Jarvis was crying. He was literally crying. It wasn't the smoke, which burned his eyes. It wasn't his hand, charred by an overloaded console. It wasn't his cracked ribs, courtesy of failed inertial dampeners. No, this ran deeper.

He drew his weapon and fired into the back of Zal Marrick's head, the Twi'lek's lekku twitching violently before falling limp.

“Don't make me kill you too, Gren.” He turned the weapon on his Rodian friend, who had drawn his own weapon in response to Jarvis' unnatural act.

“Put the blaster down, Allara. This doesn't concern you.”

The Ubese woman didn't flinch as she aimed through the jet of coolant pouring from some other broken system.

“I know she didn't have anything to do with this, and I'm pretty sure Ferril isn't dumb enough to turn on me, but I . . . just don't know about you, Gren. I just don't know.”

“Jarvis, what are you doing?” Alara's filtered voice called out from behind him, as steady and neutral as ever.

The tears were still streaming down the Ryn captain's face. “Zal Marrick deserved every bit of the shame his disjointed name implied. I chose to believe in him, and look where he has brought us.”

“Jarvis . . .”

“Do you want to kill me!?” He threw down his weapon, turning to face Allara. “He betrayed us. He betrayed us all!”

“No,” Gren's voice croaked defiantly.

Jarvis fell to his knees. “I have lost . . . everything.” The shuffling sound beside him was probably Ferril crawling out of whatever corner he had been cowering in. “Kill me now, so I won't have to see the end to my failures.”

Allara's masked face shook side to side, her own sorrow now evident in her voice: “Why?”

Proximity alarms blared, and the pockmarked prongs of a RendiliStarDrive Light Corvette appeared through the forward viewport. The little blastboat shook as it was grasped by a tractor beam, the gravity flickering off and then back on as something else gave way under the undampened shock of the beam.

“Jarvis, I would never . . .” Gren began, lowering his weapon and looking to Zal's limp corpse, still seated in the pilot's chair. “Zal?.”

Ferril crawled over to Jarvis, prying the weapon from his grip. “It's okay; we're safe now. We'll . . .” He found himself unable to talk, he too turning to stare at the limp lekku which draped over the back of the chair. Tears began to well up in his eyes. “It can't be.”

Jarvis nodded, breathing heavily. “We have to run. They're coming for us.”

The sound of metal-on-metal rang out as the dead blastboat came to rest in the safe embrace of the rescuing corvette's forward docking bay.

Allara finally holstered her weapon. “We'll be home soon; we'll sort this out then.”

The access hatch was forced open by the corvette's crew and a half-dozen individuals rushed into the cramped space, most of them carrying medkits. Jarvis suddenly wrenched his blaster back from Ferril, firing three quick shots into a Klatooinian who had just stepped into view. He dropped the weapon as everyone drew their own, collapsing onto the floor and shaking his head.

Ferril jumped to his feet, stretching out his arms to fend off the angry crewmen. “Zal Marrick betrayed us. This individual was one of his collaborators. They sold us out to our enemies.”

“We'll sort this out when we get home,” Allara said again, this time meaning it for everyone present.





The Corvette emerged in the Ojom System to meet only another terrifying reality. The image of one of Ojom's orbital starports filled the viewscreen, a huge section of it turned to glowing dust. Two dozen Imperial vessels were vectoring in on the battle-scarred corvette, and the three other ships in-system belonging to The Wandering Ones were broadcasting transponder codes that identified them as impounded vessels.

The comm officer was busy hammering away at his console, shutting off the dozens of demands coming in from a mix of the Ojom Defense Force, the Imperial element in-system, an official League of Nations diplomatic cruiser, and the massive and panicked crowds who filled the Ojom spaceways.

Jarvis couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He just clutched his scorched arm, staring at the glowing cloud that had once been their base of operations. The Imperial ships were moving closer now, their TIE escorts making threatening passes.

“Jarvis,” Allara said, stepping beside him and speaking directly into his ear, “I can't be here. They can't catch me. I have to run . . . Jarvis?”

The shellshocked Ryn somehow managed to pull himself back to the present, remembering his duty to those who remained, and nodded bitterly. “There's a fighter on the starboard docking ring; take it.”

