The Last Edge: In From The Cold
In From The Cold
In From The Cold
Hyperspace, 0 ABY
(Several months after the Battle of Yavin.)
Hyperspace swirled outside The Last Edge's viewport, but it did nothing to calm Seonac anLaith's racing mind this time. The comm chirped. Probably Draven. The man was an apex blowhole. Seonac took an even breath, flipped the switch and keyed in the encryption code. "This is The Last Edge. That you General?"
"Sal?" Private Weems’ voice. Seonac acknowledged the nickname. "Hold for General Draven." The General’s clipped voice came through a heartbeat later.
"Acting Lieutenant anLaith. You know what I’m going to say. Rising Tide is a no go. Pre-emptive insertion by Oddball Five - or any other man, woman or droid for that matter - is unsanctioned.” Seonac knew all right. “The Pamarthen pilots and soldiers that want to defect have done so. The rest of the planet is locked up tight.” A pause. Draven continued. “Look, I know she's one of yours. I know... " Now this was unexpected. A glimmer of humanity from the grim man who made the unpleasant decisions for the Rebel Alliance. "I realise it won't be easy. You need to bring her in. Warm or cold. That's an order." A pause. "Acknowledge."
Seonac closed his eyes and rifled through the options. There must be ways to salvage this thing and do some good for the Alliance, without doing it Draven's way. What a mess. At least Loosh was out of it, laid up in Home One's med bay. And Maggs was safe, too, having got herself grounded for brawling with Syndulla's Lasat buddy.
"Acting Lieutenant anLaith, acknowledge."
"-no-edged -n-ral. B-d comm. Ris-ng T-de - go. . -ast Edgeout." Seonac staccatoed. Lame, but today was going to be all about least worst options. He cut off the transmission and uncoupled the comm entirely. The navicomputer chimed as the ship approached real space. "Here we go."
—
Hiver, Three Ways Pass
Wild grass crunched under Rena's feet as she walked the frozen pass through the hills. No fresh snow would fall in Hiver's equatorial region until the Far Pass, when the planet's elliptical orbit pulled it a little further from its weakening sun. But a deep frost would settle each night. And each morning Rena enjoyed the sight of her breath on the crisp air and the sounds of brittle foliage as it crackled beneath and sprang back behind her.
Repulsors sounded somewhere far above, hidden behind light grey clouds mottling the blue sky. Most likely a freighter from the icebound workships up north, headed for the spaceport and bypassing Three Ways, the now-defunct waystation where her uncle's inn lay. Probably one of the last shipments before Xintantay. Once the festivities started not a scrap of work would be done by miner, fisher nor any other worker until the Fourth Day. The sun appeared from behind a cloud and her storm goggles compensated for the sudden change.
The path broadened out before her, the white slopes on either side fell back and she looked down on the familiar sight of Three Ways in the plain below. Picking her way to the top of the narrow switchback stone stairs that led down there, Rena activated the static chargers on her field boots; the steps were treacherous at the best of times. Her Uncle Moss had mocked her for wasting money on fancy travelling goggles and shoes. But then he had wanted her to buy a second-hand speeder from him instead. He had scowled and sulked when Rena had told him that she would rather make the journey safely by foot than find herself stranded beside a broken-down speeder in the wrong shoes. Moss didn't like that Rena had a sensible answer to most things. Rena figured that he mostly disliked that she clearly didn't think much of him at all. He only tolerated her because she was cheap help at the inn and took care of Cinda for him. That suited Rena fine.
The inn lay below and, next to it, the smaller of the landing pads. She didn't have to wonder why UncleMoss kept the inn going after the Empire had dragged the nearby mines empty. Three Ways was no longer a useful hub between mines, spaceport and coastal facilities, but the Empire had left behind a remote but well-positioned place with all the infrastructure that a smuggling operation could wish for; two landing pads, garages and hanger space, dormitories, a communications array and more. Not that Moss Jerlyn's operation needed all of that, but Rena knew that he had ambitions. And that was precisely why she wanted to leave Hiver and take her young cousin Cinda with her, regardless of the war rumbling along out in the galaxy. The token Imperial force left on Hiver mostly kept to the coasts and to themselves, but sooner or later Moss was going to bring them down on his head, and Cinda deserved no part of that.
