No Rest for the Weary

Prologue

Space above the Alliance safe world New Atori

"Training flight of four to training command. Ready to initiate lightspeed."

"Copy, Wild Flight. Clear to the jump point; go whenever you're ready, Tracer."

"Roger, Command."

Relics of a bypassed age, the four Z-95 Headhunter fighters swung in a loose diamond formation towards the optimal hyperspace point outbound of the Rebel safe world. Ka'el "Pulse" Tracind, the flight instructor of the sortie, keyed his comlink to the channel he and his wingman shared.

"Talk to me, Jinx."

Jenna "Jinx" Lyn laughed as she replied. "What do you want me to say, Pulse?"

"How'd you sleep?"

Jinx shook her head. "Don't tell me you believe that anymore."

"Hey, it always worked in Defender."

"Are we in Defender any more, Ka'el?"

"No."

"I slept fine."

"Good." He keyed the com again. "Flight, hyperspace on my mark. Three. Two. One. Mark."

Cabin 4179, Mon Calamari Star Cruiser Equalizer

The datapad clattered as it dropped to the deck. With a stuttering sigh, the figure rocked back on his bunk, sweat soaking his shirt, beading on his face. Absentmindedly, he raised a hand to his face and wiped the stinging liquid from his eyes. His other hand also rose, bringing the bottle of Uvena whiskey to his lips for another long drag.

He couldn't keep his eyes from the soft glow of the datapad's main readout, though. The words burned into his mind, even with only the screen's ambience to read by.

Mission report:
Z-95 training flight encountered unexpected Imperial convoy near New Atori. Evacuation of safe world beginning. Four pilots killed in skirmish: Lt. Ka'el Tracind, Lt. Jenna Lyn, Flt.Off. Dal Try'ln, Flt.Off. Farlingra'ren.

"Jinx...Pulse." His voice was raw, raspy, to the point that not even he recognized it. "Damn it. Damn it all."

He blinked. He couldn't be the last. He couldn't...

His mind cleared. He took another drink, then recapped the bottle and stood. He set the liquor on his desk, then keyed the activator for the holoprojector. Another light shimmered above the projector; in hologram, a group of twelve pilots stood in front of a Y-wing fighter.

Ten of the twelve pilots had a red "X" through their projection, radiating from the center of their forms.

He pressed a few keys. Another red "X" appeared, floating in the midst of his holo image.

There was one left.

Calmly, Jacen "Screamer" Addrison picked up the blaster pistol from his desk. He checked the charge, made sure the safety was off, and then looked at the holo.

"I'm sorry, Adam."

With one sure movement, he placed the barrel of the weapon against his temple.

"I'm sorry."

Chapter 1 - Burnout

"Prowler, break left!"

Marc "Prowler" Desrosiers, Buccaneer's newest flight member, heard the panicked yell of his flight leader, Lt. Col. Adam "Guardian" Burns, in his headset. Without thinking he complied, throwing his Y-wing fighter into a spinout roll to his port side.

A hail of jade laser fire sliced through the space where Prowler's fighter would have been, backlighting the young pilot in a sickly green wash. Prowler grit his teeth, then swung his ship back onto his original course, dropping behind the trio of TIE fighters that had just tried to kill him. His finger tightened on his trigger, and he sent four ruby lances at the backs of the lead TIE.

"Watch it, Five!" Guardian growled again, throwing his own Y-wing fighter out to starboard to avoid slamming into Prowler's craft. The unforced maneuver broke up his own chance to follow the eyeballs, which quickly distanced themselves from the slower fighter-bombers of Buccaneer Squadron.

"I'm on 'em," Prowler called, shifting some of his shield power to his engines, allowing the pair of powerful Koensayr R200 Ion Jet engines more thrust, which compressed the young pilot back into his command couch before the acceleration compensator could adjust. "Five is tallyho."

"Negative, Five, they're too far out," Guardian shot to the younger pilot. "Let 'em go; we have to get back to the engagement zone."

