#redemption773

Urok Meheved did not lift his head when he heard the rattling of the doors to his chamber as they parted. A fist struck an armored body. A winded grunt was followed by a gruff command. “Move!” 

He listened while two sets of footsteps approached, his calloused thumb tracing the point of his blade, but he could not be shaken from his thoughts.

Why had he been forsaken in this way? Every effort he’d made to restore his honor had been devastated, his plans made futile. His daughter was a disgrace to him, yet she walked free. He’d been so close, only for retribution to be denied him by some filthy outsiders – a pair of clones, nonetheless. It was beyond insulting. 

It was, by his estimation, justification for war. 

Henceforth, my people shall have enmity with your people. I shall never rest from hunting you down. Urok’s teeth ground together as hatred burned within him. 

The footsteps stopped before him. And lingered, waiting. 

“What?” He broke the silence at last, without looking. 

“This outsider filth requested an audience with you,” said the female voice of the Tribulation soldier.

“Who is he that I should care?” 

The stranger spoke, his voice distorted by a helmet with a vocal modulator into a guttural, ragged sound. “I am CX-2, a former operative in service to the Empire.” 

Urok glared at the floor as he processed this information. Thus far the Empire had not been interested in his home planet. A sense of foreboding and dread stirred. 

“If your…Empire wishes to occupy my territory, how does it intend to compensate us?” He growled, “How much blood is it willing to expend?” 

“You mistake my purpose. I am no longer a pawn of that regime. I am here of my own volition. My reasons are my own.” 

“Which are?” 

“I have enemies. I believe they are shared by you.” 

The tip of the blade slipped. Urok stared as the pad of his thumb began to blossom pearls of blood. Hope spawned anew. He chuckled, at last lifting his gaze to scrutinize the stranger who stood at the foot of his throne.

The figure arraigned in armor was tall and slender, wiry muscles beneath the form-fitted attire. He carried himself with a deadly calm; silent and calculating.  

Yes. Here is one who can be useful to me. 

“And,” Urok said quietly, “if I set you upon them, what will you do? When you find them?” 

“My quarrel is with the men who freed your daughter. If I find them, I will eliminate them. But I will bring your daughter to you, with whom you may deal as you see fit,” explained the operative. 

The offer was too enticing to be true. Urok frowned, watching the blood trail down his thumb in contemplative stillness. Should this man fail him, Urok would attend to him as he had done to all others before him. The cost would be little. What had he to lose?

Everything. 

“Remove your helmet. I wish to see your face,” he demanded. 

The stranger before him hesitated only a moment. Then the willowy arms lifted and the helmet was dislodged from his head, revealing sunken cheeks and eyes ringed with scars. Rust-colored hair grew in a receding pattern along the top of his scalp, the sides shaved close. As the operative blinked, the cyber-optics in his eyes adjusted their pupils to the light in a glint of neon green. His sober expression was robotic, unchanging.

This man had killed before, and would do so again. 

Urok gave a solemn nod. “Do as you have said. We shall see what comes of it.” 

CX-2 dipped his head with rigid deference. He said nothing, but turned on his heel and dismissed himself from Urok’s presence. 

Watching the operative leave, Urok smeared his bloody thumb on the leg of his pants and stood, speaking to the lone Tribulation soldier who waited beside him. “Tell the others to make ready. We shall not rest.”

“Yes,” answered the helmeted soldier, her voice sinister, “Father.”

⌖ End Part I ⌖

He was dead. 

That was Crosshair’s vague assumption as the lights overhead formed kaleidoscope shapes, and voices rippled through a blurry distortion of figures and movement. 

“You’re gonna need stitches too, you know…That cut on your forehead...” 

“It’ll keep, Phee.” Ranya’s face smudged across his vision. He could feel her hands working, prying away his outer shell to get to the wounded body beneath. But he couldn’t seem to remember what for. 

It felt as if someone had stomped on his head one too many times. His face was a mask of bruises and bleeding. But all of that was made unimportant compared to the visceral pain in his gut. 

He recalled Urok kicking him while he was already down; how many times, he’d lost track. Keeping his hand against the reopened wound had become his one track mind. And now Ranya’s fingers were prying his hand away, rolling up his blacksuit shirt past his ribs while she called for Phee to hand her some gauze. 

“Urok is history, I assume?” Phee was speaking, “That’s one loose end. Now we just gotta figure out where Hunter ended up.” 

At the mention of Hunter’s name, Crosshair rolled his head in the direction of Phee’s voice, finding a blur that resembled her. She was looking down at him. 

“You don’t know…?” His voice was like wind through a rusty grate. 

Phee shook her head. “Only that the Trib captured him after that last explosion. I haven’t seen him since.” 

He could be dead. 

She added, “You’ve seen better days.” 

Crosshair managed to scoff. “No thanks to you.” 

“Like I said before, I appreciate your help. Couldn’t have done it without you.” Phee patted his shoulder. “And don’t worry. We’ll track down Hunter soon as we’re done here. Ra’ni, let me patch up your head.” 

“I’m all right, Phee,” Ranya replied. 

Their muted exchange was lost to him as he lapsed consciousness. Time dragged on without him. When he resurfaced, he couldn’t tell whether one minute had passed or sixty. Judging from the dull humming sound, he was still on the ship. His back was flush with whatever cot or rack he was spread out on. The air was cold and smelled of refrigerant. 

Ranya was still there, as if she had not left. He could hear her movements beside him, slow and methodical. He felt the brush of her fingertips and the touch of something cold against his forehead. 

His vision was like a fogged glass, clearing away as he blinked his eyes and forced them into clarity. A row of stitches curved across Ranya’s brow, above her left eyebrow. It would leave a scar. Not her first, he noticed, judging by the marks on her arms, on her hands. 

She noticed he was awake, offering a thin smile that pressed a crease into her cheek. 

“Hi,” she whispered. 

“Where,” he croaked, “are we…?”

“We’re headed back to Yoheva for fuel.” Ranya dabbed the sweat from his brow. “We’ve been searching for your brother.”

If Hunter hadn’t located them by now, something had to be wrong. To add to the trouble, Fennec Shand had been last seen with him. Any number of things might have happened. Crosshair’s imagination ran off on a wild track. He pictured his eldest brother stranded in the desert somewhere, wounded, the sand hawks circling, waiting for him to collapse so they could swoop in. He shuddered the imagery away. 

Hunter can take care of himself…He always has. 

“Alarah put together a tincture that’s supposed to help you heal,” Ranya said, “You up to it?” 

He nodded, allowing her to help him sit up enough so he could sip from the cup she offered him. The earthy, amber liquid burned as it went down, flooding his chest with warmth. The taste was not quite as pleasant as the sensation, and he scrunched his nose. 

“Thanks,” he managed. 

Sitting up, he was able to get a look at the wound. A seam of stitches drew a slightly uneven line from his last two ribs to about halfway down his belly. There was no trace of the blood from earlier, but he’d carry the scar for the rest of his life. Ranya was not the only one with a collection of those. 

“It’s the least I can do.” Ranya shrugged, drumming her fingers on the empty cup. “Is there anything else you need?”

Crosshair shook his head, easing himself flat onto his back with painstaking caution. It hurt to move, but the alcohol in the tincture was already working to numb the pain. “We need to find Hunter.”

“We will,” Ranya said, drawing the blanket to his shoulders. The back of her hand rested against his forehead. “You just worry about healing up, all right?” 

The steady hum of the ship was the only indicator of time passing. After some hesitation, Ranya spoke again. “And, thank you.” 

Crosshair didn’t answer, but he listened as the pirate rose to her feet, as her boots tramped back to the front of the ship and faded away.

~~⌖~~

Fennec had given up on climbing out of the canyon a long time ago, though exactly how many hours had passed, she could not say. 

The blue of night had sickened to grey, and the first orange rays of dawn had long since speared over the horizon to melt the dew upon the canyon walls. The sky was now an empty void of turquoise, desolate except for the circling hawks and the sun on its cruel arc overhead. 

She felt trapped. The shelter she’d found was a shelf of rock underneath a jutted outcropping, where they would not be easily visible to anyone passing below or above. From dried branches of some scraggly plants, she had created a small fire. She had done her best to make Hunter comfortable. All that was left to do was wait. 

For what? 