She gasped cold air as her goggles flashed an alert in her peripheral vision. Locating the source amid the buildings of Three Ways she used the googles to zoom in on the image of a woman walking away from the comms tower far below. A stranger with a mane of copper hair and utilitarian fatigues. Perhaps an unexpected guest, odd as that was during the festival. Rena continued her own journey.
-
Shrugging off her boots and greatcoat in the storm porch Rena noticed that Moss had replaced the sign that read "Mute droids and leave in pen. Thanks." There had been an incident last week when a militant droid had objected to the segregation and almost started a small revolution. Its owner apologised, saying that he picked up the glitching thing on Kessel years ago and bought the night's peace by treating everyone present to a round of drinks from the bar.
The droid pen was just inside the main bar area, where their owners could keep an eye on them. Rena thought it doubly cruel to force them to mutely watch as the organics enjoyed freedoms they could not. Maybe she and Cinda should start a droid bar somewhere out in the galaxy. She passed through the inner door and stopped by the pen where the inn's small compliment of droids stirred; the lanky EV-series housekeeper droid, the plodding PLNK-series power droid and half a dozen MSE droids that Cinda had converted into cleaning units using scraps scavenged from the abandoned Imperial garages at Three Ways. They had been joined by a DUM-series pit droid; likely belonging to the woman she had seen outside. Photoreceptors whirred as Rena leaned towards the wire fencing. "We'll have you folks out and about as soon as Moss is out of the way," she whispered conspiratorially. "What do you say to oil baths and carbon scrubs?" They didn't say anything of course - Moss had muted them - but EV-4G4, the housekeeper droid, stood a little straighter and one of the mouse droids span in circles excitedly. "OK, good. Where's Moss, Evie?" The EV droid pointed a long arm towards a door to the left of the bar, where Moss kept an office.
She found Moss sorting through papers and already dressed for the Xintantay festivities in his kilt and finery. He scrubbed up well enough, for an obvious rogue. "You're almost late" he murmured without looking up. Rena didn't bother pointing out the obvious. She wanted Moss out of her hair and gone with as little fuss as possible. Then she and Cinda could enjoy the next few days together, planning their adventures. "There'll be a big shipment coming through on the Fifth Day, just after I get back. So get everything ready. We'll need at least a dozen beds in the dorms over at Three Ways, and make sure the power to the hangers hasn't shorted out again."
"Yes uncle," Rena said. "I saw our guest out for a walk. Nobody we know?"
"Nah. Just some tourist. Probably made planetfall curious about the festivities but decided she didn't like crowds or the way they cook horgath on the coast. Who knows. Said she'd be gone by the time I get back. Make sure she is." He warned her not to give the guest's droid an oil bath unless she paid the surcharge up front and ran through a list of things that needed tending to around the inn while making preening adjustments to his outfit. Finally he shoved the small ceremonial vibroblade into his boot.
"Cinda upstairs?" Rena asked, knowing that the droids kept track of the girl better than Moss ever did.
"Maybe. Haven't seen her since I started to get ready. You have everything you need. I'll see you on the Fifth."
-
With Moss gone, the lazy day stretched out ahead of Rena and Cinda. The sun shone in beams through the high windows of the bar area and the droids puttered happily around them. She hadn't been able to unmute the guest’s pit droid without the owner’s overrides, but it contently clomped and whirred about without a chirp or warble.
Cinda seemed to Rena to be in a bright mood as they bargained over which planets they could visit before they would have to stop and make some more money before moving on.
"Okay," said Cinda, frowning in concentration and holding out her braided hair in both hands. For a moment, Rena thought, she looked both younger than her fifteen years and very like the girl’s late mother. But this was a young woman with her own heart who was very clear that she was going to squeeze every drop of life out of her time in this galaxy. " So the big hits on the first leg are the colossi on Faltine, the bridges of Pamarthe, the crystal caves on Christophsis and then Naboo; the lake country, Otoh Gunga, waterfalls of Theed and then whatever work we can pick up there for a few months."