"Five, Lead; I can take them..." Prowler responded, craning his head to look at his squadron leader. What is it, Guardian? he thought. They're meat...

"Heads up, Five, three eyeballs inbound!"

Prowler's head snapped around and he quickly found his prey. The trio had cross-weaved and headed back at him. He quickly shunted his shields double-front, then opened up at extreme range

The fighter he had bracketed spun out and away from the enemy formation, evading the rain of laser blasts that would end his ship quickly. Prowler followed the target, throwing wave after wave of destructive energy in the TIE's direction, trying to lead him.

It was the screeching of his R2 unit that reminded him of the other two fighters. The droid's jabbering was instantly echoed by the crash of energy beams on his shields; the other fighters had kicked their engines up higher and closed faster than Prowler had expected. Buccaneer Five was forced to go evasive again, but his time the enemy fighters swung in behind him and kept up the pursuit.

"Five to group - I need a hand over-"

The transmission ended as Prowler's fighter disintegrated into a spectacular ball of red and orange fire.

Guardian set his jaw. He'd managed to pick off one of the trailing TIEs before Prowler died; the other twisted away from the Five's broken husk right into another pair of linked energy beams from Guardian's fighter. The blast separated the cockpit ball from one of the solar wings, sending the eyeball into an irrecoverable spin. The third fighter had disappeared.

Shaking his head, Guardian swung back to the engagement zone. The rest of Buccaneer Squadron was in a mad fight over the surface of an Imperial Victory-class Star Destroyer, the Offensive Stench, while trying to avoid the withering covering fire supplied by the Nebulon-B Escort Frigate Wet Wookiee. The shattered hulk of another Nebulon-B, the Huttslime, drifted behind the VSD, first victim of the Bucc's offensive.

The B-wing flight groups were accounting well of themselves, weaving in and out of their attack passes gracefully (as gracefully as a B-wing could do anything) and dishing out megajoules of destructive energy. The Stench's fighter compliment had been drawn off by a mayday from an Imperial research station that thought the entire Liberty wing was attacking; Buccaneer's strike here had been unforeseen and brutal. The fact that all but two squadrons of fighters had been sent away with the Imperial group's escort carriers had aided the Bucc's cause, as had the fact that only one group of the TIEs was in any kind of patrol formation when the Rebels had arrived. The trio that Prowler had been chasing had been three of the last; Guardian's Y-wing flight, now down to him, had a few targets left, but not many.

"Lead to group, report by flight."

"Ten here," came the call from First Lieutenant Jonathon "Valkyrie" Hu, Buccaneer's executive officer and second flight leader. "Three is making his final rocket pass; we're both a bit beat up, but no worse the wear."

First Lieutenant Robert "Paladin" Hasegawa, Three Flight's lead pilot, reported next. "Seven here. Four just plowed into the vee-esse-dee, he's gone. I think he got the last of his rockets off, though; primary target is without shields and has ten percent hull integrity left. Beginning my run..."

"Copy, all. Get after 'em...the clock is ticking." Guardian brought his guns in line with the surviving Neb-B and opened fire, trying to draw some turbolaser fire from the assault groups. He Wotan-weaved in at the cap ship, spitting laser fire when his targeting reticule glowed green and slide-slipping the jade lances of return fire.

His R5 unit chirped slowly, and a new message strung itself across his heads-up display. "Lead to group, time to leave - the other Imps are back."

Three Imperial escort carriers and another pair of Nebulon-B frigates dropped out of hyperspace to the relative front of the beaten Imperial group. Guardian's HUD scope immediately marked a steady red growth emerging from that direction, while his R5 started chirping off the Imperial cavalry's sendoff of wave after wave of fighters and interceptors.

"Lead, Ten - we need one more pass, I can finish the vee."