As she turned to leave the bridge without another word, Jarvis added: “Fly well, I have to try to shoot you down.”

She rushed from the bridge, running for her life. There was another long moment as Jarvis stared blankly at the Imperial ships coming to subdue him and his crew.

Then he jerked to a start, releasing the clasp on his holster as he stepped off of the bridge, ignoring the Imperial warships surrounding him, the dull thud of turbolasers trying futilely to strike down a “rogue” starfighter, the incessant demands of the Imperial officer over the comm, or the string of Imperial boarding craft on their way to seize the ship. He walked the decks of the doomed corvette with a single, dispassionate goal.

The leader of the Wandering Ones found his first target manning her station at one of the aft turbolasers. In the second before he shot her, he could see in her eyes the confirmation of his suspicions. He left the weapon's station to continue on, the four other crewmen present trying desperately to save the already dead Vodran.

He would find and kill two more members of the ship's crew before dropping the weapon and sitting on the floor, what he was sure to be his last act of consequence now complete. The Imperial troopers would find him that way moments later, stunning him when he proved unresponsive and dragging his limp form off of the captured vessel.





Jarvis awoke to find himself chained to a table, unable to rise from his seat. Everything seemed to be spinning, and he was pretty sure he had been drugged with something. Once his eyes finally focused enough, he made out two black-clad forms on the far side of the table, almost definitely human, though he couldn't make out their features through the drug-induced haze.

“We don't even ask your kind why you do it,” One of them said contemptuously, and Jarvis strained to pull his vision into clarity, failing. “We just make you pay.”

Jarvis shook his head, finding it hard to talk. “What . . . are you . . . talking about?”

One of them stood up and walked slowly over to Jarvis, becoming slightly more defined as he neared the Ryn. He leaned in close, and Jarvis could just make out the cruel smile on the man's face. “You know, I think Ryn are still on the Imperial slave species list. What do you think, Hal?”

“Already taken care of, Xim,” The other man bellowed. “We're sending them in for processing right now.”

“What do you want from me?” Jarvis had begun crying again, though he wasn't sure if this was because of the drugs or the fear of being responsible for his friend's enslavement.

“We'll get to you, don't worry.”

“But we're gonna make you watch everything you've worked for burn, first.”

“Why?”

The one called Xim smiled again. “You crossed the Empire. Nobody crosses the Empire.”

Crossed the Empire?

The human's arm was a blur as Jarvis' eyes tried to keep up with its motion, then the Ryn felt something stab into his arm and the universe faded to black.

He awoke to a tremendous shudder that ran through the orbital station, warning alarms blaring to confirm hull breaches, gravity failure, and overloaded inertial dampeners. Finding his head clearer now, he surveyed his surroundings quickly: a cell. His only gage of time was the food sitting by the door, apparently hours old.

The station rocked again, and Jarvis could actually hear things breaking. He was terrified, but not of what was happening. His thoughts had returned to Zal and Ferril, two friends whose fates he had sealed. They were his closest friends, but over the last few months . . .

The last few months.

They had been hunted like animals. It had mostly been the Hutts, but there were others, too. They had picked away at Jarvis and his team, stripping them of resources and costing them lives. Every job he accepted could have been a trap, and many were. He had lost good people, sturdy ships, loyal clients, and . . .

And my best friend. Two of them, now.

Someone knocked on the cell door and Jarvis stumbled backward in surprise. The door hissed open and a single figure stepped forward, clad in her ever-present battle armor.

Allara stretched a helping hand out to her leader, pulling him to his feet and all but dragging him from his cell. “We don't have much time.”

And they were off. There were four others who had accompanied Allara to the holding cells, where almost the entire crew of the now-impounded Light Corvette had been kept. They met up with another five members of the rescue team on the way to the nearest docking bay, one of them badly wounded. Someone handed Jarvis a blaster, which he took without hesitation.

They met surprisingly little resistance, but here or there Jarvis saw the bodies of Imperial troopers. “What's going on here?”

“Ojom's staying out of this,” A rugged human in the group said. “We've got a couple minutes before any Imperial ships still in-system get here, but we've got to hurry.”