There was no way to call for help without attracting unwanted attention. She could not make it back to the capitol city on foot. Not on her own, and especially not with Hunter. 

His condition had deteriorated since they’d last seen Urok and the Tribulation pass through. Since then, his fever had worsened, and he’d not awakened again for quite some time. But every time Fennec checked for a pulse, it was there, hanging on, just barely. 

She wished he would either recover or just go ahead and die already. Either way, she could get out of here. But only one of those options would grant her the credits which Phee Genoa was still holding hostage. 

Fennec had a score to settle. She wasn’t leaving Tevke without those credits. But now, tired, hurting, hungry, she was starting to question whether it was worth it. And, if she was being truly honest with herself, she wanted Hunter to pull through. She couldn’t explain it, but something about him made her feel as though it would be a shame for the galaxy to lose someone so tough and determined. 

There were enough weaklings in the galaxy, leeches who survived solely from the generosity of others. They were takers who added nothing and demanded their “fair share” even though they had not earned it. But Hunter was not one of those people.

Fennec thought, the longer she worked alongside him, that she would not mind working with him again. Against her better judgment, the clone was starting to grow on her. 

You’re just not thinking clearly, she told herself as she walked to the shallow creek bed where she had been getting water ever since she’d discovered it at daybreak. Everything has gone wrong on this job since he showed up. The clone’s nothing but trouble.

Carefully, she scooped some water into a large green leaf from one of the few trees that grew nearby. She would have to carry it carefully, but this was not her first trip carrying water, and she did not entertain the hope that it would be her last. 

With a weary sigh, she began the uneven climb back to the shelter. 

“Come on, Tracker. You need water.” She propped up his head with one hand, trying to coax the leaf past his lips and curling the edges so the water ran as if from a funnel. “You’ve got to actually swallow it. Come on. Buck up.”

When the sound first pricked her ears, Fennec thought it was just the wind howling through the canyon. She batted down the faint spark of hope that rose up inside her at the thought that perhaps the sound belonged to a ship’s propulsor engines. Even if there was indeed a ship passing overhead, more than likely it belonged to Urok and the Tribulation. Trying to hail it from the canyon would be to give herself up for dead. 

As the roar increased, Fennec remained still and listened, Hunter’s head resting in the crook of her arm. The closeness of the sound had removed any doubt of it being a ship. The steady whine of ion engines flooded the air directly above her feeble hiding place. 

A grim realization frightened her. The ship could detect their heat signatures. Between Hunter’s fever and the wood fire, their location would appear to a scanner like a massive red dot. 

With her arm still holding Hunter, Fennec reached for a nearby rock, the closest thing she had to a weapon in that moment. If she could get the drop on them, out of sight, maybe she could at least put up some resistance before being taken down. 

She stared at the rock and scowled. This is ridiculous.

Her career had only just begun. There were still decades of good years left in her. And this was how she was going to go out? 

“How did I let you get me into this?” She asked the unconscious man whose cheek rested against her arm. 

The first shadow slithered up the rock wall, drawing nearer. Fennec braced herself, crouched on the balls of her feet, the rock clutched in her grasp. 

A tall figure rounded the corner, blaster already poised and ready to fire. 

Fennec did not move; she would be dead in an instant if she did. Fortunately, there was no need. 

Phee Genoa fisted a hand on her hip, blaster levelled at Fennec. “Go ahead, throw it.” 

The rock thumped inertly upon the ground. Fennec sighed under the weight of exhaustion, but she couldn’t deny she was relieved to see Phee instead of someone much worse. “You have my credits?” 

“They’re on the ship.” The pirate nodded up and to the right, where the propulsors could still be heard idling. Her attention switched to Hunter, her brow creasing. “Is he…?” 

“Still breathing.” Fennec nudged the feverish man off her arm, propping him up by the shoulders. “Here, take him.” 

Another figure limped into view around the rock wall. Bare-shouldered, bandaged, hunched over a makeshift crutch, was the other clone Fennec remembered as Crosshair.

He glared at her, his gaze shifting to Hunter beside her. Shock stretched the haggard lines of his face as he clambered to kneel in front of his brother, taking him into his arms, feeling his forehead and the sweltering fever burning there. 

“What have you done…?” Something dark and murderous rumbled in his throat as he looked at her.

“Kept him alive.” Fennec scoffed, “You should thank me. Urok would have left him to be eaten alive by those creatures.” 

It was pitiful to watch, Fennec thought, as the wounded man strained and trembled to help an even more wounded man to his feet. The blind leading the blind. The weak helping the weak. 

Crosshair stood, with Hunter’s arm pulled around his skinny shoulders, supporting his brother’s body against his own. His legs quivered; with every step it seemed as though they would fold and collapse, but he did not falter.

Fennec blinked in astonishment, seeing what even her own weariness could not blind her to. Perseverance like this was hard to find. Despite her differences, she had to admit she was starting to respect these two.

Phee took Hunter’s opposite arm, helping Crosshair to support him as they limped from the meager shelter. They left Fennec sitting there. 

Only after a moment did Phee call, “Hey! You want your credits or not?” 

Fennec rose to follow, startled by the sudden awareness of how weak her own legs were. She was afraid she might stumble and fall as she made her way along the narrow trail that ascended the canyon slopes. 

The Providence loomed like a magnificent creature against the skyline, causing Fennec to buckle with relief. She staggered, recovering her balance. None of this would be worth it if she didn’t get those credits. 

With a jolt of dread, she froze in her tracks, her gaze finding the two women waiting with the ship.

One of them was unmistakable; dark hair buffeted by the wind, an olive-complexion, and a face that bore no mercy and no goodwill. Prodigal daughter of Urok. Anaranya Meheved. 

Fennec was all too aware that she was defenseless. The pirate had a derringer holstered on her hip, and a vibroforge in a scabbard at her side -neither drawn- but she had every reason to want Fennec dead. 

“A job’s a job,” Fennec said, knowing any second could be her last. “You should know it was nothing personal. I did what I had to do.”

The crime-lord’s daughter watched her the same way a hawk might have studied its prey from a lofty perch on high. Fennec did not shrink in fear. She would not cower. She would die with dignity. 

“Yes,” said Anaranya. As though the desert itself had released a suspenseful sigh, the pirate turned and walked away. 

Fennec felt as if someone’s fingers had let go of her neck, the shadow of death lifting from her shoulders. She stood, swaying with dizziness in an arid wind that swept the dust past her feeble body as if she were nothing more than a ghost. 

Phee’s voice extended to her out of the void. She was holding out a case of credits and gesturing with it impatiently. “You still want these? Or can I donate them to a charity of my choice?” 

Fennec shook herself out of it, snatching the case from Phee’s hand. 

Finally, what was rightfully hers! 

Time to go. 

She glanced around at the barren wasteland, the futility of her situation crashing upon her. She felt small – a feeling she despised. There was no way she would make it back to the capitol on foot. She would die. The hawks would take all of her and leave the credits to blow in the wind. 

“Hey,” Phee spoke, catching her attention. Nodding toward the ship, the pirate offered, “want a lift?” 

Fennec was taken aback. “Seriously? After everything?” 

This had to be a trap, some final satisfying revenge before Genoa left her for dead. 

“Or you can stay here…” Phee shrugged, heading for the ramp. “…take your chances with the shr’e. They look especially hungry today.”

Fennec observed the circling shapes overhead. It seemed as though they were studying her; she could feel their eyes watching her as she was watching them. She shuddered. What choice did she really have? 

Fine. 

“Change your mind?” Phee asked when Fennec climbed the ramp and joined the others on board. 

Fennec shook her head dismissively. “Just drop me off at the capitol. We’ll go our separate ways.” 

Phee nodded. “For your sake, I hope we never cross paths again – no offense.” 

“None taken.”

Scornful cawing echoed across the endless expanse of desert. Pausing in mid-step, Hunter tipped his head back and squinted at the pair of winged silhouettes as they soared across the blinding sun. 

“Don’t stop!” Rough hands shoved him onward, but his legs were like string and gave out from under him. His knees hit the sand.

A gust of hot merciless wind swept shocks of his sweat-soaked hair off his face. Granules of sand nipped at his skin, stinging the open wounds that covered his bare torso. As a shadow crossed over him, he looked up to find Urok.

“You do not stop until you lead us to her. Get up.” 

