The Bothan’s fur rippled slightly at the Ryn’s parting words. Unlike many of the more prominent members of his species, Kre’fey was not a naturally gifted diplomat, but Bothan society forced one to become at the very least an experienced one. Bandor grumbled, his brown eyes staring at the disappearing craft. What did I do wrong? Most people would have at least said something more friendly. And then it hit him. Most normal people. Ragnar clearly isn’t normal; he’s insange. Most people really don’t want to die…well, I have nothing to lose…if the carrot fails, there’s always the stick. Kre’fey tapped a button his comlink.

“Ragnar, you are the most selfish person I have ever met. You may be even on the levels of which I’ve heard the Hutts are capable. If you really want to die, fine, so be it. But at least do it for the betterment of others who will live. For the betterment of people could well get the same fate that you did. You act as if there is no future for our kind, but there is a light up ahead. Clearly, you have not the audacity to hope nor the wisdom to learn from the past. There were dark times before, while Empire under Palpatine flourished and hunted down your people. But then the light arose, and the New Republic replaced the Empire, and your people were restored to their former greatness. The times are not as dark as they once were, and yet you are discouraged that there is no future? There can be a future, but we must act on it. And if we do not act together, then fine. You will do your crusade for vengeance, and probably get knocked off by some bounty hunter looking for some extra dough. The annals of history will know you as INS has portrayed: the Ryn terrorist who killed or destroyed anything in sight. A minor footnote in a long timeline of strife. But you have so much more potential, you could be the liberator of the oppressed, you could be the very being which judges criminals like the Hutts with the authority and legitimacy of a judge. If you were but willing to try. Leave, so be it. But remember my words. If you change your mind about the proposal, just pass the word into the underground current. And we will seek you out. Kre’fey out.”

The Bothan tapped a button on his comlink, shutting it down. Almost immediately, the fleet gig gingerly pivoted about and surged away towards the distant Hammer. His fur rippling, the alien smashed a closed fist against the side of the shuttle. How much he hated failure…

Well, if he's gonna be like that . . .

“Calm down, crazy pants. I said I'm on-my-way. We need to talk; you and me, face-to-face, right now, alone.

“Gods, I knew you Bothans were touchy, but this is ridiculous.”

Well, at least now I know he's not planning to vape us if we don't play along.

Either this Kre'fey fellow was crazy, stupid, or truly a believer. Jarvis planned to find out. He took one last glance at his instruments to confirm that Kre'fey was turning back toward him, then activated the autopilot and headed for the only docking ring designed to accommodate the small craft. Haltingly, almost painfully, Jarvis unstrapped his holster from his hip and threw the blaster into a corner, glancing one last time at the bulkhead before manning the airlock controls.

He waited for the proximity alarm, checking his instruments and extending the short docking arm. A green light flared to life as the air seal was confirmed, followed shortly by another once the area between the two ships was pressurized. Jarvis grabbed the lever firmly, immersing himself in the heartless persona that had become his only refuge, and opened the airlock.

A few seconds later a Bothan clad in crimson stepped from the dark portal. “I think it's safe to assume that we're both armed; I consider the fact that neither of us is shooting at the other a good sign. I'd offer you a seat, but . . . no, no I wouldn't.”

Jarvis sighed, eying the Bothan warrior. “There's not a whole lot I know, but I generally don't miss the information that does present itself. The Empire has begun mobilizing assets in the region, presumably because I've started blowing stuff up, and some of it just happened to belong to them. But you―a total stranger with no apparent source of income or supply―found me before the 'mighty' Galactic Empire, in all its wrath and fury.

“You don't talk like a man with a Bothan Attack Cruiser and a handful of ex-New Republic naval officers. You speak of the downfall of the Galactic Empire and the destruction of the Hutt criminal organization, but who are you to even suggest such a thing? Now you've obviously survived since the fall of the Republic, which would imply that you are not an idiot. You have people―presumably mostly Bothans, judging by your ship―following you, and people don't generally both follow and survive an insane man for very long, so that one's doubtful as well.

“So what does that leave? I find it hard to believe that you're Grand Admiral Thrawn hiding away as a Bothan, so you won't be conquering the galaxy with one warship and a fleet shuttle. I have a theory, Mr. Kre'fey; but I would like to hear from you. Who are you, what are you doing on my ship, and why should I listen to anything you have to say?” Jarvis was careful to keep his tone neutral, though the words themselves might be misconstrued as threatening or otherwise hostile.

In truth, however, Jarvis wanted to know who this man was, beyond a former flag officer of a dead Republic.

"...Who are you, what are you doing on my ship, and why should I listen to anything you have to say?"

There are so many ways to respond to that; I could just give him the run-of-the-mill response that everyone in teh Trax Sector gets...we're mercenaries...but after that speech, I doubt he'll believe I'm just a mercenary. Of course, Alliance High Command or Intelligence won't like me spilling the beans about this operation...hmm... Kre'fey casually stroked his chin beard.