Something caught Jarvis' eye and he stopped in his tracks. Backing up a few paces, he looked through a viewport set in the wall and into the room beyond it. There were a couple dozen individuals inside the leisure area, but two black-clad figures were what interested him.

“We have to go, Jarvis,” Allara shouted as he blasted the controls on the door and began prying it open.

“Then go; I've got a score to settle.” Finally forcing the door back into the wall, he made his way straight for the two humans, ignoring everything else, stopping right in front of them. “Xim, Hal.”

“He's Xim,” The first man said. “I'm Hal, actually.” Neither of them seemed quite so smug now.

Jarvis brought his blaster to bear and burned a hole into each of their foreheads, eliciting cries of panic from the terrified bystanders. He turned to Allara. “Let's go.”

There were another thirty or so members of The Wandering Ones who met up with them on their way to what was sure to be a fantastic escape. They rounded one final corner and a team of three dozen souls and twice as many droids were working frantically, slicing the impound mechanisms strapped to two of Jarvis' former ships.

“Thermal charges!” Allara yelled as she ran forward. “We don't have time to make this pretty. Blast the restraining arms off! We've got to go!”

They were clear only a minute later, on their way to meeting up with the two ships that had assaulted the space station from the outside and covered Allara's entry.

Jarvis had found himself on a Marauder-class Corvette, where he had forced his way to the sensor station. “Turn us around,” He demanded suddenly, working the controls as he tried to get a more detailed scan of a particular vessel.

“But sir―”

“Turn us around!” He yelled, refusing to look away from the screen. “That bulk freighter, Destiny's Chains, Ferril's onboard.”

“How―how can you even know that?” The helmsman shouted, clearly convinced that Jarvis was going mad.

“It's a slave ship, and all the other Ryn were going to be shipped off for sale.”

“We don't have time for this!” One of the crew members shouted.

“I've got Allara on the comm. She wants to talk to you, boss.”

Jarvis felt like his head was going to explode. He looked back at the sensor data, painfully aware of the Imperial ships that were closing in on him. He entered a few more commands and sent targeting data to the tactical station. “Hit it with a full spread of torpedoes. Hojim, get a team together and head for the shuttles. We're going to get him.”

None of that mattered. He was done with leading good men to the slaughter.

“Sir . . .”

“DO IT!”

“I'm not familiar with this ship's layout and our sensor data isn't conclusive,” The tactical station reported. “I don't think―”

“I've given you target coordinates. Hit them.”

“Yes sir.”

The set of torpedoes streaked forward, one of them detonated by the target vessel's weak defensive lasers, but the others scoring precision hits. “No . . .” Plumes of fire erupted from the ship as any number of internal systems overloaded and exploded. The entire vessel vanished in a flash of light as secondary explosions destabilized and detonated the freigher's reactor core. “No . . . NO!”





Some people are allowed to live only so they can see everything they know and love turn to ash and dust. Jarvis Ragnar now understood that he was one of those people. He had executed his closest friend and killed another in a half-mad attempt to save him. He had allowed his personal grief to delay their escape, costing dozens of lives when the Empire caught up with them, still too far into the Ojom gravity field to jump away.

He could feel Allara's regret at returning for him, and knew that she was growing farther away from him with each moment she devoted to pondering the past weeks.

They now totaled six corvettes of various design, four of them badly damaged in the escape from Ojom. It was becoming increasingly clear that they were all that remained of Jarvis' once-legal organization.

And they had nowhere to go.

Jarvis was startled back to reality by the sound of his quarters' door chime. Gren was waiting for him outside. “We've got someone on the comm you should talk to.”

Two minutes later Jarvis was staring at the slightly distorted holoimage of Captain Tyler Moliere, a member of the Ojom Defense Force. “Forgive the image quality; if anyone found out I was talking to you . . .”

“How did you find us?” Jarvis demanded, his hand dropping to his blaster as if he might shoot the hologram.

“I found him,” Allara responded, but Jarvis just ignored her.

“What do you want?” He demanded again, crossing his arms.

“I thought you might want to know what's happened,” The Ojom human answered.

“Not really.” Jarvis turned and took the captain's seat.

