, but her zeal for the game has left her. Shivering, she slides her arms back into the sleeves of her heavy jacket before really attempting to return her attention to the table. Although she does obediently flip over her first main deck card, her eyes keep darting between the others in the room. Her shoulders are hunched up tight, like she’s expecting to be leaped on again at any moment. “Umm. Sometimes I buy a round if I’m worried I’m gonna lose but that was kind of extreme…” She was a fast talker before, but her words come more slowly now, like she’s putting real effort in to form coherent sentences.

“I bet, " Nyssa says with a little chuckle. “You must practice a lot. Who do you play with while you’re in between systems?” She asks as she lays down a +- 3 to adjust her 21 to an 18.

“Business partner,” Zet replies vaguely. She hits 17 and spends significantly longer than before studying the last card in her hand and staring at the numbers on the table. “He’s not very good at it.” Finally she decides to take her chances with the main deck. It’s a ten. “Ugh. I’m out.”

“Let’s play again,” Nyssa says sheepishly as she draws the cards to her and deals them out once more.

“I don’t remember you having a business partner when you were in my employ,” Nyssa says. There’s a playfulness to her voice and between the spice and her presence, it’s dizzying. “How’s that going? Who is this new business partner? Do tell.”

The Falleen deals a face up 10, then a 4, and then a ten. She pouts and glances at the Twi’lek.

Zet shrugs amicably, gathering up her side deck cards and giving them a shuffle. She does not try to cheat again. Apparently it just takes one black bag to teach her a lesson. Dealing herself a new hand, she sways slightly in place while she looks them over.

“I didn’t.” She takes turns flipping cards with Nyssa, chewing on her bottom lip. She’s only up to 12 when the Falleen busts, and she stops there, taking the easy win. “I met him on Nar Shaddaa… he’d been living on the street.” Zet’s brain feels like it’s buzzing. She doesn’t particularly want to tell the Black Suns anything about her companions at all, let alone Santos. They don’t need to get their hooks in him too. But it’s like the spice is smoothing the peaks and valleys of her emotions out; the tingly-numb feeling is kind of nice after the immeasurable amount of time she has now spent in a constant state of low-level fear. And it’s just so easy to talk to Nyssa.

She shuffles the main deck for the next hand. “He’s the best. We’ve got our own ship now ’n everything.”

Nyssa turns over 25 and when all things seem lost, she drops a +-5 and hits a wonderful 20. “Pazaak,” she says with a grin, collecting the cards and shuffling them.

“So just the two of you among the stars?” the Falleen asks with a slither of her forked-tongue. “Or have you hit the big time and got yourselves employees?”

This hand, Zet makes it to eighteen and takes a chance with the main deck. She busts, and apparently can’t be bothered to play a card from her hand to correct it. She’s starting to look obviously unfocused on the game; there’s a short delay between the hand ending and the moment when she remembers that it’s her turn to shuffle the main deck. “It was just us. We’ve got some friends travelling with us for now, but who knows if they’ll stick around for the long haul.”

Nyssa’s yellow eyes glimmer as she watches the Twilek’s response time slow. She makes no movement to shuffle the cards. “Perhaps if the business opportunity was right they’d make a fine crew,” the Falleen says.

Zet catches up eventually. She picks up the cards, shuffling as nimbly as before, and begins the next hand. “Well the bounty hunter took 19 thousand credits out of my pocket. It’s been good,” she confirms.

“Oh that’s a shame,” Nyssa patronizes. “How ever will you pay me back for the trouble you caused, Zetnu’ri?”

A tension fills the air. The Black Sun Vigo stares at her captive and doesn’t motion for her cards.

The smuggler’s eyes are on the cards as she waits for Nyssa to flip over the first one in her tableau. She slowly lifts them as the mood in the room becomes palpable even to her. Somewhere inside, sharp-witted, quick-tongued Zet is in full-blown panic mode, railing at her own brain to function quickly enough to get her through this alive.

Outwardly, her gaze flickers fearfully, and she swallows against the sudden sensation that her mouth is full of cotton balls. “I thought y-you said you forgave me,” she murmurs uncertainly. “If you gave me a chance, maybe I could- I’ve got a ship and a partner, we could probably find a, a job to make it up to you…”

“You will,” Nyssa replies flatly. “I do forgive you, honey,” she continues, warmth returning. She smiles and shifts, crossing a leg over the other.

“I understand and accept what was done. You must also accept and understand that your trespass cannot go without punishment. We are business women, you and I,” she says, gesturing towards the Twi’lek and back to herself. “You will make it up to me, we will continue business. First-” Nyssa says, pausing for dramatic effect. “I’m going to make an example of you.”

The thugs from the darkness return, advancing on the prisoner.