"Sounds perfect," Rena smiled at her. "It's going to a be a while before we get to Glee Anslem and Ithor though. Sorry."
"Ah, that's ok. Just gives me more time to practice my Ithorian."
"You know you only have one throat, right?"
"Hey, life's full of little challenges." She sat tall and puffed her chest. "I am Cinda Jerlyn and a little biology will not stand in my way."
"Sweetheart," Rena leaned in and took the girl's face in her hands. "I pity any fool that stands in your way." Cinda pursed her lips and nodded, accepting the compliment. "Right. I need to sort out lunch for our mystery guest." Rena glanced around looking for the housekeeper, finding her emerging from the backrooms with an armful of supplies for the bar. "Evie, did our guest say anything about food?"
EV-4G4 looked up from her work. "Only that she would eat alone in her room, Mistress Rena."
"OK, thanks. Chef's choice then. Take it up to her when I’m done, please Evie." She rolled her sleeves up as she headed past the droid at the bar and towards the back rooms and the kitchen.
"Horgath noodles, please and thank you!" Cinda shouted to her down the passage.
__
In the afternoon Cinda retired to her room with her aural mufflers and the latest module of her Ithorian language course. Rena had tended to most of the tasks that Moss had left for her around the inn. The preparations for Moss's smuggling shenanigans could wait until tomorrow. The droids had returned to the pen in the main room to charge and the skies outside had clouded over.The dullness seemed to the heighten the quiet in the empty bar. Rena made herself a cup of tea and was idly throwing bulleyes at the bar’s dartboard when the sound of repulsor engines broke the stillness of the inn.
At first Rena thought it must just be another ship with a late cargo bound for the spaceport. But it was flying low and in moments she could tell that it had circled and was coming in to land on the smaller pad next to the inn. She had tended the inn without Moss on many occasions, but for some reason the sudden possibility of more unexpected guests unsettled her. "Evie," she called to the droid as she walked to take up position behind the bar, "Make sure you have a clear remote link to the comms tower at Three Ways. You know what to do if there's any trouble."
"Affirmative, Mistress Rena. External sensors suggest a small Dynamic-class freighter. Single occupant, now approaching the storm doors."
No sooner had the droid spoken than the sound of the outer door opening reached them. There was a stamping of boots as though the visitor was shaking off snow or returning warmth to their limbs. Rena grabbed the nearest glass and began rubbing it with a cloth, mentally noting the three respulsor darts lying on top of the bar and the blaster hidden underneath it. With a chime the light above the entrance turned green, the inner doors opened and a man strode in, stopping after a few paces. He was of average height, with a light beard and a shaved head. An asymmetric cape hung from his broad shoulders. He wore a leather kilt and carried an unfamiliar helmet under his arm.
"Blessings to all in this house!" he declared, the traditional seasonal greeting, his arms wide and his smile broad. The man's accent was soft and strange.
"This house welcomes all who come in peace." Rena managed the traditional response and a smile that she didn’t feel.
His steps were heavy and deliberate. The whirring of photoreceptors and droid limbs followed his steps as the droids in the pen angled for a better look at him in the dim light.
Rena centred herself as she measured him up. His garment was something like a Hiverian kilt, but it was in a style not entirely familiar to Rena. He wore no weapon openly and she wondered if he kept a hidden blade in his boot, like the skurn tar Moss wore. Could be from Pamarthe. It was practically next door and shared some customs with Hiver.
"You're not local," she said, trying to sound at ease.
"Now would you believe me if I told you I was from Tatooine." he smiled brightly and managed not to make it a question. The accent again; like a rough rock washed smooth in a fast-flowing river. Rena gave him a raised eyebrow and wry smile; a practiced reflex from dealing with secretive spacers, smugglers, and assorted chancers at the inn.
"Keep your secrets then, Pamarthen." The man gave a half smile, and something like a nod.
"Oh, I've been to P'marthe. Have a cousin from there. Half Pantoran and blue as the sky, he is. So you never can go judging these things too quickly. It's a big old galaxy out there."
