Seated within the Glorious Jewel of the Hutts, the Winter Palace is situated on a remote island near the planet’s equator. Although blanketed with the pollution from Hutt industry, its location makes the climate hot and humid. Surrounded with trees and vines, it could be considered to be a paradise, even among the barren wasteland of Nal Hutta. Outside of the Winter Palace, a network of sewer pipes transfer the waste from the palace to wherever seems far enough to dump into the oceans surrounding the island. Flora and fauna that have adapted to the Hutt’s environmental changes thrive in the polluted forests surrounding the Winter Palace.

Stepping through its gilded gates, the lavish interior serves as the main audience chamber. Once belonging to the wealth of Jiliac Desilijic Tiron, the gleaming stone of the main aisle leads up to a Hutt’s dais lined with an expensive carpet. Beautiful tapestries line the high walls, telling of the sordid histories of those who woven them, awaiting execution in Jiliac’s dungeons.

Finally, the antechamber to the "throne" room is illuminated from above with high-skylighted ceilings. Constructed from lightly colored stone, the antechamber might have been where the late Hutt entertained his guests before an audience with spice and exotic dancers. In the hands of the Hutt Kajidics, however, these traditions have continued as the Winter Palace now serves as a front for criminal and business ventures that come and go.

”Who in the ‘verse are you?” A blaster bolt whizzed by, a hearty reminder that Laren’s mission had gone much farther south than he had anticipated.

”That’s usually my line, pal,” answered the salt-and-pepper haired newcomer.

---

“...Haku woy uba canta?” ...What do you think, came a gravelly voice from the blackness.

Those were the words that accompanied Laren as he regained consciousness. Are they speaking Huttese? Where -? His thoughts were broken and foggy. His head was throbbing, and he could feel the extra weight on his forehead from a recent blow. As his senses slowly began to attune to consciousness once more, he began to notice the soft hum of a power generator churning nearby. This lead him to the conclusion that they were likely being kept inside the complex - and clearly being kept under guard.

“I think the boss is going to tear these two limb from limb,” another remarked in Huttese, this one’s voice of a softer pitch - perhaps a female, judging by the sing-song notes within the her speech.

The mercenary worked up the courage to risk a glimpse of his surroundings. At first, his eyelids clumsily fluttered open, only to leave him blinded by the ambient light of the room. Blurred images greeted his then groggy vision, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to properly focus. Once his vision steadied, he took stock of what he saw. The first thing he noticed was that his feet were bound to the rusted, metallic chair upon which he sat. He felt strong twine around his wrists as well, though his mouth was left ungagged. But to Laren’s horror, he realized they had also taken an odd possession. They took my damn boots? Of all the bloody things.

Mine too.

The voice that spoke softly in his mind was not the cynical and youthful rumbling of his own thoughts. Either he had finally driven himself mad, or someone else was probing inside of his mind. Both were likely, in Laren’s case.

The voice came again. Look, it said.

Laren risked the excessive movement, swiveling his head to gaze around him. The motion caused his head to swirl, and he realized the pain he felt wasn’t just localized to his forehead. His left eye was also tender to movement, though his vision was not impaired. It seemed he had been in more than a mere scuffle of late. He couldn’t yet remember why exactly he was in such a state, but he was hopeful that his memories would return with a glimpse at his fellow captor.

Sharing his unique predicament was a human man just past his prime. His salt-and-pepper, undercut hair was unkempt and hanging loosely across his head. Emerald green eyes that twinkled with mischief and stubborn hope peered out into Laren’s own golden orbs. The full beard resting upon his face was likely well groomed under normal circumstances, but had since grown unruly and slightly shabby on the man’s face. It wouldn’t be surprising if this unlucky companion was in a similar state of redress to Laren, considering their captor’s fondness for excessive force.

Wait, demanded the human.

Who in the hell are -

Laren had no time to fully respond. The human dropped his head and began to make some noise, groaning slightly. Laren followed suit, lowering his head and closing his eyes. He heard the pitter-patter of footsteps from the far side of the room shuffle over to the human prisoner. He looked up and watched as a green-hued Twi’lek and an older Zabrak man examined the human.

“Are you awake, hu-mon?” the Twi-lek woman asked softly this time in Basic. But the tone of her voice was distinct, she was the one with the sing-song Huttese. Laren glanced quickly, and he could faintly see her poking the human with a long quarterstaff.