Had there been any saliva left in his mouth to work up a spit, Hunter might have given Urok a response, but instead he struggled to regain his footing again. His legs trembled with the effort as he started forward, toward the pastel blue mountain range on the horizon which seemed no closer now than it had when they had first set out toward it at dawn. 

The birds of prey voiced their mocking laughter, their shadows sweeping across the dunes like specters. Hunter spared them another glance, wondering where they were headed and if they might lead him to water.

“Sand hawks,” Urok said, though no one had asked, “They will feast on your bones if you should perish.”

“Hm.” Hunter grunted, staring through hooded eyes at the mountains ahead as they became a blur against the horizon. The sky was a giant pool of water. Cool, crisp water. He dragged his feet through the sand where the dunes rose to his knees. Meanwhile, behind him, Urok’s entire syndicate trailed after him on speeder bikes and sand-skiffs. 

Beside him, Fennec’s unkempt braid whipped in the wind, her cheeks flushed from the heat. Whenever he glanced at her, she would not meet his gaze. She seemed completely indifferent. He would not find an ally in her. He shouldn’t have expected to, but pain and exhaustion and dehydration were muddying his thoughts. 

Crosshair, where are you? Could use the help. 

As rippling heatwaves crowned the dunes, he licked his cracked lips and focused on simply dragging one foot after the other. One more step. One more. Until there were no more. 

His body thumped against the sand. He wasn’t aware of how much time elapsed after that, but it could not have been long. When he came to again, the scalding sand was hot on his face where it was pressed against the ground. Grit crunched between his teeth. There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

“Water, now.” The voice belonged to Fennec. “He’s no use to you dead, remember? Get him some water!”

Hands chafed his sunburned shoulders as they hauled him upright. The metal edges of a water flask chipped his teeth as it was shoved forcibly into his mouth. The sudden water on his burning throat made him choke and he coughed it back up, inhaling some of it into his nose. It tasted like mud, and it was warm from the heat of the desert, but it was water, and he gulped desperately until the flask was taken away all too soon.

“Get him on his feet.” Urok appeared as a dark and blurry silhouette against the sky.

Hunter glared at him through burning red-rimmed eyes and bit back a groan as he fought to stand. He staggered, willing his legs to stop trembling.

Someone’s hand gripped his wrist and guided his arm to wrap across their shoulders. When Hunter glanced beside him, he was surprised to find Fennec, though she was pointedly avoiding his confused stare with a stony look of resolve fixed straight ahead. Her arm curled around his lower back, scraping against his raw sores and causing a hitch in his breath. Mercilessly, she pulled him along with her, forcing him to take a step, then another, until they were painstakingly limping across the dunes again. 

“How much further, Tracker?” She murmured. 

He closed his eyes, letting Fennec guide his way as the electromagnetic energy from the planet coursed through his frayed nerves. His already throbbing headache increased to a pulsating agony that made him instantly sick. Swallowing the nausea, he panted, “There’s a settlement of some kind…on the other side of the ridge. That mountain range ahead.” 

He felt Fennec glance his way incredulously before she pointed. “That mountain range?” 

“Unfortunately, yes,” he said through a sigh.

“Silence,” Urok warned, “Speak again and I will not hesitate to strike you down where you stand.” 

“Except you won’t,” Fennec snarked under her breath, “because you need him.”

The response was instant. One moment Fennec was pressed flush with Hunter’s side, and the next she was torn away as Urok yanked her by the arm and backhanded her across the face.

He dropped her into the sand. Blood from her nose blossomed like a red flower across her lips and stained her teeth as she snarled from the pain. 

“Don’t!” Hunter reeled toward him, fists clenched though he knew he was outnumbered and overpowered. His shoulders hefted and fell with a haggard breath as he forced strength into his voice and growled, “Take it out on me if you have to, but leave the bounty hunter alone.” 

Urok gazed at him, his leather face tired and impatient. “You are not in a position to dictate to me.” 

“Please.” Hunter flinched under the strain it took to keep standing on his own. 

As she picked herself up off the ground, smearing the blood oozing from her nose, Fennec stared at him in a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.” 

Urok shoved her toward Hunter. “Help him walk. That is your purpose. And when it has been served, I will cut out your wagging tongue and feed it to the hawks.” 

Fennec sent the crimelord a scathing glare but said nothing, careful to keep her mouth shut this time. 

~~⌖~~

Phee Genoa guided her ship through the clouds, relying on her instincts and the array of instruments on the console to guide her, rather than her own eyes. Outside the viewscreen of the Providence, soft white and gray clouds parted for her vessel in waves.

The communication had been heavily encrypted, but she recognized Ranya’s hand in the code. The message had been short and simple: Trace coordinates. Hawk. 

Behind her pilot’s chair, MEL-2222’s servos whined as the droid crossed the bridge of the cockpit toward her, protesting with deep chirps and beeps. 

Phee gave a wry smirk to the disgruntled droid. “Yes, I’ve thought of that, MEL. I always assume it’s a trap until proven otherwise.” 

Adjusting her fingers on the directional controls, she cast a glance at Hunter’s scuffed helmet where it rested on the otherwise empty co-pilot seat. Her smile disappeared, and she barely heard MEL’s exasperated retort over her own buzzing thoughts. 

Would the helmet’s owner be waiting to receive it when she arrived? She doubted it. If Hunter was still at the mercy of Urok Meheved, his fate was uncertain, but assuredly bleak. 

“No, MEL. This is my job. These are my friends. We’re not leaving without them.” She rolled her eyes at the droid’s pitiful moaning. “You’ll be fine. Just be ready for anything in case we have to pick them up and run.”

MEL growled, resolved to her fate, plugging into a nearby power console which connected to the ship’s primary drives. 

“Atta girl.” Phee reached up to press a few buttons on the overhead console. “Proximity sensor says we’re coming up on the valley. So get ready.” 

Canting the nose of her ship downward ever so subtly, she began to peel away the layers of stratus until at last the viewscreen broke through and the world below spread out like a painting. Vicious red mountains of sandstone and granite stabbed upward from the ground like the teeth of some wild creature; their craggy shoulders sloped down into an unexpectedly lush and green valley. A stream of blue slithered along the canyon floor like a serpent, perhaps from a remote spring somewhere high in the mountains.

“Beautiful!” Phee took the time to appreciate the scenery, much to MEL’s frustration as they were supposed to be focused on not crashing at the moment. “I never get tired of seeing this planet, no matter how many times I visit.” 

MEL made some terse, dismissive remarks which Phee chose to ignore.

“Let’s see…Looks like the coordinates are leading us to that spot where the trees are thickest. See that, MEL?” Without waiting for confirmation from the droid, Phee cranked the controls in that direction and MEL gave a startled squeal. 

Phee set the Providence down in a secluded grove where the shadows of trees and surrounding boulders would break up her ship’s silhouette. The scrambled signature on her vessel would conceal it from scans. Double-checking the code herself before leaving, she gave MEL a parting pat on the chassis before disembarking. 

The droid’s sentiments were curt, in a fond sort of way. 

Phee’s footing on the rocky, uneven ground was sure. She was no stranger to the arid landscape where she had met her young friend many years ago. This was Ranya’s home, and Phee had come to view it as such, valuing the culture and the people who survived these harsh and unforgiving conditions. 

As the barren rock gave way to soft greenery beneath her feet, and the trees shaded her from the scalding sun, Phee moved with more care. She was getting close to the coordinates. 

Through the wide leaves of native plants growing around the oasis, she could see the corner of a roof. Her eyes followed an ornate pillar down to a flight of sandstone stairs which disappeared into the crisp water of the river.

Phee straightened from behind cover, moving across the clearing cautiously. Her head swiveled left and right in search of danger, but the yard was tranquil, the house undisturbed. She could hear voices within, ones she recognized. 

She crossed the wooden bridge over the river to the patio, plucking a pan fruit from the low-hanging branch as she went and taking a generous bite. It was ripe, tart, and orange.

As she climbed the stairs and turned the corner into the common room of the house, she leaned quietly against the threshold and smiled at the scene before her. Ranya was seated on the rug next to the hearth, sharpening her blade, while her younger sister weaved braids into her black hair.

Phee recognized the lanky form taking up the length of a nearby couch. His familiar dark armor covered his legs, but from the belt upward was bare skin. From where she stood, Phee could see a bacta patch just below his ribs, where fresh blood was starting to soak through. 