"I have already told you the truth, my name is Bandor Kre'fey and that ship over there is mine. But that's only a half-truth. For the last year, I have been leading a group of freedom fighters known as Inferno Fleet in the Trax Sector under the alias of Kolir Dha'tey. We've had some success, managed to openly free one world from an Imperial's oppression, and freed many others secretly. In the process, we've built up a small war fleet with the resources to support it almost indefinitely. We're not all Bothans; my crew on the Hammer is predominantly Bothan, since I took the ship with me from the Bothawui Defence Force. But the bulk of the ships are crewed by other freedom fighters, from old New Republic forces or natives from the Sector. What I lead is not a completely ramshackle force, but the rising sword which is the beginning of the end for the Empire.

As for what I am doing on your ship, is trying to persuade to at the very least not damage that sword I am forging. And at the very most, become part of that sword which liberate the oppressed and show the galaxy the audacity of hope in these bleak times. That is why am I talking to you, and why I haven't had the Hammer blow us both up; because I know that you're more than the half-sketched terrorist which INS makes you out to be. I see potential in you, and I would like to it fulfilled. My forces can augment yours in the destruction of the Hutts; my supplies can help your forces go further and better-armed. After all, we really are, at least for the moment, after the same goal.

We can work that out if you want. Isn't that enough to consider my offer, at least?"

Jarvis watched the Bothan intently, trying to read the other man cast in the dim light and hidden under that crimson uniform. But he couldn't, and not for some mystical power of concealment . . .

Jarvis had been blinded by the memory which resurfaced at that particular moment, shaking him to his core. He watched once more in his mind's eye as the slave ship carrying his dearest friend erupted in flame, a product of his own order. He had gone too far in that moment, and he had never turned back from the course that single act set him on. He dared never hope again, never to laugh, never to smile . . . except in wicked glee and cruel pleasure.

But this Bothan―this Kre'fey―was asking Jarvis to look back, asking him to consider the path he had taken, offering him a crossroads from which to correct his former error.

But could he accept? Was he still capable of walking another path?

As the image of Ferril's death faded from sight, others rose in its place. Images of a Hutt stronghold turned to molten slag, of the Ko Vari defense forces shattered against a swarm of torpedoes, of starports vanishing in blasts of fire, of escape pods turned to vapor at Jarvis' own command.

Total war . . .

Jarvis sighed once more, his vision snapping into clarity as his eyes focused on the Bothan again. “Inferno fleet . . . Crimson uniforms, red-painted warships?” He began nodding, smiling approvingly. “I think I could get used to that; after all, everything burns.

"I can't promise you that I'll play by your rules. I can't promise you that my men will follow your command. I refuse to promise you that we won't just vanish one day, without a word spoken or a message sent. I can promise you this: if you help me fight, I'll help you win.”

Jarvis extended his hand to Kre'fey; one handshake would seal this deal and set both the Inferno Fleet and The Wandering Ones on their joint course, into the heart of the enemy. Besides, Jarvis was ready to get back to killing bad guys.

Inferno Base, Inferno

Sparing a glance from the latest holo-reports, Commodore Dha’tey noticed a ruby light flickering on his wooden desk. His face curled up into a predator’s grin. He arose abruptly from his desk and walked out of the office’s blastdoors. Two Inferno Marines immediately fell in place behind the striding officer; with the arrival of the Wandering Ones at Inferno Base, Kolir had implemented many more security procedures. After all, one just doesn’t let alleged terrorists freely walk around, even if they currently were allied with his cause. They entered a turbolift, and the Bothan noticed a crack in one of the marine’s armor.

“How did you get that?” questioned the Bothan.

“Sparring with the Wandering Ones. They’ve gotten a bit better.”

That was an understatement, for some of the Wandering Ones’ members. Sure, most of them knew how to hold their own in a fight; after all, living in Hutt Space and with security or somewhat shady professions made one tough. But the former Republic Special Forces units had also made them smarter, and even more refined. The Bothan Jeswandi martial artists and their SpecForce protégés had taught some of their art to the newcomers, along with a host of other military skills. Now, the Wandering Ones were throwing their opponents around and dodging melee attacks as good, or nearly as good, as most of the Inferno Marines. They were getting more dangerous.

The turbolift stopped, and Kre’fey with his guards marched down several corridors to another blast door. This one guarded by another pair of marines and a human wearing an ashen-colored uniform. Sergeant Lawless smiled at the approaching Commodore.

“We’ve finally gotten them to talk,” announced the intelligence agent, “it took some of our Bavo 6 stock; more than I’d like to admit…”

“Have they said anything of value to our operations?” questioned the Commodore tersely.

Lawless nodded. “Yeah, some. I have a pair of droids with an armed stenographer taking it all down in the cell right now.”