The captive mercenary glanced again, and this time he saw the human’s eyes shoot open. He wore an expression of singular intensity and immense focus. Laren watched in wonder, hoping his companion wasn’t also mad.

“You will release us from our bonds, drop your weapons, walk out the door and forget about us.”

The Zabrak man let out a booming laugh that reverberated off the walls. Judging by the volume, Laren figured they were being held in a small room. The information could prove beneficial to him, if they ever escaped.

“Bu lorda sey tah bo ah Jeedai, keaua.” The boss said this one’s a Jedi, honey, the Twi'lek spoke.

One second. Still a bit drowsy, came the foreign voice in his mind once again. It was raucous and slightly desperate this time, but Laren was confident that any man one referred to as a Jedi - or any Force wielder for that matter - could do things he could still barely imagine.

The human man took a quick breath, closed his eyes, then reopened them again, this time looking at the guards with a stony, concentrated expression.

“You will release our bonds,” he began, his voice slow and rumbling his chest.

“We will release your bonds,” was the simultaneous, monotone answer from the guards.

Suddenly the two guards perked up. Their expressions became vacant and distant, and it was almost as if their eyes were glossed over. The Twi’lek’s grip on her quarterstaff loosened, but she still held it surely at her side. Laren was astonished to see the two guards begin to implement their word. First, the Zabrak pulled out a small knife from his left boot and cut the bonds of the human Jedi. The Twi’lek simultaneously cut the bonds from around Laren’s feet with her own dagger, this one taken from a sheath located at the small of her back. After a few seconds of work, both Laren and the human were free to stand. Laren shot a glance at the human man, who remained sitting and focused. He mirrored the Jedi - if that’s what he really was - waiting for him to continue his little trick.

“You will drop your possessions and leave the room. Now.” Laren couldn’t help but notice, perhaps even feel how centered the man’s thoughts were. It was surely an amazing feat he was performing now. It must have required immense concentration.

“We’ll drop our weapons and leave the room. Now.”

The human’s gambit had worked. The duo dropped their weapons, a collection of barely kept blades, the quarterstaff, two DL-44 handblasters rusting along the barrel, and what appeared to be a small keycard likely used to provide access to other rooms or a nearby complex. But as the two turned to leave, Laren knew he couldn’t let the guards simply go free.

“Hey, what -” the human felt what it was like to be cut off by Laren’s next actions.

The Pantoran sprung from his chair and launched himself at the Zabrak. The man had no time to turn and counter Laren’s strike which hit a series of pressure points and sensitive areas on the back of his neck. The Zabrak crumpled to the floor, unconscious, yet Laren had already moved on. He clumsily spun and struck with an arcing chop t the Twi’lek woman. She was prepared and blocked his attack, pushing his arm away. However, Laren utilized the momentum into a counter-spin, turning with a speed that made the throbbing of his head reach incredible heights. He landed a hard blow under the left arm of the Twi’lek, and before she could shriek in pain Laren had used his left leg to sweep her off her feet. Her head hit the ground with a hard crack, and she too was indisposed.

“Thank you,” Laren said, turning to face the human as he attempted to massage his head around his temples.

“You could have said that before you dropped those suckers,” he began, picking through the gear left on the floor. “However, you’re welcome.”

“And who exactly are you?” Laren said, squatting opposite the human.

“I’m the guy you’re lucky enough to be stuck with,” he quipped.

“Does this fella’ have a name?”

“Turel. And this fella also has a plan. We’re going to find our own gear, finish our mission, and get the hell out of here.”

“Laren,” he replied with a nod, holstering one of the blasters in the waistband of his pants. “And where exactly is here?”

“Why, we’re in the Winter Palace. One of the heartlands of scum and villainy in the galaxy. However, we had the pleasure and misfortune of running into each other on totally separate missions. Things fell apart pretty quickly, we fought each other and them, and then we ended up here.” Turel stood slowly, a small grin on his face. It seemed he had a fool’s hope and a deep wisdom, something Laren could respect.

“I don’t remember a thing. Are you sure?” Laren asked.

“Well I did send one of the Gamorrean guards flying at you - he hit you square in the face. Apologies for that. I bet your memories will be jogged shortly, though.”

“Right. Well, shall we proceed?”