“Hunter wouldn’t lead them straight to us,” Crosshair interjected into the sisters’ conversation. “He’ll try to steer them off the trail for as long as he can.”

Alarah glanced over her shoulder at him, hurt flashing across her face. “I meant no disrespect…” 

Ranya put hand on her sister’s shoulder, her voice protective as she faced Crosshair. “All she’s saying is Urok might try to use Hunter to find us.”

“There’s nothing saying Urok even knows Hunter has a tracking ability.” Crosshair scowled pensively. “But if he has Fennec too, she might have revealed it.”

“We have to assume Father knows where we are.” Alarah sat up straighter, emboldened by her sister’s support. “If he’s following our trail, sooner or later, he’s bound to catch up. And what then?” 

This, Phee decided, seemed like the opportune moment to make her presence known. She found herself smirking as all three of them jumped with a start the moment she spoke. “I might be able to help you with that.” 

Ranya sighed with relief. “Phee, you did get my comm! I was starting to worry.” 

Phee took another bite out of the fruit and she sent a sideways glance at Crosshair. “Ease off the trigger, quick-draw. You don’t look too steady there.” 

Albeit pain-stricken, the annoyance on Crosshair’s face was unwavering as he lowered his pistol and slumped back down onto the couch. He stifled a groan between his teeth.

With a cursory glance, Phee scrutinized the bacta patch Crosshair gripped beneath one hand. She looked at Ranya with an unspoken question. 

“He challenged Urok to a duel,” Ranya said.

No further explanation was needed. Phee’s eyebrows went up. Hands on her hips, she eyed the man on the couch with an appraising smirk.

“I did try to warn him,” Ranya added. 

“The important question is, can he still fight?” Phee asked, turning at Crosshair’s irritated sigh to find him glaring at her. 

“Yes,” he hissed, injecting as much venom into the words as his tired body could manage.

Alarah stood. “I know this region, and I know where we might be able to stage an ambush.” 

“Hmm!” Phee was impressed. “Seems she’s given this a lot of previous thought.” 

“When you have a father like mine, self defense is always at the back of one’s mind,” Alarah said, her voice flat. 

“Fair enough. So where is this ideal location for an ambush? And just how exactly do we get your father to wander into it?” 

“I…don’t know. I am not a tactician.”

“I am.” Crosshair sat up abruptly. Too abruptly. Arms folded around his middle with a strangled grunt. Catching his breath, he elaborated, “I’ll need to see schematics of the area you’re talking about…See if it’s a viable place to set up…” 

Alarah gave a nod, leaving the room. “I’ll find the holomap.” 

When the girl had gone, Phee met Ranya’s eyes, noticing immediately the dread that filled them. “You sure you want her dragged into all this?” 

Ranya sighed. “She’s a daughter of Urok, same as me. It’s her birthright as much as mine. That won’t change until our father is dead.” 

Phee inclined toward Crosshair, an elbow nudging in his direction. “Bet you didn’t know what you were getting into with this crowd, did you?” 

“Hmp...If I remember correctly, you dragged us into it.” 

“That I did. I didn’t say anything about you going and getting stabbed though. That’s all you.” Phee crossed her arms as the vitriol in his eyes deepened. She shrugged, a warm smile spreading across her face. “You’ll get over it, Crosspatch.” 

~~⌖~~

Hunter could barely recall a time when he hadn’t been walking. He strained to take another step, stifling the agonized groan that wanted to escape between his gritted teeth. He wouldn’t give Urok the satisfaction of hearing his pain, though he knew the syndicate leader had to be watching him, enjoying his obvious suffering. 

At his side, Hunter could feel Fennec growing tired. Her legs were wobbling with each step, though not nearly as unsteady as his own. Her breathing was haggard. Strands of sweat-soaked hair fell loose across her reddened face. But the glint in her eyes was persistent, always looking forward. No doubt her desire to even the score with Urok was fueling her to keep going. 

Hunter couldn’t care less about settling marks against the man, although he would not mind to see him die. His priority, however, was on finding Crosshair and Phee, and getting as far away from this merciless, sun-scorched rock as possible. 

He could scarcely recall what it felt like to have a mouth that wasn’t dry. He tried to think about anything else besides water, because what meager ration had been eked out to him from the water-skin had not sated his thirst. It had not been enough to cool his burning red eyes, sore from squinting against the blinding white sand. Nor had it helped to soothe his parched lips, which were cracked and bleeding. 

His mind was set on autopilot, with his one thought being to keep putting one foot ahead of the other. He moved stiffly, his shoulders rigid, because every untoward movement stretched the scabbed hide of his back and caused the lash wounds to scream. Having Fennec’s arm stretched across them was agony enough.

A sweat-soaked string of his hair dangled endlessly before his eyes. Sometimes a clear bead would form at the end of it, dangling before dropping free and running down the bridge of his nose to drip off the end. But for all his misery, Hunter felt relief. The mountains towered above them now, vast and proud, like monarchs standing in judgement over these small, insignificant life forms.

With them always were the sand hawks, the shr’e. Hunter got a closer glimpse of them as one swooped low in front of him. Easily an eight foot wingspan. A powerful beak, serrated with jagged carnivorous teeth. With their pearl-white feathers, they looked like angels of death, shining bright in the sun. 

Nearly there now. Hunter clenched his jaw and pulled forward, feeling as if he was dragging Fennec along with him, rather than her assisting him. When at last he stopped walking, his knees shuddered beneath him, threatening to let him collapse. 

At least here, there were trees to provide some menial shade. The hawks and the trees meant there had to be a source of water somewhere. A deep ache in the pit of his stomach pined for water, but he held no hopes that Urok would show him mercy. And Hunter would never beg. 

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply of the hot desert breeze until he could feel the electromagnetic energy flowing from the planet through his own nervous system. His senses were dull from dehydration and exhaustion, but they pointed the way. He opened his eyes again, squinting against the blinding glare to trace a path up the mountainside.

Somewhere on the other side, he knew Crosshair and the others were sequestered. They would assume danger was coming. They would be prepared. But Hunter could not be the one to lead Urok to them. He would die before he was forced to do such a thing. 

So instead, he turned in the opposite direction, toward the foothills where the country appeared far more barren and unforgiving, where pointed black rocks stuck up like the lower fangs of a vicious jackal. The hawks nested there. He could sense more of them clustered among those peaks. 

It was a maze over there. If he could get them lost, get them going in circles, perhaps he could buy more time. 

“Well?” Urok snapped, growing impatient at how long Hunter had been lingering there. 

Hunter knelt, stretching out his fingers to touch the chalky white dirt that crumbled when he curled his fist around a handful of it. He loosened his grip, shaking his hand to let the breeze carry away the fine dust. His senses were pointing him over the mountain pass, but he pointedly refused to even spare that way a glance. Pushing to his feet, he staggered, nearly dropping to his knees until Fennec moved quickly to support him. 

“All this sand makes the…the way blurry, but…” His voice was hoarse and weak. When he tried to swallow, he couldn’t. He rasped, “They went this way. Trying to lose you in those rocks.” 

Hunter pointed toward the hawk nesting grounds, freeing himself of Fennec’s assistance as he limped on his blistered bare feet in that direction. “They’re probably holed up in there…with a water source…”

A pulse of energy swelled behind him, something close and immediate; it sent a ripple of alarm down his spine and caused the hair to stand on his neck. But that was only for a split second, and in the next, the blaster bolt punched into the back of his knee. The bark from the weapon was still ringing as a scream burst unbridled from his chest. 

He crumbled, forgetting to maintain his stoicism for Urok as the splitting white pain overpowered him and every nerve in his body was on fire. In the dust, he curled around himself, clutching at the shattered mess of bone and seared flesh that was once his leg. 

“You filthy cur-dog!” Urok was a giant from the angle at which Hunter lay, staring down at him with cruelty chiseled into his face. “You think I would not notice your attempt to mislead me? You think I do not know this land? Where to find water? Fool!” 

Hunter stared up at him, gasping in ragged spurts, choking on pain he lacked the stamina to withstand. 

Urok bent to snatch him up by a handful of hair so they were face to face. “I told you what would happen if you tried this. The hawks will enjoy the tribute I have left for them.” 