“Haha, I thought I was already being punished,” Zet jokes weakly, gesturing around at her little cell. They may both be businesswomen, but Nyssa buys and sells things the Twi’lek would never touch. No doubt she has special clauses for those who breach their contracts.

She pales visibly, her grey eyes darting to the approaching men. Briefly, she thinks of the holdout blaster – but in her state, starved and exhausted with her reaction time slowed by whatever she inhaled, it would never be enough. “Wh… what…” She scoots backwards on her cot, futilely trying to put an additional foot or two between her and them. “I uh, don’t think you really… really have to do that…”

The Falleen watches as her security close in and grab the frightened Twi’lek. “Yes you do,” she replies casually, standing and withdrawing a small device from her pocket. It sparks to life before Zet’s eyes, an electric prod of some kind. “You understand I need to hurt you. I can’t have people thinking they can get away with crossing me. I can’t have people thinking their employment status is up to them. It is up to me.”

Nyssa steps closer as the Zabrak and Rodian pin Zetnu’ri down on the cot on her back, forced to look up at the Black Sun Vigo looming over her. She touches the sparking electric rod to her captive’s forearm. Zet feels the vibrations but it is little more than a tickle. There is no pain. “How was that, honey? You’re going to want to be clear with me on how you’re feeling,” Nyssa says. She taps her prisoner’s abdomen with the prod and raises her brow, scanning the Twi’lek’s face for result.

Zet kicks at the Zabrak’s hands when he comes close, for all the good it does. She swallows this choked, terrified sound as her back hits the bed, squirming against the grip of her captors.

The Twi’lek takes one look at that electric thing and goes absolutely still, staring between it and Nyssa’s face. “Please don’t,” she whispers, just before it touches her arm.

She flinches automatically, but then her brow furrows with confusion. Evidently that’s not what she was expecting. Rolling this information over in her mind, she has already failed to really respond to the second tap of the prod before she can work out whether she’s better off lying in this situation or not. “It- it doesn’t really feel like anything,” she mumbles.

Nyssa smiles and leans forward to brush her scaled fingers across the Twi’lek’s forehead, very gently considering the proximity to her Lekku. “That’s good. Try to relax. The Ryll will make this easier,” she says, leaning closer.

Zetnu’ri can feel the weight of the thugs on her arms, they are holding her firmly as the Falleen straddles her. She brings the little rod higher up, towards the prisoner’s face. The current is purple and vibrant.

All too familiar with Nyssa’s willingness to grab her by the headtail, Zet trembles when her hand comes near her face. “Make- make what-” Her breath escapes her with a soft grunt, and she wriggles unhappily now that she’s fully pinned to her bed.

That turns into another full-blown struggle when the crackling rod comes near her face. She arches her back and rolls her shoulders, her eyes screwed shut as she tries to turn away from whatever the crimelord has in mind. Zet isn’t strong at all, but she’s squirmy.

“Shhh,” the soothing comes with a slither. “Open your eyes. Look at me Zetnu’ri. Look. At. Me,” the Black Sun Vigo softly but firmly demands. “I need to collect my payment. Then everything will be settled.”

“Nnh.” She protests, and she certainly doesn’t stop shivering. But Nyssa’s words get in her head and coil around her brain, and with a shudder she turns her face towards the Falleen again. Peeking her eyes open, Zet bites her bottom lip as she waits for something very bad to happen.

“That’s it,” she says with a devilish grin. “Now. Just. Hold. Still.”

The sparking of purple current draws nearer to the Twi’lek’s eye, filling her vision. Inches from her face, the sharp pointed tip suddenly opens up like a flower, blooming after the Falleen must have pressed a button. Soon the dark center of the metal flower is all that can be seen. The metal petals push their way between eye lid and ball, into the socket all around Zetnu’ri’s eye. The purple current sends vibrations through her body that would certainly paralyze her with pain if not for the numbness the Ryll bestows.

The experience is altogether unpleasant. There is a sucking sound and this pull as her eye is detached from her. Her perspective changes and she sees her own eyeball and dangling guts in the grasp of that dreaded wand. Nyssa’s yellow eyes are lit up, a look of delight on her face as she leans back and marvels at her treasure. “Ah! It’s just what I’ve always wanted,” she says.

Turning her attention towards the injured Twi’lek, she continues her smile. “Thank you Zetnu’ri. I believe this concludes our transaction. You’ll be sure to explain why you’re missing an eye when people ask, won’t you dear?”

In that moment, as the device pushes its way into her eye socket, Zet’s mind runs blank. She can hear her own soft, sick moan at the bizarre sensation but it seems to come from someone else’s lips. Her other eyelid flutters and her remaining eye rolls back as if she’s about to faint, pain or no pain. But the mind- and body-numbing effect of the Ryll is just enough to keep her there by a thread, amplifying the disorienting sensation of losing all peripheral vision on the left side of her head.