Turel’s head throbbed as he knelt down to pick up the remaining DL-44 and keycard. The Jedi had to throw a hand down to the ground to keep from falling over until vertigo passed. Having one’s temple bashed by the rifle butt of a particularly surly Gamorrean guard tended to cause such side effects.

“Are you okay?” inquired the High Councilor’s unlikely Pantoran ally.

The Sentinel blinked slowly as he stood up. “I will be as soon as we get out of here, which is easier said than done.”

Turel mentally reviewed the situation while Laren posted himself against the wall near the room’s only entrance, occasionally peeking into the hallway. They were in the palace’s dungeon level, which was actually where he needed to be for his mission. Time was against them; the unconscious guards on the floor would likely be missed soon. When the alarm sounded in the palace they would get swarmed by a small army of guardsmen and mercenaries. In other words their odds of survival would go to near zero. Laren seemed capable enough, but even a highly trained soldier and Jedi couldn’t take on an army by themselves.

“We going to get our gear or just wait here for their friends to show up?” Laren quipped with impatience as he drew the blaster from his waistband.

The Sentinel paused for a moment to memorize all the details of the unconscious Twi’lek’s face; he would likely need those details along with the singsong way she spoke Huttese later. They would likely live longer if they held off on shooting until it was absolutely needed.

“Yeah, let’s go. You seem to have some military training, you take lead and I’ll cover your rear.”

Laren’s golden eyes squinted as he studied Turel for a moment. Experience taught him that Force-users viewed people like him as meat shields and disposable tools, but there was a genuine modicum of respect in the older man’s voice. Besides, he had little choice but to trust the Human. They needed each other to survive and they both knew it.

“Alright, Jedi, let’s go get your saber back so you can be useful. I’d rather not get shot in the back, even if it is an accident.” Laren punctuated his sentence with a smirk as he turned to scan the hallway one last time.

“Hey! I know how to use this. I wasn’t always a Jedi ya know.”

The pair moved across the cramped dungeon hallway to the opposite stone wall. They stood back to back to cover both avenues of approach.

“Hold up a second.” Turel pulled out the keycard and locked the room behind them. “Don’t want those two waking up and causing us trouble later on.”

The Pantoran mercenary nodded with approval as his gaze returned to his side of the corridor. The Jedi has some sense about him. We might make it out of this after all.

Laren came to a T-intersection and discreetly scanned both sides. A guard station was directly to their left and a stairwell was to their right. He motioned for Turel to come to his position.

The Pantoran whispered as not to give them away,“The guard station is to the left. I see two Weequay and a droid.”

Turel had a profound look of disappointment on his face. His illusions wouldn’t work on the droid. “What kind of droid is it?”

“Looks like a protocol droid of some sort, probably administrative in nature.”

“That droid is going to be a problem. I can’t really use the Force on a droid.” Turel tapped his lip in thought. “If I create a distraction for the two guards do you think you can stun them before they can raise the alarm?”

“Stun them...right,” the Pantoran guffawed. “I can take them out, don’t worry about that. Just do whatever you’re to do quickly.”

Turel shook his head as he motioned for Laren to step back so he could peer down the hall. He wasn’t pleased with creating a body count for this mission...but desperate times called for desperate measures. There were two Weequay guards lounging at the station as Laren had described. One was sitting at a console and the other was discussing something with the silver protocol droid. Okay, Turel, time to improvise.

The Sentinel pictured the Twi’lek from earlier in his mind as clearly as he could. Then he pictured her naked. Few things worked as a better distraction than the female form. He fought through his still throbbing head to reach through the currents of the Force and touch the minds of the two guards. They had to see the same thing at the same time or this wouldn’t work. Here goes nothing.

The shocked voices of both guards drifted down the hallway.

“Whoa, Leela, what are you doing here?”

“Where are your clothes?”

“You want both of us?”

Turel tapped Laren on the shoulder to signal it was time to move. The Pantoran rounded the corner to find both guards standing up with their backs to him and a very confused protocol droid. He lined up his blaster for a headshot at the Weequay closest to the console and slowly squeezed the trigger. The crimson bolt illuminated the sandstone hallway as it traveled and found its mark. The guard slumped chest-first to the floor with a charred crater in the back of his head. Laren traversed the pistol to the second guard who had only started to turn around. He had less time to aim so he went for a center-mass shot. The Pantoran held his breath at the mid-point, focused his dominant eye and squeezed the trigger. The second guard flew backward into a nearby locker with a smoking black hole in his chestpiece.