Hunter was flung to the ground. He couldn’t move; his bones were filled with lead instead of marrow. The sounds of Urok ordering his men to leave the carrion and continue seemed so distant and irrelevant, and he barely noticed when they were no longer there anymore. They had taken Fennec with them. 

Watching the silhouettes of the hawks circling above, he knew was alone, and he knew he was going to die. No one was coming for him. He just hoped he faded before the hawks came to collect him. 

Would it be enough? Had his sacrifice given Crosshair any more of a fighting chance than he would’ve had otherwise? Or had Hunter simply made a strategic error, one of many, this of which would prove to be his last? 

He couldn’t know, and his mind was too sluggish to contemplate such things. Hunter shut his eyes to the bright sky. The breeze was soothing as it swept along his battered body, across his face to tousle his hair. Old 99 used to tousle his hair like that, long, long ago, back when there was a Kamino, back when there was a Tipoca City, back when things made a lot more sense. 

Never imagined dying this way, he thought to himself. But then again, he had never given it much study to begin with. Who had time to ponder on the prospect of one’s death when they were so preoccupied with keeping multiple others alive? Of his own life he had given little introspection. It hadn’t been necessary.

Now that he was forced to reflect, he found himself aching at the thought of what he’d amounted to, and what he was leaving behind. He had gone from being a sergeant, a role for which he had never felt adequate, to being a father figure. 

He thought of Omega with a pang of regret, knowing he wouldn’t make it back to her. Had he taught her enough? What were the values he had left for her to keep in his absence? What memories had he made with her that she could carry throughout her life? 

Not enough. Always not enough.  

Hunter wasn’t sure how long he lay there. Time as a construct became irrelevant, pushed to the back of his mind, as he knew soon it would not matter anymore. Time would lead him to one end, and for once he was not concerned with keeping track of it. So when a hand ran through his hair, he opened his eyes in confusion. The face against the sky was blurry, but he couldn’t mistake the disheveled black hair. 

“Fe…Fennec…?” His voice barely rose to more than a whisper. 

“Don’t try to talk. And don’t die on me.” Her hands shuffled down the length of his wounded leg, ripping apart the fabric to access the exploded mess beneath. “Ugh. I’m not gonna lie. They’re gonna have to build you a new knee from the look of things.” 

“You…came back.” 

“Yes, I did. Don’t make anything of it.” 

“How…?” 

“I gave Urok the slip and retraced our steps back here.” 

“But…why?” 

Fennec scoffed, rolling her eyes. “What is this, twenty questions? In case you’ve forgotten, getting you back alive means Genoa gives me back my credits. Can you stand?” 

Stand? Hunter had given up on the idea of ever standing again in his life, but he gave a dull nod and let Fennec pull him so he was sitting upright. He knew it was almost entirely by Fennec’s strength that he ended up on his feet, leaning on her small yet sturdy shoulders as he panted from the exertion. 

He could not apply any weight to his injured leg. The most ginger attempt sent the breath climbing into the back of his throat as a piercing flame shot through his knee like an explosion and forced a yelp out of him. 

“Shh!” Fennec hissed, “We need to move. Just keep breathing, Tracker. Can you manage that? I’ll patch you up once we’re out of the open.” 

Hunter gave a nod, still beleaguered and struggling to grasp this new turn of events. The hope that he might live had never once entered his mind, so it seemed foreign to him now, but the further they hobbled, the more he took hold of it. 

He might live. He might make it back to Omega. 

And right now, might was a meaningful word. 

Hunter was half asleep when the energy shield vanished from the doorway and Urok Meheved appeared. Fists clutched his shirtfront and slammed his back to the wall, but he registered the splintering pain that rang through his already aching body. His head felt like it might explode from the throbbing pulse in his temples.

Urok’s wild eyes burned into his own, lips curled in a snarl that revealed his teeth as he roared, “You brought this upon me! You allowed this menace to enter my household! My daughter has escaped!” 

Through Hunter’s coursing adrenaline and the blood rushing in his ears, he realized what had happened. Crosshair had managed to exfil Ranya from the palace. The mission had been a success, and now Hunter was going to bear the brunt of Urok’s defeat. He steeled himself, mentally preparing himself for what was about to happen, knowing it was unavoidable. 

Urok hurled him to the floor and barked an order for the guards to tie him up. Hunter felt his own arms wrenched above his head and bound together. His toes barely touched the floor as he swayed in mid-air, suspended by his wrists which were already starting to chafe from bearing his weight. 

“Now,” Urok said, stopping Hunter’s gradual rotation with a handful of his hair and glaring at him face to face, “your bastard brother took my daughter from me. I will take someone from him.” 

As he backed away, Urok drew a metal hilt from his belt, which Hunter thought at first to be a lightsaber. But with a snap of Urok’s wrist, an energy-whip unfurled from it, cracking as it snapped through the air, writhing like a live serpent. An eerie blue glow flooded the cell. 

Hunter heard the breath catch in Fennec’s throat. He’d nearly forgotten she was there. He wondered what she might do. Would she sit back and watch this atrocity unfold? Or would she soon be included in it?

Rough hands snatched at what was left of the white undershirt hanging off his shoulders and tore it from his back in one motion.

“Tell me,” Urok said, his voice measured and sinister, as if he already knew this was a question which Hunter would not be able to answer, “where would they go?”

It was. Hunter spoke through his teeth, bracing himself for what was to come, “I don’t know. But I wouldn’t tell you either way.”

The air hummed with energy from the light-whip as it snapped. His muscles contracted on impact. He choked back the scream that launched into his throat, letting out a haggard breath as steadily as he could manage. 

The momentum from the blow had started him rotating slowly around on the rope he hung from, and he found himself face to face with his enemy yet again. Urok’s leather face was emotionless, lacking the sadistic smile which Hunter had been expecting to find. There was only loathing. Hatred was an act to be carried out, not an emotion to be felt. 

“I’ll ask again.” Urok murmured, “Where would they take my daughter?” 

Hunter stared back at him, saying nothing. He steeled himself as Urok drew back the whip again. A crack split the air as the lash struck like lightning across his torso, wrapping around his body like a serpent. Bile curdled at the back of his mouth. He inhaled hard through his nose. 

He wouldn’t break. He wouldn’t scream. Hunter shook the loose hair out of his eyes and met Urok’s gaze as the crimelord wrenched the hilt of the whip back to himself. The lash carved into his ribs as it slipped free. Hunter bit into his own lip and blood filled his mouth, but made no sound. 

“At last,” Urok hissed, “at last I had an opportunity to right the wrongs done to my family by that disgraceful child!” 

Hunter spat a glob of blood at Urok’s feet. “You were going to kill her. She’s our ally. We couldn’t let you…”

The words ground into a snarl as the whip scalded across his chest. Before he could recover, another lash struck his stomach. He groaned as the urge of retch doubled him over. The rope creaked as it rotated back around, biting into his wrists. His numb fingers clenched into his palms. 

“Everything!” Urok roared, “Everything depended upon this! My name…my honor! And you stole it from me!” 

The lash cracked. Skin split. Again, and again. Hunter squeezed his eyes shut until tears and salt spilled down his cheeks, until his screams began to break through the thin veneer holding them back. 

It was too much. Too much. His senses were on fire, and the fire was spreading through his system until he was less than a man, and more of a roaring beast, howling at the stone walls in agony. 

“Wait! Stop!”

It was Fennec. 

Through the haze blurring his vision, Hunter peered around his own arm to see her. A look of horror had enlarged the whites of her eyes, a ghostly pallor over her face as she held out a hand toward Urok. Of all the people he might have expected to speak on his behalf, she was the last person he would have expected. Hunter could scarcely believe it, but to his relief, Urok paused to listen. 

“He’s a tracker,” Fennec explained, “Obviously he wouldn’t know where they’re headed, but he could hunt them down. I’ve seen what he can do. But he won’t be much good to you if he’s dead.” 

Hunter met her gaze before letting his head slump forward with a defeated sigh. His one means of protecting Crosshair and Ranya had been keeping his enhanced skills a secret from Urok.

Too late now. 

He dangled, his wrists screaming and his fingers going numb, while Urok took his time deciding what to do with him. The skin across his back was shredded and mangled. The red streaks across his chest and stomach stung every time he drew a breath. He couldn’t imagine enduring more. A blob of sweat became large enough to break free from the others, it skittered down the bridge of his nose and dropped like a pearl.