She doesn’t even register Nyssa’s words initially. Her good eye is fixed on the one in the wand, and she’s trying not to focus on the weird pins-and-needles sensation of the blood pooling in the empty socket. Dreamily, she replies, “I’m gonna throw up.”

Vignette: Tools of the Trade
Cut scene

Santos looks out over the Nar Shaddaa city scape. The sun’s just set for the night, although you wouldn’t know it from the permanent golden haze of lights and pollution. The Chiss had to find his way on to the roof of the highest build in the sector simply to escape some of the neon and noise below. For this task, he wanted solitude. He’s comforted by the soft sound of a vorpak purring, softly and steadily. He certainly received a few unwelcome looks while walking through the city with Lirj on his shoulder, but not many people would dare make a comment to someone of his size.

Laid out in front of him on a rolled out rectangle of leather are all the components he had collected, and a list, each item accompanied by two rushed check marks. Santos reaches into a concealed pocket in his coat and removes a small pouch. He tips the pouch over, just above his free hand, allowing a small, orange crystal to tumble out. He quickly takes inventory of everything, and once satisfied that he has everything, it’s time to begin.

Callia had explained to him in great detail what needed to go where, although she embellished the process greatly with her Jedi rituals. His Holocron also provided him with a great deal of insight into the process of building a lightsaber, and Qel-Droma too included his fair share of ritual. The numerous differences between his two instructors were a testament to how much the Jedi order had changed over the millennia, and yet the core of what they were and worked towards remained consistent.

Personally, Santos never had much use for such ritual and structure, so he freely ignored that aspect of the task at hand, and focused entirely on the technical lessons. Although entirely convinced that he could construct the entire weapon with his hands, in this moment he chooses to follow tradition and exclusively use the Force. It’s a chance to practice using his abilities with precision. One by one his components begin floating, moving gracefully through the air until they find their place in the whole. He works quickly, every minute he spends on other endeavours is a minute not spent on rescuing Zet.

With the internal components in place, Santos begins to begins to encapsulate it in the outer casing. Soon, all the remains is a smooth, reflective hilt, floating in the air. Santos is fairly certain he did not follow Callia’s instructions perfectly. His creation appears to be nearly twice the length of the hilt she carries. The hilt itself displays no indication of switches, buttons or toggles. Instead, the polished, silvery finish is broken up by etched lines, cutting through the metal in a way that reminds him of the glaciers he grew up surrounded by. In the centre of the hilt, the seven pointed sun of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force draws attention to a single round button. As Santos takes the item in his hand and applies slight pressure to the button, a beam of vibrant orange light bursts out of either end of the hilt. Each blade is guided out of the hilt by four small, curved blades inspired by the Clawcraft, the first starship he had ever piloted, back when he served in the military of his people. The blades themselves pulse with an energy barely contained within the force fields giving them shape. He feels a startled Lirj press her eight tiny feet firmly into his shoulder as a small burst of energy extends out of a blade like a solar flare before quickly being absorbed one more.

Santos observes his work for a few minutes, and then calls the blades back into the hilt. He hides the device in one of the hidden compartments of his coat and makes his way back to the Rainbow Dash. There’s still work to be done.

Incoming Transmission
A roleplay log

It’s been a few weeks since Randall Nebula saw Callia and the rest of the merry band of misfits. His life is probably running so much smoother when he doesn’t have to rescue their sorry asses, especially when one of his operatives isn’t getting nearly dead with them.

It’s sometime in the middle of one of those weeks when his rebel cell will receive an incoming transmission. Transmissions are all part of any day, though this comes with no call signs or on a frequency that identifies this individual as a fellow rebel.

If and when he chooses to answer it, he will see the 3D head of one Callia Colmill.

“Callia,” Randall says in surprise. “You missed me already?” The rebel commander was wearing a smile and seemed relieved to hear from the Jedi. Though the prisoner they left in his charge after their last encounter had been more trouble than he was worth, Randall Nebula generally felt the experiences with Callia had been positive, even lucrative. The rebels have made good use of the Imperial shuttle the Jedi and her friends had hijacked.

Nebula closed the door to his office for privacy and sat with a sigh at his desk. His knee was acting up again. Doc told him it would never be the same.

Callia offers a subdued smile in return. “Commander, it is good to see you. I hope things are faring well with the rebellion.” She replies. “I wish I could say this was a leisurely call, but I cannot.” Callia and her friends always pay lucratively to the rebels, it would seem. “We need your and possibly the rebellion’s help. I’m attempting to track down the location of a Bounty Hunter. Mandalorian armor, female I believe.”

Straight to the point, it seems. Her friend’s life is on the line, here.

The rebel leader turns in his chair a bit as he thinks. “I can think of a few women who fit that description,” he confesses. “The Mandalorian people seem particularly well suited to hunting. If only they felt as inclined to join the rebellion,” Nebula says.