The protocol droid threw his hands up into the air in a panicked fashion. “Oh, my heavens! The prison—" He was cut off by an invisible shove throwing him into a wall. With the illusion broken by the first shot, Turel had rounded the corner to disable the droid. The unlikely allies ran down the hall to the guard station.

The Jedi pointed his blaster at the cowering droid while the mercenary searched the dead guards. “Where is Sirca Kirra? Male Zabrak, tan skin, about my height. I know you have him down here. Speak up now, rust bucket, or you’re next.”

“The prisoner you describe is in Cell Besh, but he is scheduled for public execution in—" The droid was cut off by Turel firing a bolt into the droid’s head.

“The execution is canceled.”

“That wasn’t very Jedi-like,” Laren remarked matter-of-factly as he rummaged through storage lockers. “I found your gear.”

Turel ignored the quip as he raced down the hall to the right cell. It was just a machine, after all. He swiped the keycard on the door to Besh Cell. As the metal door slid open, he saw his mission objective crumpled on the floor in the fetal position. The once proud Zabrak agent had seen better days, his face and shirtless torso covered in bruises and burn marks, one of his eyes was swollen shut and a trail of dried blood ran from his mouth to his chin. The Jedi winced, as he knew Hutt hospitality all too well; in darker days past he was one giving those beatings.

The Sentinel rushed into the cell, knelt down and cradled the Zabrak’s head in his arms. “Sirca, can you hear me? I’m getting you out of here.” Sirca’s good eye blinked with hesitation as he coughed before speaking in barely above a whisper, “Councilor Sorenn? Is that you? Why are you here? You shouldn’t be here; you’re too important.” He coughed again, “You damn fool.”

Turel knew he was a fool for risking his life for one of his Sentinel Network agents. The High Councilor untaking a mission of this nature was beyond idiotic. He had ordered the mission that Sirca was captured on. He ordered the mission on bad intelligence and felt responsible for extracting the Zabrak himself. SenNet protocol said extraction was too risky, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to abandon someone to torture and death because of his bad decision. “Shh, you can yell at me all you want when we get back to HQ. Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

Laren appeared at the cell door. “Friend of yours?”

“You could say that. He’s coming with us.” Turel’s voice carried a certainty that the mercenary dared not question.

The Pantoran exhaled in resignation. “Here’s your stuff.” He threw a bag of gear at the High Councilor. Turel gave Sirca the DL-44 and quickly clipped his lightsaber to his belt and donned his dart launcher.

Laren moved into the hallway. “The hanger is on the ground level up those stairs. We’ll likely encounter some more resistance, so stay close. I won’t wait for you.”

“Understood.”

Turel helped Sirca to his feet and allowed the injured Zabrak to lean on him. The Sentinel reached his left arm across the operative’s back and kept his saber in his free right hand. Sirca held the blaster in his free left hand as he reached across Turel’s back with his right arm.

“If it comes to it, leave me behind. I’m half-dead already,” the Zabrak agent stated in an almost pleading tone.

“I don’t want to hear any more of that talk, and that’s an order, agent. I’m not giving your husband a flag, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Turel had never been comfortable using the ‘soldier voice’ to give orders, but he knew it had its uses.

The trio carefully made their way up the stairs into a servant’s area of the palace. The hallway apparently lacked the elegant and tacky decor of the main areas, but artwork of the various Hutt patrons who had called the palace home still adorned the walls. Their stern visages served as a reminder to the servants who used these corridors, who was really the boss around here. As they made their way toward the hangar, an alarm started to blare.

“Well, I guess our luck just ran out,” Laren remarked as he picked up his pace. “The hanger is just ahead; we need to steal a ship quickly before they lock the place down.”

“Oh, no can do. Stealing is against the Jedi code I’m afraid,” Turel stated flatly.

Laren spun around with a frown. “Are you serious?”

“Of course not, I’m not keen to become one with the Force just yet. Lead on.”

The men slipped into the landing bay as a flock of droids and engineers scattered to their hiding places of choice. So far, so good, Laren thought to himself as he quickly scanned the bay for a ship they could hijack. Turel set Sirca against a crate while he took the keycard to seal the door behind them.