“The bomb that destroyed your base also dealt significant damage to a nearby convoy of Imperial merchant vessels,” Tyler began, ignoring Jarvis' detached state. “We have recovered no hard evidence of who is responsible or why, but I find it hard to believe that the damage suffered by the Imperial convoy was coincidental.”

That remark drew Jarvis' attention, but the man wasn't finished with his report yet.

“We made every effort to assure the Imperial investigative team of your innocence, but they became set on dismantling your organization. Suffice it to say: the alien-friendly face of the New Order only runs skin deep. Whatever their reasons, they seemed content to hold you responsible.”

“And the government of Ojom just stood by while the Empire ignored your and the League of Nations' treaties with us?” Jarvis asked, idly picking at the arm rest of his captain's chair.

“One does not cross the Empire. Ever.”

Jarvis nodded disgustedly. “Saw that one coming. A piece of advice, captain: drop this call before anyone finds out who you're talking to.”

The captain nodded understandingly. “Good luck.”

The image dissolved and the holoimager shut down, then everyone turned their attention to Jarvis.

“Well, looks like I was right: I'm blaming it all on you guys.” Several of the bridge crew chuckled at Jarvis' comment, but he just kept picking at the corner of the armrest.

“You're still in there somewhere aren't you, Jarvis?” Allara asked, silencing everyone.

There was a long pause before he answered. “Let's hope not.”

“Let's just get this straight,” A Twi'lek said, apparently a little confused. “They're hunting us because we aren't human?”

“They're hunting us because we didn't play by their rules,” Gren countered, shaking his head in dismay. “We can't run from the Empire.”

For the first time in several days, Jarvis stopped and really considered what was going on. “They thought it'd be quick and easy. They were wrong.” He jerked visibly as something switched within him, and for a brief moment he was their leader again. Standing to his feet, he took charge once more. “Gren, Jim,” He began, using Allara's nickname (though by now most of the crew had found out she was in fact a female under that suit), “Put a list together―everywhere that might be beyond Imperial eyes. We need somewhere to put our ships back together and tend to our wounded.

“And I'm going to need a tactical report and a list of everyone who is still with us. I know we're all running with reduced crews, but we're just going to have to work around that until . . . until. So let's get to it.” He made for the exit. “I'll be in my quarters, pondering the meaning of life.”





Abek's Station, Sisar Run

The crew was beginning to feel that they had overstayed their welcome. Six ships of their size at such a relatively small space station tended to draw attention, and this close to Hutt Space, that was the last thing they wanted. The ships and their men had been patched up as well as the station's facilities would allow, and everyone was eager to get on the move again.

Jarvis had been holed up in his quarters almost the entire time. Allara and Gren had kept things running for the time being, but everyone was missing their leader, and his absence didn't help their own growing fears and tortured spirits any.

“Alright, that's it,” Allara said to the bridge crew after yet another unsuccessful attempt to get Jarvis to talk to her. “We're leaving in six hours. Get everyone ready.”

The six hours passed in a flurry of motion, and Jarvis managed to pull himself from his room to give the final jump order. “All ships, all crews, this is Jarvis Ragnar. I've . . . come to terms with what I have cost us all. I . . . cannot begin to repay your loyalty and friendship . . .

“But I can't―” A dozen or so bright flashes froze him to the core. This can't be happening. He heard a slight rustling somewhere behind him, then the distinct sound of a blaster being fired. Whirling around, still half-dazed, he saw Gren collapsed on the floor, his blaster having fallen from his grasp. Allara kept her weapon trained on the fallen Rodian, who was twitching uncontrollably from apparent nerve damage.

“They're gonna kill us all,” Gren said, pointing out of the viewport at the vessels that had emerged from hyperspace. “They said they'd let everyone go if you . . . if you . . .”

“And you believed them!?” Jarvis raged, moving closer to his dying friend. He pulled his blaster and pointed it at an approaching crew member.

The alien held up the medkit defensively. “I might be able to save him.”

“Yeah, that's why I'm pointing a blaster at your head. Back off.” He turned back to Gren, the Ryn leader too far gone to feel anything but despair at being betrayed yet again.