"You've spent time in the Core too, by the sounds of it. I might not have left Hiver yet, but the galaxy has passed through here, right enough."
It was only as the stranger stowed his travelling bag and helmet under a chair that she noticed his legs. Visible between the hem of his kilt and the top of his boots were something like protocol droid legs that had seen better days. He caught her glance and smiled tightly.
"Lost 'em in the war," giving his thigh a solid rap-rap with knuckled fist.
"Which war?" she replied lightly. "They seem never ending."
"Isn't that a truth? Take your pick."
The man settled at a side table with his back to the wall and view of the door. Rena had seen enough trouble to understand the stranger's precaution. He ordered a bowl of stew and a pot of Koshwrack tea. When he asked about the stack of datapads, travelogues and maps that lay on a nearby table, Rena talked about her travel plans, without mentioning Cinda. Diverting further enquiry, she chattered at him about what passed for local goings-on, the inn, the weather, the defunct mines, and harbour, and why it was quiet at this time of year.
"We do have one guest staying here right now, mind. You’ll likely see them before too long." Not that Rena had even seen her yet. But at least he knew now that they weren’t alone. She paused, unsure whether to ask what was on her mind. "Do you-?" she started. "Sorry. Do you mind me asking whether you carry a skurn tar?" The stranger wasn’t aware of such a thing and asked what it was. "Oh," she tried not to let her relief show. Why was she so on edge? "It's just a small hidden blade that folk from the Old Families here keep on them when they wear their finery. Though mostly all that rigmarole is a ceremonial thing these days, I suppose. Weddings and wakes and holidays like today, that sort of thing. You don't wear a weapon with your kilts on Pamarthe?"
"Well," he said pushing his chair back and stretching his mechanical legs out, "I've heard that on Pamarthe they call it- "
"They call it a scath glaive.” The new voice, a woman's, came from the door at the back of the bar that led to stairs and guest rooms. "And they don't keep it in their boots." Rena recognised her as the red-haired woman she had seen from afar earlier, the guest. The two strangers locked eyes. The air seemed to leave the room.
Outside and overhead, repulsor engines announced the approach of another ship.
The man didn't stir except to dab at his mouth with a napkin. "That'll be the Imps you called." Silence hung in the room between them all while the howl from the vessel outside intensified then faded. "Fortunately, they've had to land on the other pad up on the outcrop. So, we have a few moments."
Rena knew two things. That she had no idea what was going on. And that she could only hope that Cinda stayed in her room until it was over. "Did you say Imperials?"
The red-haired woman crossed the room and took a seat at the man's table. His eyes followed her every move. "So. You found me." Her voice was defiant but her eyes wouldn't meet his.
Rena felt rooted to her spot behind the bar. Neither guest had so much as glanced in her direction. "Did you say Imperials?"
The man turned to Rena with an apologetic smile, "Aye, I'm afraid so." He turned back to the woman and his gaze turned cold. "You weren't hard to find."
"The droid?" The woman still didn't meet his gaze.
"The droid. You needed him for the comm tower.” He paused. Then a sigh. “And to get me here.”
"Timing was always going to be tight." She acknowledged, finally looking up with a tight smile. “But you made it.”
The pit droid in the pen looked between the two humans and warbled plaintively. Someone must have unmuted it remotely. Rena was no reader of droids, but she got the feeling that the droid was less confused about what was going on than she was.
The woman looked the man in the eyes without flinching. "This was the only way I could see...." The man's raised hand stopped her short, his expression not one of anger so much as regret. There was a moment of quiet.
"Well. You picked a nice spot for it, at least." He said, before turning a kind face to Rena. "You're alone here, aye?"
"N-no. Cinda, my little cousin Cinda, is upstairs. She's just a girl." The Pamarthen (Rena was convinced of that now) glared ruefully at the red-haired woman, shaking his head. "And I can't have Imperials here" Rena ventured. "If they find out what my uncle does here..." She trailed off. The man sighed and looked around.