Behind him, he heard Urok grunt, “I don’t like it, but it’s something.”

Hunter choked on a gasp as he was abruptly spun around to face Urok.

“At the first sign that I feel you are misleading us, I will kill you and make use of whatever guidance you have given.” The wiry black beard curled back from Urok’s teeth in a snarl. “Is that clear to you?”

Hunter merely glared at him in silence, matching steel for steel, iron for iron. In truth, he wasn’t sure he possessed the strength to speak.

Urok gave a nod stepped back, recoiling the light-whip with a snap of his arm. “Very well. We leave at first light.” 

The two sentries waiting by the door sawed the rope with their vibroblades. They turned to leave without looking back as Hunter dropped to the floor in a pile, his pained grunt falling on deaf ears. The cell door sealed behind them. 

As he pressed his forehead to the cold floor, the room seemed to be revolving slowly. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, his breathing coming in short and hoarse through his teeth as waves of pain surged through his battered body. Vaguely, he was aware of Fennec moving nearby. He heard fabric tear, and the trickle of water being wrung out of cloth.

Something cold and damp touched his back. He arched away, a pathetic groan breaking the silence, but Fennec and the wet rag persisted, dabbing none to gently at the furrows of raw flesh until more tears replaced the ones drying upon his face. 

“Hold still,” Fennec scolded in response to another one of his sharp cries. “You can’t leave them like this. They’ll get infected.”

She caught his shoulder as he tried to turn over. “Don’t lie down on this floor. It’s filthy. You have to sit up.” 

A strangled sound escaped him as he forced himself upright. He held his throbbing skull in his hands while the room spun wildly around him, while his stomach churned and bile stung his throat. With a cough, he turned to the latrine and retched. 

Fennec made a disgusted noise and kept her distance. “You good?” 

Hunter sent her a scathing glare, wiping the sick from his mouth with the back of his hand and rasped, “I’m fine…” 

Nodding toward the mat in the corner, Fennec instructed, “Go ahead and lie down, on your side.”

He dragged himself to the mat. The rough burlap scratched his skin as he lay down. Fennec knelt beside him, her movements careful and methodical as she dipped the rag into the bowl of water again and wrung it out. 

Hunter flinched when wet fabric touched the raw meat on his back, but he managed to eke out the words, “Didn’t realize you cared so much.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Fennec pressed the rag into the split across Hunter’s sternum and making him wince. “You’re my ticket out of here. I’ve managed to buy us some time, so don’t even think about blowing it.” 

His fingers clutched at his scalp, burying themselves in his own hair – something hold onto while the searing pain set his body on fire.

“You know I can’t lead him to Crosshair,” he whispered.

“Not my problem. Just get us out there in the open, and don’t get in my way.” 

“By all means. I won’t stop you.” Hunter closed his eyes, wishing he could simply pass out until the time came for Urok to retrieve him. He wondered where Crosshair and Ranya were now, whether they had rendezvoused with Phee yet. Wherever they were, he hoped they were at least faring better than he was himself.

~~⌖~~

Crosshair dug his fingernails into the couch cushion beneath him. Every muscle braced against the pain as Ranya removed his damaged plackart. The moment the piece of armor was out of the way, he slid his opposite hand back into position over the wound. His metal fingers clenched as a wave of agony took his breath away. Through his swimming vision, he managed to make out the alarm on Ranya’s face as she shouted for someone to fetch a suture kit. He gulped and gasped for air, staring at the ceiling instead.

Firelight flickered orange and cast shadows on the white clay above, yet he could feel the warmth ebbing from his body. As a shudder rippled through him, the movement made him want to scream, but he resisted and choked it down.

“I never wanted it to come to this.” Ranya was saying somewhere, far in the distance, her voice echoing. “Now you’re in it too.”

The other, less familiar voice answered, "That’s what I built this hideout for. You think this is the first time I’ve fallen out of favor with Father? Apologize later. Your boyfriend is bleeding to death.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. Bring me a medkit or something we can use.” Ranya's fingers were working with the saturated bandage, causing bolts of shooting pain that made Crosshair hiss. He tried to strike her hand away, but she clutched his wrist, her voice sharp. “Stop. I’m trying to help you.”

“Who is he then?" The other voice -Alarah, he remembered- was asking. When Crosshair cracked his eyelids, he could see a blur which he assumed was her, looking down on him. 

“This is Crosshair,” Ranya said. 

“And he's...?”

“A friend of Phee’s.” She lifted his head up enough to slide a pillow behind it, but when he tried to push himself to sit up, she gripped his shoulder to keep him still.

With what little strength he still had, he shrugged her away and forced his weak body to sit up, at least as much as he could manage. From this vantage point, he could see what condition the wound was in, and he almost wished he hadn't. Ranya had rolled up the bottom of his blacksuit to his ribs so the wound was exposed. Her hands left bloodstained prints on his skin as she put pressure on the ragged gash. 

She didn't look up as she told Alarah, “I need bandages. Gauze. Bacta. Anything you have.” 

“That's going to need stitches,” Alarah said, a hand going to her head as a look of horror transfixed her face, “Which I don't have out here.”

“How do you not have a suture kit?”

“I do. But it’s back at Azure. I forgot to grab it. I wasn’t thinking.”

“He’ll have to make do until...” Ranya sounded less than confident. “...until we rendezvous with the others.”

Crosshair watched the blood oozing between Ranya's fingers and knew he wouldn't last that long.

“There's...something else we can try...” He nodded toward the fireplace. “That poker over there...get it red hot.”

Ranya grimaced. “Cauterize it? Can you stand that?"

“I’ve endured worse,” he said through a sigh, straining to prop himself up further. 

Alarah dumped an armful of bandages and gauze on the small table at Ranya's side. She looked sick. “It might work, but…I’ve never attempted something like that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ranya picked up the metal poker from the hearth, holding it as if it was a snake. She buried one end of it into the hot coals and gave Crosshair a wary glance. “Are you sure?” 

“You have a better idea?" He asked, noticing Alarah’s face in better detail and seeing a resemblance. Sisters, perhaps? It was an insignificant detail. 

He let his eyes close and waited until he heard Ranya drawing the poker out of the coals. The tip was glowing red. A wave of apprehension tossed inside him, but he kept his face neutral and straightened up as much as he could. He could tell Ranya wanted nothing to do with this, her movements hesitant, her teeth digging into her lip. 

“All right...” His hands were unsteady as he pressed the edges of the wound together. The pain made him dizzy. “Do it.” 

As much as he wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, he kept them open to watch what Ranya was doing. The crimson tip of the poker hovered inches from his skin. Somehow the suspense was worse than whatever agony it might have caused had it been touching him. 

“Will you just do it already?” He gasped.

Ranya pulled away with a shudder, shaking her head. Her face was white as she looked at him apologetically. “I'm sorry...I can't...” 

A murmur of thunder outside vibrated through the stone walls as Crosshair took the poker from her grasp. “Here...you hold it shut, and I'll do it.”

Her lips parted as if she might have wanted to protest, but she glided her hands into place as his own moved out of the way. 

The glowing amber metal descended shakily.

Searing hot metal touched raw flesh.

He went blind. A scream climbed into his throat; it was all he could do to choke it off. He squinted to focus on what he was doing as he sealed the length of the wound, trying not to breathe too deep as the smell of burning skin hit his nose. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ranya's mouth twisting as she leaned her head aside and swallowed the urge to gag. 

If he stopped to rest, he might not have the wherewithal to finish, so he pushed himself to keep working until the wound had blistered over. He still wasn't confident it was fully done by the time he collapsed. 

“That...” Crosshair said between gasps, “...has to be enough.”

“Better than nothing, right?” Ranya's voice sounded thin. He felt her fingertips let up the pressure around the wound. “Seems to be holding. Just don't move around too much.” 

“Don't worry.” Crosshair stared bleakly at the shadows flickering on the ceiling. “Not going…anywhere.” 

He flinched when someone touched his face, sending Ranya the most foreboding glare he could manage until he realized she was trying to brush away tears he hadn't noticed running down his cheeks. He tolerated it, mostly because he was too exhausted to do anything about it. 

Ranya turned to her sister. “Can we borrow some blankets or something?” 