"Negative, Valkyrie, its time to go. Scatter, hyper when you can, and meet up at the rendezvous." Guardian pulled away from the engagement zone and threw his laser re-charge cycle into his engines, draining his guns but boosting his speed.

"Lead, Seven. Bugging out."

"Lead, Three," sang Lieutenant Eloy "Mynock" Cintron, Buccaneer Three. "I'm dry and bugging out, but it looks like Ten is going in again..."

"Seven, Three, Lead; get out of here," Guardian barked. He switched to the command frequency, then started hissing at his exec. "Valkyrie, what the hell are you doing? We are omega, we need to go now."

"Don't worry about it, Guardian," Jonathon's voice replied. "I've unloaded and am bugging."

"Hurry, Ten, they're almost on you." Guardian watched as the red marks on his HUD closed with his squadron's fighter. His R5 chirped, they were ready to hyper out; but Guardian forced his fighter to stay. Two flickers of pseudomotion indicated the escape of Mynock and Paladin, then half of the fighter wave chasing Valkyrie vanished as Ten's last rockets cored the Stench and ruptured its power cells. The Destroyer exploded, taking a host of fighters with it, but the debris scatter smashed into the back of Valkyrie's figher, slewing the B-wing around.

"Valk, you gotta hyper!" Guardian yelled, hoping that his friend could hear him. The matter became moot in the next second; three concussion missiles, launched by the closing TIE Interceptors, slammed into Buccaneer Ten's B-wing, fragmenting the fighter before detonating the power core.

Guardian closed his eyes, then threw the hyperspace lever forward.

"Fifty percent."

Still dressed in his sweaty flight suit, Guardian paced in the Buccaneer Squadron briefing room. The rest of the squadron slouched in uncomfortable seats in the room, watching a holoprojector detail the operation and avoiding meeting their CO's gaze.

"All I can really bring myself to say is I'm damn glad that this was a simulator exercise, and not an actual operation. The squadron's only at half-strength anyway - what we did today was basically destroy Renegade's heavy assault group. Individually, the B-wing flight groups managed to stay together - although some of you need a little touch-up on assault approaches and," with a covert glare to Valkyrie, "following an exit order. Prowler, however, still needs a little work on the concept of wingmen."

The young flight officer slid lower in his seat.

"This was a possible scenario for our raid on Tangraley in ten days, but after your performance today, I'm not so sure that is such a good idea anymore. Review your debriefs...next run is in six hours. Dismissed."

Four of the Buccaneer fliers trudged out of the briefing room, muttering under their breath, disappointed with their performances. Guardian turned to the table, flipping through a data readout and picking up his now-cold cup of Ithorian green tea. He skimmed the readout, then turned to face his XO. "Something I can help you with, Valk?"

Valkyrie straightened. "Yessir...I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

Guardian shrugged. "As always, Lieutenant. Go ahead."

"Well," Hu started, then took a breath and continued. "Sir, I'm concerned that you may be pushing the guys too hard. This is the seventh heavy simulator exercise in three days. I understand that we keep getting killed, and we all need the practice, but...the guys are exhausted, sir. Between their patrol schedules, alert duty, and reviewing their flights they've hardly had time to slow down and cool off."

"And you're enquiring as to why I'm pushing them?" Guardian finished, eyebrow raised.

"Yessir."

"Jon, when I first joined Buccaneer, Raven told me that there was undue pressure on him to let the squadron fold. It hasn't let up. Our recent setbacks in personnel losses have brought back our "cursed squad" myth. Nobody wants to transfer in. As soon as they get in, most of our pilots want out." Guardian sighed, slipping his datapad under his arm. "The raid on Tangraley is going to be critical, and not just for the war effort. There are a lot of people in the Alliance that would like to see the Liberty, Renegades and all, go straight down the black hole, so to speak. Stryk is counting on us to bag some of the bigger cap ships that will be there, and I need to know we can do it."

"Still, sir," Jonathon pushed, "if the guys can barely stay awake..."