Laren and Turel, both dove behind cover as the ramp for a Firespray-class patrol craft in the center of the room, hit the durasteel floor with a clank. A Kaleesh and Devaronian in matching crimson Mandalorian armor walked down the ramp.

“You’re such an idiot, Sorno,” the Kaleesh hissed at his companion. “I knew I heard an alarm.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I doubted the senses of the great warrior chieftain, Jarg,” the Devaronian snarked back as he cradled a heavy repeater.

Jarg threw up a hand as he reached the bottom of the ramp. “I smell something.”

“Of course you smell something, it’s a Hutt palace. It’s going to smell like a Wookiee who’s been diving in Bantha dung for a week.”

“No, I smell blood. We are not alone.”

Laren peered over the crate he was hiding behind to survey the two newcomers. They were heavily armed Mandalorian warriors. The Kaleesh had vibroblades, a flamethrower and a sniper rifle slung on his back. The Devaronian had a TL-50 heavy repeater, a bandoleer of various grenades and a vibroblade on his hip. Both warriors had the classic Mandalorian jetpack on their armor. This wasn’t going to be an easy fight; even with a Jedi and another blaster at his back, the Pantoran did not like his odds. They had no choice though. That ship was their ticket to freedom and those Mandos stood in their way.

"He'll be smelling his own blood, shortly," Laren muttered as he fiddled with his hand blaster.

"That might be true, but first we need a plan," Turel remarked.

"Quite simple, really. You take out our Devaronian friend. He has a heavy repeater on him, so I hope you know how to use that thing," Laren pointed at Turel's lightsaber. "That leaves me with the sniper."

"We also need that ship," Turel added.

"Leave that to me, sir," Sirca interjected. His voice was hoarse, likely from the physical abuse he had received at the hands of the Hutts. "If you distract these fools, I can secure the ship for extraction. Plus I have this," he lifted his blaster, "in case I need it."

"You damn fool." Turel cupped Circa's face with his free hand and grinned. He knew he couldn't refuse Sirca's help, even in his current state. Anything that could help them escape their less-than-ideal predicament would need to be utilized.

Even as they spoke, Sorno and Jarg were combing the hangar, overturning boxes and searching behind crates. They were dangerously close to Laren and Turel's position, and if they didn't act soon they would be caught in a crossfire they could not escape.

"If these brutes realize we're here, it shouldn't take them long to figure out we're trying to steal their ship. Above all else, watch out for their grenades. We cannot allow them to damage the ship." Turel sighed, his knuckles turning white from his grip on his lightsaber. "Ready?"

The Pantoran nodded, then popped up from behind the cover of their crate. Laren fired a series of blaster bolts in the general direction of the roaming Mandos, hoping to draw their attention away from the ship and toward their position. He fired another volley, barely missing the Mandos as they activated their jetpacks to escape Laren's brief barrage.

"Now, Turel!"

The Jedi leapt from his position behind the crate, his violet lightsaber ignited in front of him. Just as the Mandalorian-clad duo began to return fire with their respective blasters, Turel expertly began deflecting bolts away.

Turel and Laren both slowly crept to opposite sides of the hangar, bringing with them their respective targets. While Sorno and Jarg were distracted, the injured Zabrak agent was able to slowly creep among the cargo in the hangar. With the ramp already down, Sirca entered the vessel unseen, creeping slowly toward the cockpit. He had some ability to fly small craft, though he was hoping one of his rescuers had more experience than him.

Laren's target heavily outgunned him, and he knew that the only way he could possibly retain an advantage in a battle was to close the distance. His Kaleesh opponent, however, was making it difficult for the Pantoran to do much of anything. He would use his jetpack to get a quick burst of air and take advantage of his superior height, raining down blaster fire upon the unsuspecting mercenary. All he could do was somersault and tumble among the hangar cargo, continuously moving and keeping the Kaleesh's aim off balance. Though he had his own jetpacks at his feet, he knew it was unwise to use a Mandalorian tactic against someone well-versed in their style of fighting. Now if I can just get a shot at his jetpack... Laren's thought trailed off as he saw Turel desperately fighting his opponent, using his powers to send a crate flying at the Devaronian. I wish I could throw bloody boxes.

"You're good!" he exclaimed as he dodged yet another volley of airborne sniper fire. "But you're at a disadvantage. No long distances, no cover -"

"I'm going to rip your tongue out, scum," spat the Kaleesh.