“I’ll see what I can scrounge up.”

Crosshair listened to the wind beating against the house and wondered where they were. He could barely remember getting here. Off to his left, paper tore. Someone spoke. 

“Why did you do that?”

He forced his eyelids apart just a sliver to see Ranya opening a fresh bacta patch from its packaging. “Do…what?”

“Sacrifice yourself,” she said, “You barely know me.” 

She didn't seem to be aware of him watching as she smoothed the patch into place over the wound, her movements slow and gentle.

Why had he done it? There hadn’t been time to think, in the moment. 

“You were about to lose your head,” he murmured, feeling strange when her fingertips brushed his skin, though he wasn’t sure why. “Didn’t have much choice.”

“I don’t mean any offense by this, but,” she said carefully, “…but what difference does it make to you?” 

Crosshair stared at the ceiling, perplexed by her question; it was a valid one. He wasn’t even certain what had made him agree to help Phee Genoa in the first place. Boredom? Unresolved guilt? No, something told him that wasn’t the answer.

Omega’s face entered his memory. The last time he’d seen her, the Providence had been lifting off from the colonnade on Pabu, leaving her behind. A breath was siphoned through his teeth before he spoke.

“Someone…gave me a second chance.” 

An internal voice was screaming at him to shut up, before he said more than he was comfortable with. But his body lay sprawled on a couch, hurting, bleeding. It did not seem like too much of a stretch to bare his soul to an almost complete stranger. 

“I never expected I’d make it this far, and…” he said with a withered sigh, the words sluggish, drugged from pain, “I don’t want to waste it.”

The pirate nodded. “I felt the same way when Phee gave me a second chance, like I could make up for my mistakes somehow.” 

His head turned on the pillow to look at her, everything he was thinking hidden behind a mask: You don’t know what I’ve done. Don’t pretend to understand. 

Yet, something told him she wasn’t pretending. 

“Whatever the reason,” she said, grasping his hand and giving it a squeeze, “thanks. I owe you one.” 

There was that unnamed feeling again. Her touch made him squirm. He was relieved when she let go. It was enough to have nearly died today without also trying to understand why physical contact bothered him so much.

Because you’re not used to it, he told himself. He didn’t need to get used to it. He’d been fine without it thus far.

Ranya picked up his helmet from where he'd dropped it to the floor. “You have an encrypted comm channel in this thing, right?”

“Best not try it,” Crosshair murmured, closing his eyes. “If your father is scanning for our signal, it would lead him right to us.”

Ranya let the helmet sink heavily to her lap. “Guess we're here for the night.” 

“Lovely.”

The fire crackled as a stick popped and released a flurry of sparks. In the orange glow, the pirate was still holding his helmet, tracing the edges with her fingertip as if distracted.

“Phee mentioned you before,” she said, “You’re Hunter and Wrecker’s brother?”

“Mm-hm.” As chill slithered through him, his face pinched into a poorly concealed wince. He didn’t feel much like making conversation on the best of days, and even less so under the circumstances. 

She extended her hand to him. “I guess you already know my name. And you’re…?”

He stared at her hand where it hovered in the space between them and left it hanging.

“Crosshair.”

“Phee warned me about your charming personality.”

“Phee talks…” He closed his eyes, exhaustion pressing on him like a weighted blanket.

“That she does.” Ranya sighed as she stood up from kneeling by the couch. “I’ll be back with some blankets.” 

“Don’t bother,” he said, but Ranya seemed not to have heard as she ducked through a curtain of ivy into another room. 

Shaking his head, he settled down into the pillow which smelled of soap and freshness and so completely unlike anything he was used to. It reminded him, he thought, of the way the civilian houses on Pabu smelled; clean and warm, with a crackling fireplace and bread baking in the kitchen. 

He imagined he could almost hear the clatter of cookware and laughter, almost certain if he stepped through the doorway he would find someone standing there, as if they’d been waiting for him to come home.

As one of the goons shoved him in the back, Crosshair stumbled, recovering his balance and sending a dirty scowl at the man behind him. But the mask with its glowing amber lens revealed no emotion. At his side, Ranya tripped as she too was ushered roughly down the corridor. 

Through a wide doorway, the Trib soldiers forced them into a room, though to call it such was demeaning to its sheer size. A vaulted ceiling was supported by thick pillars, and a water-filled mote lined the perimeter of the room. The vast stone pillars cast their shadows like long, diagonal fingers in the crisp moonlight. At the far end, a recycling waterfall hissed in a cool veil down the wall. Directly in front of this, a throne was mounted at the top of a platform, with steps carved into the solid rock leading up to it. 

And, Crosshair assumed, the man seated on the throne had to be Urok Meheved. He gave the crime lord a long scrutinizing stare, pretending what he saw neither intimidated nor impressed him. 

In truth, Urok’s stature alone was daunting, with a breadth to his massive shoulders that could have easily matched Wrecker’s. Muscles coiled the length of his bare arms like serpents, sinews tight beneath the skin. A dense black beard covered the lower half of his face, and deep-set eyes stared out from beneath the stony cliff of his brow. The eyes, Crosshair noticed, were a toxic green. 

Like hers. He sent a glance at Ranya, using her reaction to gauge the severity of the situation. She was clenching her jaw to keep herself from trembling; the sight made his stomach drop like a brick. 

“So much for wanting to make things right, my daughter.” The deep, rumbling voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet it was projected by the vast hollowness of the room. “The first chance you get to run…and you take it. You are a coward.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Crosshair saw Ranya duck her head. 

“Bua, I want us to be a family again,” she said in desperation, “More bloodshed won’t do that.” 

“Enough!” Urok snapped, the abruptness of his change in tone causing even Crosshair to flinch with a start. “My mind is already made up. And your time has come.” 

He rose, drawing a vibrosword from its sheath at his side as his footsteps descended the stairs to where his prisoners waited. With a jolt, Crosshair realized what was happening. Even as the Trib soldiers shoved Ranya’s head down, exposing her neck, and the sword lifted into the air, he felt the words rushing out of his own mouth. 

“Stop! I have a proposition.” 

There was silence, as if time had paused. 

The Tribulation, with their expressionless helmets, were focused on him now. Even Ranya had cocked her head to give him a wide-eyed look of bewilderment. 

Urok’s sword lowered a fraction, hesitating. In the next instant, it was hovering mere centimeters from Crosshair’s chin. “Speak now before I cut out your tongue.”

As if he hadn’t heard the threat, Crosshair answered with a confidence he did not feel. “I challenge you to a duel. If I win, she goes free.” 

“And if you lose?”

“I won’t lose,” he said, not failing to notice the sigh of exasperation from Ranya and the way she shook her head. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” she hissed, “You will lose.” 

Ignoring her, Crosshair kept his gaze fixed on his prospective opponent. “So, what is it? Do you accept? Or is your daughter’s cowardice an inherited trait?” 

That struck a nerve, as he knew it would. If there was one skill Crosshair had grasped from infancy, it was how to push someone’s buttons. 

Urok’s face darkened, his teeth appearing in an angry snarl. The green in his eyes seemed to glow with their own light. He spat on the floor at Crosshair’s feet before turning and stalking across the room. “Dai’ng ma’s!”

Side-eyeing Ranya, Crosshair raised an eyebrow for explanation. 

“He called you a bastard,” she translated, her voice thin with dread, “And it means he accepts.”

Across the room, Urok opened a wooden chest. The scraping of metal against metal echoed throughout the chamber. In quick, angry strides, he returned with an armload of weapons and dropped them on the floor in a pile between them. 

“Pick something, and let’s get this over with.”

Crosshair inspected his options, his hopes sinking as he realized none of these weapons were his forte. They were all enhanced vibroforges, similar to Hunter’s vibroblade. Although he could hold his own with a blade when necessary, his training with such fighting styles had been cursory at best.

He picked a short-sword that was nearly as long as his forearm, testing its weight in his grasp. It felt awkward and unwieldily. He didn’t have to be an expert to recognize poor craftsmanship. 

Perhaps this was the stash of weapons Urok reserved specifically for his opponents, to give them an automatic disadvantage. 

“That armor will not protect you,” Urok murmured, cleaning the dirt from under his thumbnail with the point of his own blade. “Are you ready?” 

