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Corran wandered aimlessly through the open-air market. The denizens of Coruscant mixed and mingled, hawking treasures and delicacies from across the galaxy. This was a bad idea. All he wanted was something fresh to eat, but everywhere he looked he was reminded of his wife. Mirax was on an extended buying trip for her import business and pregnant with their first child. She had scolded him the day she left; told him to stop fussing like a protocol droid. He sighed. I just want her to slow down a little. Take it easy. For her own sake as much as for the baby's.
Tentacles waved in Corran's face. He was jerked from his reverie by an enthusiastic Gand selling his wares.
"For a fine citizen this fine day," the Gand pressed a container into his hands.
Corran peered into a jar of live eels. His stomach turned over. About as appealing as the underbelly of a dead Hutt. Ooyrl would love this. Ugh. There is such a thing as too fresh.
He shook his head, handed the jar back and picked up his pace.
The swarm of bargain-hunters, the towers throwing their shadows over everything, the constant flow of traffic above and beside the square - it all began to close in on him. Corran turned a slow circle, looking for a way out of the market. Trepidation jostled the edges of his mind.
"Cool it, buddy," he whispered. Focus inwards, just like Luke showed us. Draw on the Force. He entered the flow and felt peace flood over him.
A ripple in the Force snapped Corran to attention. He focused and reached out with his senses. A stranger - with Force sensitivity. He opened his eyes and searched the crowd.
Thirty meters ahead of him, the ripple centered around a grey-cloaked figure moving towards the main thoroughfare. He pushed through the crowd, trying to catch up.
Corran reached for his comlink. He switched it on, then paused. Who was there to link up with? His R2 droid, Whistler? Disgusted, he shoved it back into his utility belt.
He pressed on, muttering about the inconvenience of civilian dress. At least in his CorSec uniform beings had cleared a path for him. Even his Rogue Squadron gear had that effect.
"Excuse me. Excuse me. ... Ah, sorry."
He was getting closer. The cloak turned a corner. Corran broke into a weaving jog. At the intersection he came to a halt.
"Sithspawn," he muttered, moving forward again.
A bussing transport was docked at its bay. Hundreds were pouring on and off. Corran tried crossing the stream, only to be caught up in the press of bodies. He was losing ground. He scanned the crowd frantically. If the cloak got on that transport he didn't have a hope.
Why was this so urgent? Corran didn't stop to analyze the question. His instincts were screaming. That was enough for him.
Someone bumped into him. He fell against a broad back. Before he could regain his balance, Corran was grabbed by the collar. He took in the hair-covered face, the sharp teeth, the red glare. Great, an angry Shistavanen.
"Hey, sorry pal," he forced himself to relax and shrug, "the crowd, you know. No harm done."
The choke hold twisted a little tighter. He wondered if he could reach the hold-out blaster in his boot. Corran's feet lifted off the ground. Maybe not. Someone placed a hand on the alien's arm and whispered in his ear. The grip loosened.
With one last scowl, the Shistavanen heaved Corran away from him. Corran spun and slammed face-first into a duracrete wall. Momentarily stunned, he didn't move. Then he groaned, rolled carefully around to his back and leaned against the building. He exhaled slowly.
"Talk about crash and burn," he muttered. "That stung."
Corran tasted blood in his mouth and wiped at his bloody nose with his hand. He looked at it, blinked, then wiped his hand on the wall as he walked unsteadily away. When the bleeding didn't stop, he pressed his sleeve against the flow. All the while, he continued to search the crowd.
Ahead, a faint waver in the Force restored his energy. He jogged, then ran down the wide boulevard. People stepped out of his way, anxious to avoid the wild-looking human in the blood-spattered blue outfit.
Corran caught sight of the grey cloak again and slowed to a fast walk. It floated across a bridge spanning the canyon between buildings.
The area they were entering was a warehouse district. Still a lot of air traffic, but fewer pedestrians. Why hadn't the cloak sensed him? Corran dropped back a little. He halted when the cloak turned and headed for a public turbolift. A Huttese curse flew from his lips. He started to run again.
When Corran reached the lift his head was crammed with celebrating Ewoks. He leaned against the entrance, forehead pressed to the cool metal doors. He drew on the Force to silence the drums and track the descending lift. Ten. Nineteen. Twenty-five. It stopped. The ripple moved south.
Corran tapped his index finger on the door as he waited for the lift to return. The one beside it opened first and he jumped on. Someone stepped in behind him.
"Sorry, official business," Corran blurted.
The startled citizen looked him over and backed out, hands in the air.
Corran raised his eyebrow. "Was it something I said?" He looked down at his soiled tunic and smiled to himself.
The sidewalk was almost deserted. Permanent shadows enveloped the street. Corran headed south, trying to pick up the trail. He knew every skilled person moved through the Force in a different way. Easy as print-scanning a criminal. Three blocks later he sensed the cloak's Force signature in a nearby building. He picked the old-fashioned lock and slipped inside.