"I understand your concern, Valk. But it's unfounded. The more we drill tired, the better we perform tired."

"Yessir."

"Good. Get some rest yourself, I'll be in medical if anybody needs me."

Well...so he'd lied. Lt. Col. Adam "Guardian" Burns, Buccaneer Squadron Commanding Officer, Flight Wing Medical Liaison, was precisely where he wanted to be, rather than where he should've been. Which was fine, with the mood he was in...social interaction, hell, interaction of any sort, wouldn't be good for him right now, he knew.

He tossed the mission score datapad onto his cluttered desk before dropping himself into the chair behind it, rubbing the palms of his hands over his bleary eyes. He knew he needed rest, he knew the squad needed it too, but there wasn't any time for it. There was never time.

Mission after mission, sortie after sortie, he'd ground in the Alliance, moving from medic to pilot to exec to commander, each bringing its challenges, its successes, and its failures. He'd learned war firsthand, command almost as an afterthought, and always made it the top mission priority to bring everyone home. He'd played a good foil to the more mission-minded officers he'd served with; he knew the necessity of sacrifice for the cause, and he'd be the first to throw himself upon that alter if necessary. But waste was something else, and sacrifice where it wasn't need was nothing more than a waste. And he'd seen to many friends' lives get wasted in this bloody war; he suffered too many sleepless nights, heard too many phantom communications calls. If he could help it, the last time it had happened would be the last.

He slipped open a drawer in his desk and pulled out a bottle, uncorking the treasure carefully. Adam didn't drink much, but he needed something now, after that dismal performance in the simulators. He poured the last licks of the whiskey into a small glass, then downed the swallow in one toss. Wincing against the fire in his throat, he whispered a prayer to anyone listening.

There was a knock at the door. Guardian turned, tucking the bottle back into his desk. "Come in."

The door slid aside, and a fresh-faced runner from...communications, by the tabs on his collar, moved to him. "Sir...this just came in for you, priority one." He held a datacard out, saluted as Guardian took it, then smartly pivoted and left when Adam returned the salute.

Frowning, the Bucc CO turned, sliding the card into his desk's reader. It was a simple text message...

He went white, and then caught the bile rising from his stomach before he spewed it across his desk. He felt like he'd been kicked...his head started swimming. Or was that...the liquor? No. No, it had to be the news. He read the report again, yanked the card from the reader, blinked back the sudden urge to cry.

Get a hold of yourself, Burns, he mentally snarled. Get up, get around...this isn't new, this is war, this happens. You knew it would. You knew it.

It didn't help. But somewhere in the dizzying cloud that was his mind, something told him that another drink would. With the cruiser doing barrel rolls beneath him, he stood and moved, slowly, to the Lounge.

The Liberty Lounge was its usual bustling self, with most of the pilots on downtime before their strike mission. The Buccaneers had arrived in force, claiming a pair of tables close to the bar after the unusual chewing their CO had delivered, and, over a series of strong drinks, were reviewing their own performances. Prowler was taking most of the heat, and the rookie's face was a bright red in response to his teammate's ribbing.

Jon "Valkyrie" Hu finally put an end to the roast, clapping the younger Marc on the back. "Prowler, you need to understand. In this squad, you listen to your wingleader...especially if he's the squad CO." The others laughed, raising their glasses.

Eloy spoke next. "Guys," he ventured quietly, after a moment's thought, "has anybody noticed that the Colonel's been...kinda weird, lately?"

"Yeah," Paladin replied. "He's been riding us all real hard. It's unlike him."

Valkyrie waved it off. "He's got his reasons, I'm sure. The man's under a lot of pressure from Fleet Command, so he's had a lot on his mind."

"Enough to wander in here for a drink?"

Everyone froze, turning towards Prowler. But the squadron's newest member simply nodded towards the bar, where his eyes had locked, and, following his gaze, they all spied their CO on the receiving end of a tall glass of a wicked-looking drink.