Loosening his stance, turning the weapon over in his hands, Crosshair leveled his gaze on his opponent and exhaled. He gave a nod. 

Urok moved. 

Crosshair backpedaled as Urok’s sword became a blur, light glancing off the blade. He felt the breeze on his face, past his eyes, past an ear. He twisted sideways as it plunged toward his chest. His own weapon in his grasp was nearly forgotten in his desperation to merely dodge attacks. 

A slash across his chest-plate knocked him backward. He felt his heel tip off the edge of the platform. With a splash, he was on his back, the water pooling around his waist. He struggled to his feet as Urok plunged into the mote after him. He bent backward as the blade zipped past the end of his nose. 

Panic turned his limbs brittle. 

Tunnel vision focused on the sword. As it thrust at him, he parried it. It stabbed again. He side-stepped and caught Urok’s wrist, twisting his own body and taking the limb with him. Before he could deliver the blow that would snap Urok’s elbow, rough fingers snatched the back of his neck. 

Crosshair flailed, managing to score a kick against his opponent’s chest. He drove another kick, much harder, at Urok’s throat and felt it land true. The grip on his own neck released. He landed, dropping to a knee, staggering clear as Urok recovered and returned with a vengeance. 

As the sword pierced the air past his head, Crosshair grabbed it by the blade and tore it from Urok’s grasp. Sparks scraped from his metal hand. The vibroforge pinwheeled through the air before burying itself in the wall. 

Shaking out his cybernetic, Crosshair clenched it into a fist. The vibroforge in his left hand pivoted to point downward. He plunged at his opponent, stabbing the blade at Urok’s face, aiming for an eye. 

With a thick forearm, Urok blocked the blade and it glanced off his vambrace in a flash of sparks. A stony hand latched around Crosshair’s wrist, stopping his weapon short. 

Crosshair strained against his opponent’s strength, trying to twist his arm free. He pried at Urok’s fingers with his free hand. The grip merely tightened. The sword was torn from his grasp.

Urok rotated the blade until was pointed downward, hovering, prepared to strike.

No! Come on! It couldn’t end like this.Crosshair attacked the arm holding him suspended, striking Urok’s elbow with as much pressure as he could, but it would not buckle. His feet were lifted from the floor, and he found himself eye to eye with Urok, staring into the pale green that reminded him of a snake’s venom. 

The lines on Urok’s face deepened, surprisingly not with twisted amusement, but exhaustion and resolve. The vibroforge hovered a moment longer before it fell. 

Crosshair flinched. Lungs spasmed. A gasp caught at the back of his throat. The pain was delayed, prickling like needles of ice, spreading through him like fire. When he looked down, the hilt was pressed flush against his own armor. Through the numbness of shock, realization finally sank in, and hysteria bubbled up in a wet cough. 

A woman was screaming – a horrified, ragged sound, but it came from so far away as to not be of concern to him. Instead he met the gaze of the man staring back at him, at the eyes which never looked away as the blade was wrenched out of his body and he was lowered to the floor.

He curled up on the cold tiles, arms wrapped around himself as if that could somehow stop the shudders rippling through his body. Every breath was a battle, each one shorter than the last.

The voice was still screaming, but it was farther away than ever now.

~~⌖~~

She hadn’t meant to scream. When Ranya had watched her father trap Crosshair’s wrist, she had known what would happen next. She’d begged him to stop. She’d pleaded with him not to do it. She had sworn oaths, promised him anything. 

For just a moment, her father’s expression had softened. But just as quickly, it had hardened into resolve again.

The blade had moved too fast for Ranya to process what she was seeing. It had taken a moment for her to realize the wretched scream ringing off the walls of the vast chamber was her own. 

Her father’s attention was now fixed on her instead. He stepped over Crosshair’s crumpled form on the floor as he crossed the room, coming toward her.

Panic snapped in her brain. She barely heard her sister’s voice, shouting to get her attention. 

A blaster skittered across the smooth tiles, spinning as it was carried by momentum.

Ranya saw her father glance at it, saw his eyes widen as he realized what she was about to do. She lunged with her arm outstretched. Her fingers closed around the weapon. Frantically she flipped the stun switch as she rolled onto her back. Urok loomed above her, swiping to grab the blaster from her grasp.

She fired twice. 

Her father halted, shaking off the affects of the stun blast. Face twisted in rage, he lunged. His hands stretched to grab her.

“No!” Ranya fired blindly, a series of blue flashes burning across her vision. She felt a heavy shudder through the floor. When she opened her eyes, her father lay before her, motionless. His open hand rested within a few inches of her. 

She slid herself further away from him, across the tiles, struggling to slow her breathing. Her hands were shaking as she wiped tears from her face which she hadn’t noticed until now.

Staggering across the room, her legs were numb as if they belonged to someone else. She fell to her knees, dragging Crosshair onto his back, urging him to look at her.

Stay awake. 

If he went under, he likely would not wake again. Was it a lie, at this point? To tell him he was going to be okay? She’d seen wounds like this. Depending on what organs had been hit, he could have twenty minutes or two. Time was everything.

Blood was pouring from the crevice in his armor. The floor beneath him was already smeared with it. She wouldn’t make false promises. Instead, she grabbed his hand and pressed it over the opening, holding it down tight. 

“Keep pressure on that,” she said, grabbing the vibro-sword from nearby and using it to tear the hem from her tunic. Wadding up the cloth, she moved his hand aside and packed it into the gash. A wave of lightheadedness made her unsteady as she heard his strangled cry. His metal fingers scraped against the floor as he clutched his hand into a fist. 

“Ranya!” Alarah’s hunched form limped into the throne room. She pried a knife out of her armor, from over her shoulder, as she approached. When she knelt down, her face was ashen. Her clothes were spattered with blood – too much of it to be entirely her own. 

“I took care of the guards outside.” She inclined her head toward Urok’s unconscious form nearby. Her voice held a steadiness and strength that wasn’t reflected in her haunted eyes. “But we need to go. Before father wakes up.”

Ranya was still packing handfuls of fabric into the wound as she answered, “He needs a medical droid.” 

“We don’t have time.”

“He doesn’t have time.”

Alarah threw a glance over her shoulder. “Pack it as best you can to staunch the blood, and get him on his feet. I know where we can take him.” 

Holding the end of a cloth strip between her teeth, Ranya finished tying off the ream of makeshift bandages around Crosshair’s waist. “That’ll have to do. Can you stand?” 

Groggily, as if it took him a second to realize she was speaking to him, Crosshair nodded. Ranya braced herself up under him and helped him to his feet. She drew his arm across her shoulders, wrapping her own around the small of his back.

Urok groaned and moved slightly.

“Ranya…!” Alarah urged, fidgeting.

“Shiseh, go, go, go.” Ranya shouldered into her sister to get her moving as the three of them hobbled from the chamber, leaving their father behind. 

~~⌖~~

As he traveled down an endless tunnel, Crosshair squinted, trying to make sense of the dark shapes around him. The orange blur of a torch smeared by. He glimpsed the outline of someone’s face in the dark. He was aware of a body pressed close against his side, of his arm was draped around their shoulders. A cold hand gripped his wrist. His feet were moving, barely supporting him at times, scuffing the rough floor beneath them. He could hear more than one voice; two women, frightened and trying to stay calm. 

“There’s a speeder in the alley.” One of them was saying; it sounded muddled and distant. 

The pain was constant. It was the only thing he could feel with any certainty. Sharp, cutting – he could feel it deep inside of him, could feel the warmth leeching out of him as it leaked through his fingers and ran down his armor. 

Challenging Urok had been a terrible idea, but he was fairly certain that Ranya wouldn’t be alive now if he hadn’t done it. 

Ranya – that was the person at his side, he remembered, glancing at her face, squinting through the pain. She was pulling him into a speeder, urging him to hurry and to take it easy at the same time. 

He wasn’t sure how to do both, but he did know that moving made him hurt. The effort it took to lie down on the backseat stole his breath away. 

He was aware of the roar from the speeder’s engines, of the rapid motion as they skimmed across the desert. Overhead, the sky was a dark violet and grey, as the first light of dawn was beginning to cast the clouds into sharp relief. 

Where was Hunter? He needed to contact him and apprise him of the situation. His hand dragged to press the comm-link key on his vambrace, but before he could do so, he lost his already dwindling grasp on consciousness and fell into the dark.