"Smuggling, right? Not a bad spot for that, too. Well, this lot of Imps won't be here long. Can't promise much about the next lot, though. It's Rena, right?" Rena nodded. "Well, Rena, here's what happens next. Agent Ceris here," indicating the other woman, "is going to walk over towards you, turn around and face me, and place her hands behind her on the bar. And you're going to pop these binders on her treacherous hands." He threw a set of binders that landed with a clunk on the bar in front of her. The woman - Ceris - was already halfway to the bar, her face an emotionless mask.
"What did you do deserve this, Ms Ceris?" asked Rena as she fastened the binders around the woman's wrists.
"Let's just say that the Rebel Alliance and I had a difference of opinion. The rest is hardly important." Rena could see the Pamarthen lift his face to the ceiling and take a deep breath. Rebels chasing each other's tails and Imperials on the doorstep, thought Rena. Great. Ceris stepped away from the bar, her wrists bound behind her. The Pamarthen pointed her towards one side of the room and she obeyed. The sound of the outer door opening broke the silence.
Rena checked the monitor embedded in the bar. "There are, ah, five in the porch." Rena's hands shook at the controls as much as her voice. "Sensors, um, sensors say none left on the ship."
"Probably locals caught short-handed." said the Pamarthen. "Back-up from Pamarthe will be hours out yet. As much of a break as we're likely to get."
"Evie?" Rena said. The housekeeper droid in the pen looked towards her. "Last resort only, you understand?" The entrance system chimed.
"Compliance, Mistress Rena." The Pamarthen turned to Rena, his eyes wide with questioning as the light above the entrance turned green. But before either could say anything the inner door slid open and the room filled with the clatter of armour and boots. Four stormtroopers fanned out around a single officer with a thin moustache, their weapons raised. The Pamarthen raised his hands slowly and Rena did likewise. The officer scanned the room with bored eyes until he saw Ceris.
"You. Hands up." Ceris said nothing, but slowly turned around to show him her bound wrists. "What's going on here? We were told to expect one Rebel defector."
"It's a funny story actually," began the Pamarthen. "I was just on my way home to Tatooine, when-" But before he could get any further, there was a clattering of feet bounding down the back stairs, several at a time.
"Hey Rena! Did you know that the Ithorian for Imperial literally translates as "self-important dung..." she burst into the room and stopped, eyes wide, aural mufflers still on. "… breather." She tried to smile as she removed the headgear. "Hello." The Pamarthen, hands already in the air, returned her shy wave with a jovial smile. The Imperials did not, two of them training their guns on her instead. As they did so, Rena saw the short antenna emerge from EV-464's head.
"Captain," said a stormtrooper wearing a heavy comms pack, "We have an unauthorised signal accessing the nearby comms tower. "
"Isolate and neutralise at source." He ordered in clipped tones. There was silence for a moment as the trooper passed her weapon to one of the others and, using a handheld monitor, moved around the room triangulating the signal. Rena caught Cinda's terrified eyes and beckoned her to join her behind the bar.
"Stay where you are." One of the stormtroopers took a step towards Cinda, weapon raised.
The comms trooper stopped beside the droid pen. Without a word, she held out an empty hand. Her weapon, tossed back by her colleague, landed softly in it. Without looking, she casually raised the weapon and blasted EV-464 once in the head.
Rena was dimly aware of Cinda screaming, but more was happening at once than she could process. EV-4G4 crumpled onto the unlocked door of the pen, which swung open. The mouse droids all whizzed out and dashed straight at the feet of the Imperials, who instinctively swung their weapons towards them. In the same moment, the Pamarthen gestured with his raised hands and, as one, all of the Imperials staggered towards him. One of them fell to his knees, the others managing to steady themselves. Somehow, the Pamarthen had one of their blasters – Rena didn't know how. She dived for Cinda and pulled her down behind the bar. The sounds of blaster fire filled the air. Without thinking, Rena grabbed the blaster hidden beneath the bar and stood up, weapon raised, scanning the room. The officer and two of the stormtroopers were down and only the trooper on all fours was armed. The Pamarthen swore as the blaster in his hand jammed, and he bought himself a moment by hurling the weapon at the trooper's head, causing the Imperial to duck and stumble in his attempt to regain his footing.