The Buccaneers, almost as one, all moved their chairs to watch this odd occurrence. Apparently, they weren't the only ones, as a group of Marines sidled up to the bar as well. One turned to Guardian and apparently recognized him. The man, a rough-looking, short human, said a few words, and Valkyrie stood as he saw his boss' body tense.

Jon quickly waved the squad to their feet...this was not good. Guardian's reply had riled the marine, and they could hear the ground-pounder's voice from across the room. The words were basic taunts, nothing special...

...and then Valkyrie broke into a run at the pair as the man questioned Guardian's love life.

It was uncontrollable. The comment was uncalled for; the entire discussion had been, but Guardian's mood - starting at dismal - had soured since stepping in to the Lounge. The banter had been taken well past where it had been intended, and Adam hadn't had any of his drink yet. So he corrected that, taking a swallow of the Tatooine Sunburn, then he set the glass down, rolled his shoulders, and, in a move that would make any of his hand-to-hand instructors proud, he was off his seat and to his verbal assailant in one motion.

He saw the marine's eyes widen, and the soldier got one more half-brained comment out before the back of Guardian's fist smashed into his jaw. The blow caught the soldier off-guard, and sent him reeling. Before he had a chance to recover, Guardian was on him; lighting-fast blows raining down on his head, shoulders, and back. Adam saw the other marines start to move in, but didn't, couldn't care. He wanted this idiot to hurt. All the loss, all the pain...somebody had to pay, and this moron had just volunteered.

Then Valkyrie was there, yanking his CO off the dazed marine, with the rest of the Bucc pilots breaking into the boiling fray to get their boss out. Valk manhandled him to the door, and then shoved him out, knowing that if Guardian were caught as the culprit, he'd be court-martialed. The exec ducked back inside after ensuring Adam was clear...some fast-talking might just save all their necks...

There was a soft knock at Stryker's office door; the sound was so slight that, at first, Renegade Wing's commanding officer wasn't sure he had heard it or not. He looked up from the intel report on his desk, then sounded a "Come in!" when the knock repeated.

The door slid open with a whoosh and Jon "Valkyrie" Hu stepped inside. The Buccaneer exec's flight suit was damp with sweat, and he clutched a datapad in his hand.

"Valk," Stryker started, leaning back in his chair, "you look like hell."

"Thank you, sir," the junior officer sighed, moving to collapse into a nearby seat. "I feel like I'm dead, so I guess that's a step up."

"What's up?"

"Well, sir," Valkyrie said, rubbing his eyes, "to be frank, its Colonel Burns."

"Guardian? What's he doing, force-feeding you guys eye-gee-teas?"

"I wish, sir. I...I'm not sure how to put this, but...he's pushing the squad too hard, sir."

Stryker leaned forward, interested. "What do you mean?"

"Well, sir, Buccaneer has run seven full-length heavy combat simulations in the past three days. It'd be all right, except that he's expecting us to succeed at the full-squadron level with only six guys. He's coming down hard on us, too, if...when we blow our assignments. I tried to talk to him about it, but I don't think he sees how hard it is on the guys, and I'm not sure how to bring it up around him."

"Really?"

"Yessir. I...I think Parody's disappearance hit him really hard, sir, and he feels like most of the command is putting him under the gun. And...I don't know if you've heard yet, sir, but...he started a fight in the Lounge."

"He...what?"

"Yessir." Valk slumped; trying to smooth things over with the marine squad had gone rougher than he'd expected. "One of the marines from Delta 135 said a few...unwise things. The colonel...basically let him have it. In every sense of the word."

"What happened?"

"Let's just say that our marines will think twice about questioning the colonel's love life, unless they really want a broken jaw."

"Wow. Well..." Stryker steepled his fingers. "Alright, Valk. You're his exec. What do you recommend I do?"

"Do, sir?"