He studies the flickering holo before him. Mandalorians are not the only people Randall Nebula feels would greatly help in the struggle against tyranny.

“Can you narrow it down? Where has she been? Does she have a ship? Heck, what colour is her armour?”

“Hunting has been one part of their history for a long time,” Callia agrees. “I’m sure there may be a few out there who would, but considering the upheavel Mandalore has been in for the past twenty years…”

She shakes her head softly. “Those who need to join the Rebellion will when they are truly ready.” She sees that look Randall. “Her last known location was Nar Shaddaa. I’m not sure what type of ship she has, but I know she has one. Her armour colour is a dark chrome, not with the usual blue or red you would see on Mandalorian armour. It’s all solid.”

Randall Nebula thinks on this, tapping his fingertips against his lips. He turns and reaches for a data pad, flipping through the pages until he finds the section he is searching for, and reviewing. “I see one here that matches that description. Dark chrome with marking of blue that are partially scraped off. Goes by the name Shard,” he says, eyes glancing up at the holo of Callia every few moments.

“She’s been busy,” he continues, sounding impressed. “Her activity has greatly increased in the past four months. She has been bringing in contracts for Black Sun, Zaan Consortium, the Hutt Cartel, and even what’s left of the Exchange. A brazen attack on a casino on Cloud City, as well. Does this sound like her?”

“Shard.” Callia repeats, her lips pursing into a thin line. Well, it’s nice to have a name to associate with the helmet. She lets out a soft sigh, indicated by the way her nostrils flare in the holo. “The attack on the casino was on us, specifically. She was after Zet. You wouldn’t happen to know where she has been in the past week, would you?”

A soft, dark grin crosses her features. “Thinking about trying to recruit her?”

That draws a chuckle from the weary soldier, “The Empire wouldn’t see her coming.”

“I’ll have my team look into it. We monitor some reports of bounty hunters and criminal organizations but we are generally more focused on the Empire,” he says. It isn’t meant to be dismissive but that is surely little condolence to someone seeking their friend.

Randall’s expression changes and he looks back at Callia. “She got Zet, didn’t she?”

“That is true. If she ever changes her tune, perhaps she can be directed that way.” Callia smiles.

There is an edge to that smile, though. “With good reason, I assume. Those organizations could be consorting with the Empire or trying their own methods to thwart them. I understand wanting to keep your fingers in all the pies.” She is good at keeping her emotions in check.

That is, until Randall asks the direct question. “She did, yes. For all I know, she may have already collected her bounty as well.”

Nebula’s expression becomes more serious. “These reports suggest Shard is a businesswoman. She’s efficient and clearly keeps busy. Depending on the destination, it’s entirely likely she’s collected on the bounty and moved on,” he explains.

His hands work at the data pad once more, then he shifts his attention to a console built into his desk. “Who posted the bounty would be more important,” he says.

Callia is silent for a long time. Her mind is getting away with her, the onslaught of worry and ‘what-ifs’ taking over. She cannot be in this mind space. She must be strong for her friends, especially for Santos. “Of course she would have…” She mutters offhand, a deeper sigh escaping her lips. “The Black Sun is who posted the bounty. They operate out of everywhere, though. I am not sure which chapter in particular was looking for Zet.” Though if we can match her flight logs from Nar Shaddaa to where-ever she landed next, it might help."

“I can’t tell from this either, but we aren’t exactly card carrying members of criminal organizations,” he confesses with a shrug. For all the shadiness Zetnu’ri attributed the rebel commander, Randall Nebula and many other rebels are fairly benign and lack the stomach for criminal enterprise.

“I don’t even have data on her being on Nar Shaddaa in the timeline you gave,” he continues with a shake of his head. “I will keep digging but we are stretched pretty thing. Do you want us to look for Shard or Black Sun locations?”

“Hmm.” Callia murmurs softly. “No, of course. It was a longshot, but I thought I would give you a try.” Callia replies. She rubs her temples. “She must be going well under the radar, then. I’m not surprised. If you don’t mind and have the resources to spare, we would appreciate it. In the meantime, I should allow you to get back to your work.”

“I’ll do what I can for you, Callia” Randall says in earnest. "But with my resources tied up in the war, I can only afford to look for one or the other. Do you want us to focus on finding the bounty hunter who took Zet or finding Black Sun hideouts Zet might be at? "

The Jedi can feel the weight of the force in this decision.

Callia swallows, weighing her options carefully. Either option isn’t the most promising way of getting things done and there are good sides and bad sides to most decisions. She stares away from the holo for a moment, eyes darting to one side.

“The Black Sun hideouts.” She finally replies. Whatever happens is the will of the Force. All she can do is follow it’s guidance and do what needs to be done. This isn’t truly her Trial, but she can help guide the path as best she can.


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