“I had to try,” The fading Rodian whispered. “They're going to kill you all. I had to try.” With his last bit of strength, Gren reached up and handed Jarvis the keycard to his room. “You won't stop. You can't.” And he was gone.

“Jarvis, he was going to―”

“Don't!” He roared, pointing defiantly at Allara. “Don't even . . .”

He swung his blaster around to the comm officer. “Stop. It.”

The comm officer withdrew his hands from the controls, where he had obviously been doing something.

“You have thirty seconds to kill Jarvis Ragnar,” A booming voice said over the comm.

As if to answer, one of the formation's Corellian Corvettes broke away and charged the fifteen Hutt vessels, firing pointlessly but defiantly as it went.

“Run,” Was the only thing the unidentified captain cried.

“Get us out of here,” Jarvis said weakly, having dropped his blaster and now cradling his dead friend's body.

Just before the remaining ships jumped into hyperspace, the lone Corellian Corvette rammed itself into the largest of the Hutt vessels, engulfing both ships in a spectacular fireball and tearing into the nearby assailants.

Those who remained, fled once again.





“Jarvis, I'm leaving.”

The Ryn remained catatonic. He was just staring out of the viewport. He used to love staring at the stars.

“If I stay, eventually I will turn on you. I know that now.”

But all the stars held was more pain, more anguish.

“And if you go?” He asked, saying it as if he was asking what she had eaten for breakfast.

“I'm going to run. I'm going to run far away from here, and for both our sakes I hope we never meet again. You're going to get them killed, Jarvis, and I won't have any part of that.”

He nodded, as detached as if she had asked him if he liked pie. “Alright.”

He pointed at the comm officer, gesturing indistinctly. “Our good friend Jim has decided to leave us,” He began in the same disinterested tone. “This is your one chance to choose: either run with him, or stay and follow me wherever I go. Understand that if you go now, you are free of any obligations you may feel to me, this crew, or our unfortunate destiny . . . but if you stay, I can assure you that death will be your only eventual release. You have two hours to decide.”

He was surprised to see so few leave. He had half expected to end up with that Twi'lek with the damaged lekku and the two Gamorreans as the only ones who stuck around. They were only moments away from the split now, and Jarvis and a few others had traveled to the ship Allara and the others would take, ostensibly to say final goodbyes.

Jarvis glanced at the datapad he had just retrieved from Gren's quarters, reading the list one more time. “Hey Marl,” He said casually, glancing from the datapad to the face of the man who turned to acknowledge him.

“Yeah boss?”

Jarvis smiled. “You can't hide from me.” And he shot the man in the chest. He stumbled to the floor, clutching the cauterized wound, obviously shocked into a state of near-total disorientation. Jarvis walked over to the dying man, using his blaster to shoo away those who tried to help. He turned the datapad over to show what was on its screen. “Do you know the difference between you and Gren? He turned on me because he had lost hope . . . because I had lost his hope. You―apparently―just like money.” He leaned in closer, whispering into the man's ear. “You're going to die now.” He leaned back just far enough that the blaster bolt he discharged into Marl's ear didn't fling the man's scorched flesh onto his clothes.

Jarvis stood back up and glanced casually at those gathered around. Smiling, he pointed his blaster at another. “Hey Jon-Jon.”





Jarvis returned to those who remained loyal to him with a blaster pack that needed recharging and a list that he wasn't quite finished checking off. With Allara's crew―now reduced by a dozen or so―jumping away in the background, Jarvis personally visited each of his remaining ships, carrying out Gren's last will and testament.

When he was finished, he was confident that everyone left had been loyal to him before he had started shooting their friends. All the faces he passed were considerably more grim than he had ever seen them before, but he remained detached and calm. He was centered now. He understood.

He flicked a button on his command chair and tapped the commlink clipped to his ear. “This is Jarvis Ragnar speaking. We need to talk.” He began pacing idly, glancing at the terrified command crew. “I have lost every one of my substantial friends in the past week. I have become an enemy of the Galactic Empire, and I have watched as what I'm sure was the most loyal individual left to me rammed a Hutt cruiser in order to save my life. All my dreams have turned to dust, and all my hopes have been . . . purified . . . by fire.

“I now understand what I am here to do.

“All I have left is vengeance.”