The comms trooper was still standing, weaponless. Rena saw her spin and brace herself as Agent Ceris, hands still bound behind her, ran and threw herself bodily at the trooper, both going down hard. Rena’s aim shifted back to the centre of the room and the kneeling trooper. The Pamarthen shouted and with a gesture the blaster flew out of her hands. It skittered across the floor and came to a stop next to the prone body of the Imperial officer.
Even as she tried to process what had happened, the kneeling trooper staggered upright and took aim at the Pamarthen, who launched into a powerful forward roll, the trooper's shots going high. As the Pamarthen came up out of the roll, a blade of green light hummed to life from nowhere, cleaving the trooper from front to back, abdomen to shoulder blades. The Pamarthen kept moving, even as the trooper's torso slewed apart and both parts crumpled in a heap on the floor.
Rena thought she heard a warning as the comms trooper recovered from Ceris’s assault but couldn’t see where the red-haired woman had fallen in the chaos. The comms trooper adopted a fighting stance as the Pamarthen approached her, but was powerless as the man smashed the butt of his blade hilt into the eyepiece of her helmet, shattering it, before grabbing her by the shoulder and running her through. To the side, the officer had struggled to his feet and raised Rena’s lost blaster, firing wildly. The Pamarthen rolled his eyes and grimaced, swinging the still-impaled comms trooper around like a dance partner. He strode slowly across the room, gritting his teeth against the impacts of blaster fire on his human shield. Rena could only watch dumbly as he threw the trooper aside and, with one inhumanly powerful kick from his droid legs, sent the Imperial officer ragdolling across the room and into the wall.
The smell of ozone and cooked meat filled the air and the automatic air filtration system in the bar whirred to life, its noise joining the hum of the Pamarthen's blade for a moment before it disappeared behind his cape.
Ceris emerged from a pile of overturned tables and chairs and cast a look around. She nodded and turned to Rena. "Told you it wasn't in his boot".
Rena sagged and vomited on the bar, adding to the air filters' burden. She wiped her mouth with a sleeve and eyed Ceris. "Aye. You forgot to mention it was a karkin' lightsaber, mind."
__
As much as she would be forever able to recall the events of the day in more detail than she would care to, the following hours felt unreal. The Pamarthen asked her a series of questions about the inn's sensor suite and then ordered her and Cinda to stay in a cupboard behind the bar until they were gone. She did her best to shield Cinda from the carnage on the other side of the bar before settling onto the floor of the storage space with the shaking girl. The door was closed and they were left in darkness with their arms around one another. Cinda took deep breaths as Rena placed the aural mufflers around the girl’s head. She calmed her own breath and listened to the muffled speech and sounds in the room beyond.
"Nice work with the mouse droids Peetee." The Pamarthen's voice. "Really? Well good work Evie, then. Help me get these bodies outside." The pit droid warbled an acknowledgment.
"I could help." That was Ceris's voice. Rena heard no response from the man. The droid warbled obstinately, but whether at the woman or the man, or just the mess that it was having to deal with, Rena couldn't tell. For what seemed an age she heard the sounds of bodies being dragged, the whirring of droid parts and the inner and outer doors opening and closing.
Eventually, silence fell for a what seemed like minutes. Rena wondered if they were now alone. She was about to push the door open when the man spoke again.
"So. Here we are." No response. "By the deeps, how did it come to this?"
"You know." Ceris said, her voice wavering. “And there probably wasn’t a version of this that didn’t end with a parting. You back to squabbling with Draven and doing what you think is best for the others. And me... . Well.” A pause. There was steel in her voice when she spoke next. "Sometimes the only way out is through. You know what comes now. The only question is, can you do it?" The Pamarthen sighed.
"Aye. Aye, love, I can do it." There was a long moment of quiet then Rena flinched at the sound of a lightsaber igniting. There was a short, strangled gasp and Rena waited for the sound of a falling body that never came. The only sounds she heard were the man's receding steps. She pushed the door open a crack and watched him carrying Ceris' limp form over his shoulder, a blackened hole in her lower back. Rena's legs gave way, her breath coming in gasps as she fumbled to embrace Cinda in the darkness.