As Laren got up and prepared to move again, he saw his opportunity. The Kaleesh was hovering just to the right of the ship, and the mercenary could see that his attention was split between his own battle, as well as Turel's. He saw that his friend was in danger, and perhaps thought the prospect of killing a Jedi would be immensely satisfying. His distraction, however, was to be his downfall, as Laren sprinted at the man, firing his blaster wildly. Sorno easily dodged these blasts to Laren's advantage, and as the Kaleesh turned to take a new position, Laren released a streak of supercharged blue plasma that struck the jetpack square in the centre. It sparked and smoldered, and the Kaleesh found himself plummeting to the floor quickly. Though he was able to activate the jetpack's emergency release, Sorno hit the ground with a loud crack. If not for his armor, he could have been dead.

"You will pay for that dearly," Sorno snarled as he regained his footing, facing Laren. As he looked up, however, he saw that Laren was merely two paces away and ready to strike.

The Pantoran brought the butt of his hand blaster into contact with the Devaronian's face. His strike hit true, but Sorno countered, latching onto Laren's arm and tossing him aside like a rag doll. If Laren had to guess his opponent had studied some Mandalorian Core, at least enough to make him even more of a threat to Laren.

While the Pantoran was busy with the Kaleesh, Turel and the Devaronian were exchanging blows at the opposite end of the hangar, in front of the Firespray. In contrast to Laren's aggressive approach, Turel was more subtle. He attempted to attune himself to the Force as much as he could, even under the duress of taking blaster fire. He allowed it to wash over him and through him, controlling his actions, allowing him to feel the battle in a way no soldier, nay not even a skilled general could. He could feel the pulse of the battle; as Laren tumbled to the ground with his opponent -

"And as he's about to fly right over me, the bugger."

Turel leapt from behind another durasteel crate just as the Devaronian let loose a thick volley of blaster fire. He used his lightsaber to deflect stray bolts as he ran, attempting to direct the blasts back at the hovering man named Jarg. He was at a severe disadvantage on the ground, but perhaps with some luck he could force his opponent to his feet, rather than the air.

"I've always wanted to kill a Jedi," Jarg taunted. Turel saw that there was a grenade in his hand, and it was activated.

Jarg tossed the grenade at Turel, his lips curling into a putrid smile. Turel looked and found the grenade. He reached out with his lightsaber-free hand and concentrated on the object. He reached out to the Force, searching for the object. In moments he controlled the object, and to Jarg's surprise it floated in midair. Moments later it began a journey in the opposite direction, searching for Jarg. The grenade fell short, exploding near the entrance of the hangar and well away from both Jarg and the Firespray. At least it wasn't me, Turel thought with a grin.

The explosion had rocked the entire hangar, distracting Laren and his own adversary for a brief second even as they were locked in a high stakes duel. The Kaleesh had managed to draw two vibroblades and pressed the offensive against the Pantoran. Laren, bearing two new cuts on his face and his left leg was managed to defend himself well, though not disarm the well-trained Kaleesh. Because the Kaleesh was so insistent on cutting Laren to pieces, it didn't leave the mercenary any time to draw either of his blasters. Sorno knew this and pressed his advantage, hoping that brute force and a full offensive would win him the day.

"You and your Jedi -" Sorno swung his right vibroblade, aiming to cut Laren's torso. The Pantoran blocked the strike and countered, using the momentum to spin and kick at the exposed legs of Sorno. "We'll gut you like dogs when this is over."

"I'm sure you will, lad," Laren responded, his voice calm and collected amid the fighting. "But right now, we're both trying to gut each other, so don't get too far ahead of yourself."

The Kaleesh roared with fury and attacked Laren, spinning and slashing wildly. Laren backpedaled slowly, managing to block or dodge a majority of his opponent's strikes. However, Laren tripped over the edge of a crate and hit the floor hard. The Kaleesh came crashing down upon Laren, his blades aiming for the Pantoran's exposed chest. In rapid succession Laren reached for the stiletto dagger in his right boot. He drew the dagger and thrust upward into Sorno's neck just as he stabbed Laren in the torso. The Panotran cried out in pain and fell backward, unable to move and warm blood coursing over his trunk. It's up to you now, Jedi. As blackness overcame him for the second time, he wondered if it was death, or unconsciousness taking him.

---

What felt like moments later, the Pantoran mercenary awoke with a start. He was lying on a cold, metallic floor, and his torso ached with the recent pain of being stabbed. Was he on the ship they had stolen?