Corran stepped into a cavernous warehouse, with a high catwalk that ringed the storage and docking facilities and also served as access to a row of offices. He stood in the middle of the darkened east walkway with the offices to his right. A light shone through the fourth office window. He crept along the wall and ducked down as he neared the window. He strained to listen.
"I told you we're alone. So if you're happy the place is empty..." a familiar voice said. "I really don't have time for this cloak and vibroblade scene. What is this about, Alee."
Voices are difficult to place out of context. Who... Corran was so intent on the identity of the one voice, he almost missed the reply.
"It's that last 'eyes only' report I forwarded to you, sir," a female voice replied. The cloak. He could sense it. Alee? The name meant nothing.
"Yes. Yes. It's on my desk," interrupted the first voice. "I would prefer corroborating reports, but rest assured, it is getting top priority."
Corran's eyes widened. General Cracken! What was the head of New Republic Intel doing in a clandestine meeting like this? Corran eased closer so he was right under the window.
"Sir. We can't delay. Someone needs to investigate immediately." Quietly, Alee added, "I have a bad feeling about this."
"Well we can't run around half-cocked, blasting at shadows, every time we get a bad feeling. Can we?" Corran rolled his eyes as General Cracken's voice took on that paternal tone he'd run into himself. Stonewall time.
"General, if there truly is a threat to the Jedi we must stop it. The academy is so new. That alone makes it vulnerable. If the report is true..." Alee trailed off. Corran picked up the sincerity she had cloaked her voice in using the Force.
"The Jedi are important to the New Republic." General Cracken fell silent. "You may be right, Alee. But I still need a little time to pull an operation together."
"If I'm right, we don't have time, sir. Please trust me. I've never let you down before."
"That's true. You are one of my best analysts. Your conclusions are always reliable." He paused. "I suppose you've even figured out who to send. Not Luke. He's busy with the academy."
"Oh sir," she exclaimed, "we don't want to risk any of the new Jedi. Send me."
"You? You aren't a field operative, Alee. I can't take that risk."
"Just because I've sat behind a desk for a couple years, doesn't mean I'm not capable sir. When I first offered to man relay stations for you I was already fully trained. I know what I can and cannot do."
Corran cringed. What was this person up to? It didn't sound like the general knew of this Alee's Force abilities. Was she Jedi? Or something else? The hair on his arms stood on end.
"It's a big risk..." General Cracken hesitated.
"I know what I'm getting into, General. Let me go." Another wave of sincerity rolled over Corran.
Don't do it, sir. Corran held his breath.
"Okay, Alee. I imagine you'd better fill me in on your plan."
Sithspawn. Corran retraced his steps and slunk out of the building.
From his cover down the block, Corran watched a grey cloaked figure emerge and walk swiftly away. Fifteen minutes later a second person appeared. Corran scurried after him. He had almost caught up when the general swung around and leveled a blaster at Corran's head.
"One more step and the funeral date gets set." Icy green eyes pinned him to the spot.
"That would really tick Mirax off, General." Corran held out empty hands.
"Horn?" The general lowered his weapon. "Blast it, man. It's dangerous to sneak up on a fellow like that."
Corran snorted. "Especially one with your reputation. But I've never been known for my safe maneuvers."
The general nodded agreement and peered at Corran. "Why are you sporting blood on your shirt and a couple black eyes? Rogues go brawling again?"
Corran's hand flew to his nose. It was still tender. "Bumped into a touchy Shistavanen."
The general's silence urged Corran to continue. "Sir. We have to talk."
"I'm getting a lot of that lately," Cracken replied, dryly.
"Yeah, right," Corran hesitated. "I ... um ... overheard your conversation back in the warehouse and..."
"You were spying on me?" Cracken's voice rose in astonishment.
"I didn't know it was you. It was the grey cloak. I had a bad feeling about her." He paused. "Who is she, anyway?"
"Alee Nardo. Field ops report analyst. Very reliable. With Intel since just after Hoth."
"Great. Let me tail her." Corran surprised himself with the request.
"Never one to mince words, are you Horn?" amusement crept into the general's voice.
"Is that a yes?"
"Well, I would feel better if someone kept an eye on her. I could requisition you from Rogue Squadron for a few weeks easily enough." He narrowed his eyes. "Why the concern?"
Corran leaned against the railing and looked over the edge. The lights dimmed into darkness well before the bottom of the street. The feeling of staring into a bottomless pit was unnerving. He ran fingers through brown hair. Impressions. Feelings. Where was the logic? He sighed.
"I'm not sure. Something about her is ... off somehow. Dangerous. I want to pursue it." He returned the look. "So why'd you agree to let her go."
"I don't know. Losing my knack, I guess. She just seemed so ...," Cracken searched for the right word, "sincere."
"Yeah. Like a Jawa with a deal you can't refuse."