“How long have they been in there for?”

The sergeant beamed. “An hour and a half. I’ve never seen a hutt talk so fast. The 3PO unit is actually doing work, for once.”

A slight grin engendered itself on Kolir’s face. “I see. Well, you know your job. Analyse it all once he’s…it’s done spilling the beans…and give me the important stuff right away…I’ll take a look at all of it after that.”

“Yes sir.”

Before

The Wandering One emerged into realspace with its companions trailing closely behind. The cluttered assembly of freighters and transports that was their Wandering Home floated in the darkness before them.

“One last time,” Jarvis stated to his command crew. “Today we met a Bothan named Kolir Dha'tey, leader of a mercenary organization known as Inferno Fleet. He and his organization have business in Hutt Space, and we have agreed to aide him so long as his goals and ours are the same. This is the story I have told you, and so it is now the story that is true. Do you understand?”

Everyone present offered their assent, and Jarvis nodded approvingly in response. Beyond the command crew of The Wandering One, no one in the organization knew Bandor Kre'fey's true name, and no one ever would. This had been Jarvis' promise to the Bothan, and it was a promise he intended to keep.

Jarvis took a deep, calming breath, and gave the order: “Okay, let's do this.” The comm officer gave him a thumbs up, and Jarvis tapped his commlink, now speaking to all his followers.

“This is Jarvis Ragnar; I have something that needs to be said.

“I have made myself a liar; I have broken my promise to you. My only hope is that I have done so because that promise was poorly made.

“You see, I have allied myself with an organization known as Inferno Fleet, and in so doing have abandoned the solitude which I had promised you. I know little and can tell you even less, but I have decided that this alliance represents an opportunity to cause our enemies so much pain.

“I don't know where this new path will lead us; I can't promise that we will continue to hide from the Empire. Much will change, much will stay the same. This much I know for sure: two against ten thousand is twice as good as one. So long as Inferno Fleet's goals are in line with ours, I will assist them.

“We are now in this for the long term. Do not expect a speedy end under my command. I remain committed to fighting until my inevitable death, but now more than ever I seek to stave off that inevitability for as long as possible. If you have joined us seeking freedom from this life, if you have come here to cast aside your mortal bindings and embrace the eternal darkness; I suggest you leave, and I now give you this chance to do so.

“I have changed the rules. I have altered the goals. I have embraced a new path, one that I hope runs for much longer and passes many more dark and vile places. You have three hours to express your desire to leave. That is all.”





After

The door slid open and Captain Lunewell rushed through it, stumbling to a stop at the sight before him. Jarvis Ragnar knelt before some kind of shrine, smoke rising gently from it as the Ryn sat cross-legged, his tail curled around himself on the floor. Before he had been startled from his unusual ritual, Lunewell was sure his head had been bowed. “What?” He barked aggressively, all but snarling at the human intruder.

“The Assassin corvette's been repaired, thanks to our new friends.”

“And?”

“And we need you for crew selection,” The man clarified.

Sighing heavily, Jarvis uncrossed his legs and stood up, glancing one last time at the shrine before nodding and leading Lunewell out of the small quarters. “Next time, you knock.”

“Sure thing, Boss. Sorry to have―”

Jarvis cut him off with a gesture, walking to the bridge in silence. Whatever he had been doing, it was obvious that being disrupted was not a good thing.

“What is it?” He asked finally, the now-familiar array of holoprojectors staring back at him the moment he stepped onto the bridge.

Slippy blinked her overly large eyes several times, then spoke up when no one else did. “We've got to put a new crew together, Boss, and it isn't working out all that well.”

“Remind me how many people we lost, after I told them the new way of things . . .” Everyone glanced about in confusion, obviously not seeing where this was going. “Come on; you can do it. I believe in you.”

Finally the Barabel, Sheish, answered: “None, boss. Nobody left.”

He nodded, a sardonic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “If we were shorthanded, then this would be a problem. We aren't, so it's not. This is the rule:

“Bother me when there's a problem; don't bother me when there's not a problem. Just because Slippy is pathologically indecisive doesn't mean you have to call me every time you need to choose between iced cubes and iced chips. I gave it a captain, you gave it a command crew; pick the rest and let's be done with this. I'll be in my room.” And with that he turned and left.

Walking down the corridors of his ship, his mind still focused on the smoke rising softly within his quarters, Jarvis shook his head in bewilderment. These people were the kind of beings who had been cut so deep that they couldn't imagine ever being whole again, ever being healed again. They came to him seeking an end to it all, seeking the sweet embrace of infinity. Jarvis had promised that to them not so long ago―promised them death in the midst of killing―and then he had taken that away and put their fates in the faceless hands of some Bothan none of them had ever met. He had rewritten their destinies without thought or consideration for those who carried out his every command.

And still―undeniably, unyieldingly, inexplicably―they follow him.