"Peace, Pantoran," came the voice of Turel. Laren looked to his left as the Jedi crouched beside the mercenary. The Jedi looked worse for wear, his own left arm wrapped in a make-shift sling. It looked burnt. "You are safe."

"And your friend?" Laren asked, his own voice soft from fatigue.

"In the cockpit, piloting us to a neutral system. We'll drop you off somewhere your allies can find you."

Laren nodded. "You know, Jedi, I think I remember why I was at the Winter Palace."

"Oh?"

"I was there to kill you, and your man."

"But something went wrong," Turel continued. "Intel was off, the mission went south - for both of us."

"We were both set up." Though Laren was groggy and weak, he could feel the anger welling up inside of him.

"Indeed, mercenary. But hey, at least you made a new friend!"

"We are not friends, Jedi. But thank you for saving my life."

"I suspect your - what do they call it - Dread Lord? Will be surprised to hear you're alive. Selika has never been one to enjoy calls from targets she wants dead."

"Don't remind me, Jedi. Don't remind me."

Laren examined the makeshift bandages on his torso as he struggled to piece together all that had happened and the repercussions of Selika’s apparent betrayal. The soft hum of hyperspace inside the vessel’s hold threatened to lull the Pantoran back into unconsciousness. He tried to sit up only to have the Jedi’s hand quickly appear to press down on his collarbone.

“Whoa there, I’m no doctor, but I don’t think you should try to get up just yet. Sirca helped dress your wound; he’s at least had some combat medic training. We’ll get you fixed up when we stop.”

Laren laid back down with a resigned sigh and turned to face his Human benefactor. “How long until we get there?”

“Oh, I’d say about six hours or so.”

The Pantoran’s golden eyes wandered down to Turel’s sling. “Well-” He let out a painful cough. “-since we have some time on our hands, how’d you manage to beat that flying Devaronian and get me out of there?”

Turel flashed a cocky grin. “Well, after you so kindly took care of that Jarg fella.”

---

“JARG!” The Devaronian mercenary cried out after watching his long-time partner collapse with a stiletto dagger protruding from his neck.

With his opponent momentarily distracted, Turel seized the initiative to attack while he wasn’t trying to evade or deflect a hail of blaster bolts. He quickly deactivated his saber and transitioned to his pistol.

I’ll only get one shot at this so make it count.

The Jedi took aim and opened fire on the hovering Mandalorian, targeting the mercenary's jetpack. He had a clear line of sight and no opposition but still missed the first two bolts. Sorno noticed the shot whizzing by and began to turn as Turel’s third bolt found its mark. The blast caused the jetpack to become unstable and immediately go full throttle sending the Devaronian chest first into the ground. Sorno had enough presence of mind to hit the safety release just as he crashed into the hard floor. The jetpack flew into a nearby wall and exploded.

Turel briskly walked up and kicked the mercenary's heavy repeater away before pointing his pistol at his dazed opponent.

Sorno looked up to have the blinding crimson light of an aiming laser in his face. “Well, you gonna finish what you started Jedi?”

Before Turel could respond the main hangar door, Sirca had sealed earlier blew open with a controlled explosion. The Jedi knew he only had seconds before the smoke cleared and Hutt thugs poured in. He clicked his pistol to stun.

“Not today.” He pulled the trigger and Sorno went limp after getting hit with a blue ring of energy from the blaster.

Turel ran toward Laren who still had a dead Kaleesh on top of him. The Plagueian was still breathing. He kicked Jarg’s body off and ignited his saber. Shouting echoed from the now open door as the smoke began to clear. The Jedi plunged himself into the currents of the Force and extended his free hand as he held his blazing saber in the other. He didn’t have time to stabilize Laren; they had to leave now. The Pantoran slowly lifted off the ground and floated toward the ship with Turel briskly walking behind. He gently set Laren down on the durasteel floor of the Firespray’s cargo hold and turned around to raise the landing ramp when a group of thugs opened fire.

“We’re on! Get out of here--”

No sooner did the Jedi utter those words then a stray blast caught him in the shoulder, sending him falling to the ground as the ramp closed and the ship took off.

---

“And that’s about it. You woke up not long after we high-tailed it out of the system.”

Laren nodded, not knowing how much of the Jedi’s story to believe.