Later - time was becoming fuzzy - he returned and she heard him accessing the sensor suite core and logs housed under the bar. Finally, he spoke. "I'm sorry for the trouble and the mess. More Imperials will be here soon enough. Tell them the truth and they should be gone long before your uncle gets back. Fare you both well, Rena and Cinda. May better times meet us and may we meet in better times."
__
Rena waited for what seemed an eternity. Finally, she heard the sound of repulsors firing up and receding and felt it was safe to emerge. The bodies were gone, the surviving tables and chairs tidied, albeit some of them marked with blaster burns. One table was set with two cups of koshwrack tea next to a neat stack of the travelogues and maps that Rena and Cinda had pored over earlier.
The remains of EV-4G4 and two mouse droids had been laid out to one side of the droid pen. The remaining mouse droids and the power droid were in the pen, silently charging. The pit droid was gone. She heard the crackle and spit of a large fire outside.
Rena sweetened Cinda’s tea and sent her upstairs with it, telling her to stay in one of the back rooms that looked north towards the pass. If the girl had heard the sounds of the funeral pyre out front she had said nothing, and there were things that Rena would spare her if she could.
Outside, the heat of the fire was intense. The Pamarthen had used carbon fuel bricks from the emergency store at the side of the inn. The plastoid armour of the stormtroopers gave off a caustic black smoke that billowed away to the south, towards Three Ways and the comms tower. She was dimly aware of being grateful that she was horrified by the sight. Even so, the world seemed to be closing in around her and the flames of the fire took on an otherworldy feel, like she was seeing it through someone else's eyes. The sight of Ceris's boots smoking at the toes snapped Rena back to herself and she had to look away, her eyes finding the landing pad on the plateau where the Imperial shuttle sat, silent and empty.
She spun at a sudden movement behind her and saw the stormtrooper who had killed EV-464, slumped against the wall of the inn, one eye fixed on Rena through the shattered eye piece of her helmet. The white plastoid on her legs was scorched black from the fire and she had ripped off part of her armour to apply bacta patches from a field kit that lay strewn on the frozen ground. Rena walked over to her in a daze, her hands finding the static shovel that stood propped by the porch. How easy it would be. How right it would be, she thought as she raised the shovel above her head. The trooper held up a hand, a fearful pleading in her exposed eye. Rena slammed the shovel into the frozen ground, where it stood swaying in the wind as she dragged the trooper back into inside to leave her lying in her armour next to EV-464. She would do no more for her.
Rena poured herself a drink from the bar as she accessed the sensor suite monitor to figure out what the Pamarthen had done to the records. If more Imperials were coming, she needed to know what they were going to find.
__
It was dark outside when the Imperials from nearby Pamarthe arrived hours later; the pyre outside burned down to embers, bones and melted plastoid. Medics tended to the wounded stormtrooper while a technician accessed the inn’s security systems. Two officers; a stern captain with the same thin moustache as his predecessor and a kindly female lieutenant debriefed Rena and Cinda in Moss's office. Rena had feared that it would take hours, but with the war escalating she supposed these things didn't merit special attention anymore. The lieutenant’s copper coloured hair reminded her of Ceris and she suddenly smelled burning leather.
They were showing her the visual records from the inn's sensor suite. Everything played out exactly as it had done earlier that day, except that the man in the recording was not the man she had met. The log had been altered. Instead of a middle-aged man with droid legs, the records showed a young man with fair hair who wore a lightsaber openly on his belt. To Rena’s relief, they were more interested in him than in her attempt to join the skirmish, which they told her had been a brave attempt to assist the Imperials. The feed played on. She watched as the young man ignited his blade, impaled Ceris and carried her outside.
"The audio is corrupted” the captain was saying. “Are you sure he said he was from Tatooine?" Rena nodded tightly. "Sorry, can you state your answer for the transcript, please?"
"Oh, sorry. Yes. His accent was muddled, but..." Rena realised that they weren't interested in nuance. There were boxes to be ticked and reports to be filed. "Sorry, um, yes, he said he was from Tatooine." The captain gave the lieutenant a look that Rena couldn't read as satisfaction or hunger. They took their leave of Rena with a terse warning not to leave the area. The wounded stormtrooper had already been stretchered out to a shuttle and the whole troop filed out and away.
—
As quickly as the whole storm had come upon them, they were left alone in the inn. It was the middle of the night but neither Cinda nor Rena could sleep. They sat up in the bar area drinking tea; Cinda watching an Ithorian holo on a datapad, Rena resuming her game of darts from a half a day and a lifetime ago.
Rena had just landed another bullseye when a comm unit sounded somewhere in the room.
"It's not me." said Cinda in response to Rena's questioning look. The girl looked exactly as Rena felt; exhausted and fragile as a leaf at Far Pass. The comm continued to sound. It was coming from the bar. Rena followed the noise, opening various cupboards under the bar, Cinda hovering over her shoulder. "There." Cinda pointed to a cupboard with a stock of bottled drinks.
Rena lifted a few dusty bottles out of the way, glancing at the label – Pamarthen Port In A Storm – and reached in to grasp a heavy drawstring bag. The comm chirruped louder as she opened the bag and saw the comm unit nestled on top of a stack of Imperial credits. She spoke into the comm. "Hello?". There was no answer, but the signal stopped. They emptied the credits out onto the floor and found a flimsiplast note that read simply: It won't take you as far as Glee Anselm and Ithor, but it should take you far enough for now. Don't delay.
__
The weak sun was rising as Rena lifted the tarp from one of Moss's rundown speeders. It was ancient and rusted, but it only had to get them to the spaceport to the east. Cinda still looked tired, but there was a vitality to her that had been missing in the night; a readiness and a need to lean into this strange turn of events,
"OK, get in." said Rena. Cinda gargled something in Ithorian in response, smiling. Rena rolled her eyes and laughed. "Well, there should be time to work on the accent."
As she gunned the speeder along the road east and the comms tower at Three Ways receded silently behind them, Rena wondered about the Pamarthen. Whether they might indeed meet again in better times. Or worse times. And whether there might yet be a price to pay for the freedom they raced towards in a galaxy tearing itself apart.
—
Hiver, The Grinding Coast
Seonac had PT-77 set the ship down on the other side of the continent, glad to have the little droid back by his side. He was in no rush back to the Alliance fleet. A walk in the foothills that swept down to the frozen sea might help clear his head. The little pit droid warbled a concerned enquiry after him as he descended the The Last Edge’s ramp onto the frosted ground, but Seonac was too lost in thought to hear. After this his irregulars wouldn't be getting another sanctioned mission for a while anyway. Draven would see to that. Tides, the man wouldn't even be wrong. They had a rogue agent bent on precipitating the liberation of an Imperial planet that was under a lockdown, and without backup. And the unsanctioned massacre of an Imperial squad to cover it up. At least running the Skywalker gag would play well with Alliance Command; anything to keep the Imps chasing their tails for the Farmboy. Still, how much longer Seonac's crew and the Alliance could tolerate each other was something to chew over with Loosh, Maggs and PT-77 when they got back. Though they were locked onto a particular course now, for good or ill, with or without official sanction.
He opened his wrist comm and spoke. “Peetee. Recouple the comm and relay this to the Alliance.” PT-77 chirped an acknowledgement. Seonac gathered his thoughts for a second. "This is Acting Lieutenant anLaith of The Last Edge. Reporting to General Draven. Oddball Five is loose and Rising Tide is go. Last Edge out."
As the frost crunched beneath his boots he knew only one thing for sure; from here, yet again, all roads led back home.
—
Elsewhere, on a medical transport bound for Imperial-controlled Pamarthe, Rebel Agent Nomi Ceris, still wearing scraps of charred Stormtrooper armour, was already on her way.
In From The Cold is part of The Last Edge, a creative writing, music, art and cosplay fan project set in the Star Wars universe. It also serves as a prelude to the planned novella, The Rising Tide.