"Yes. Guardian's candle is burning on four or five different ends, and apparently, he's not seeing the damage he's causing. I could punish him for the fight, but it seems that that was simply him venting his frustrations on the first loudmouth who got too close. So...how do we help him?"

Valkyire nodded, thinking. "Well, sir...I guess I'd recommend send him on leave, for a while. Get him out of the circuit, somwhere where he has few or no responsibilities beyond himself. Send him home."

"A vacation, hunh?" Vince nodded. "Great idea."

No Rest for the Weary

Chapter 2 - Packing

Imperial Star Destroyer Sentinel

"Report."

The flickering holotransmission was the only illumination in the Intelligence office of Tier Sallon. The Imperial officer set the datapad he'd been examining down, then turned in his chair to face the projector.

"I have established cover as a tourist, sir," the holoimage replied. "Cover identity has been absolute. I have not yet determined the source of Ozakura's problems."

"There must be something," Sallon replied. "Moff Jersyn has had too many credits deposited into his personal accounts lately�even for someone of his rank and stature. And the reports are still coming in; so far we are up to two-hundred-and-fifty intstances of citizens going to Ozakura and not coming back."

"Yes, sir. The locals seem to be rather close-mouthed on the subject, however."

"Probably in Jersyn's pay. Or, whomever he is working with." Sallon's hand moved towards the holo's power switch, then it paused. "Agent Syren."

"Yes, sir?"

"You are my third agent on-planet. I have not heard from the first two. Be careful."

"Always, sir."

"For the Emperor."

"For the Empire."

Medical Ward A, CRS Liberty

Stryker always found the medical section of the Liberty fascinating - something between a field hospice and a full-blown hospital. He trotted through the medical wards without being challenged, his rank insignia granting him full reign of most of the ship. He slipped into the emergency ward, figuring that's where he'd find his friend. Guardian didn't let him down.

Thankfully, emergency was empty on the patient side, so Stryker wouldn't be interrupting anything critical. Guardian had showered since the simulator and wore a surgical robe over a clean flight suit. Stryker grinned and leaned against a cabinet, then cleared his throat.

Guardian turned, nose in a datapad, then looked up. "Colonel, what brings you down to medical?"

"I need a word with you, G-man."

Guardian turned and tossed the datapad onto an examination table. "You got it, boss. What's up?"

"That's what I want to ask you. I've had some inquiries come my way, concerned about the amount of heavy simulator time that Buccaneer's been racking up. That, and your guys look like a squadron of walking dead. What's going on?"

"Oh." Guardian's face fell further - an amazing thing for Vince to witness, as it didn't seem like his friend could be any more melancholy. "Well...I'm trying to get the guys ready for the Tangraley assault. Since Intel isn't sure on what's going to be there, we need to be ready for anything. That...and I'm trying to get twelve pilots' worth of work out of six men. Having half a squadron to work with..."

"I know, but Bucc hasn't been full since your little Black Op," Stryker admonished. He had expected to get at least a grin from his former wing mate, but the comment was shrugged off. The colonel continued, "What is it? Is it Parody?"

Guardian sighed, then rubbed his eyes. "Maybe. I don't know...I don't think the guys are ready. Losing Parody meant I had to fill the exec slot; I chose Valk 'cause he's been around and knows the ship, and 'cause I didn't want to pull Mynock out of medical. Prowler and Rancor still haven't�meshed; they're used to flying solo and are still learning group tactics. Paladin and Valkyrie have adapted well into their wingleader slots, but they're still not used to giving commands."

"So it's the group mentality you're trying to work on."

"Yeah. That sums it up."

"Alright, then. I did some digging...you haven't had any leave for three years."

Guardian's gaze shot up to Stryker. "What?"

"You haven't had more than one day off in the past three years, Adam."

"We've been busy."

"True. But your guys haven't had much, if any, time to rest either. So, as Wing Commander, I am releasing Buccaneer from its duties for the next seven days."

"You're what?"

"You said it was a group mentality that the Buccs need to work on. I want you to take a transport and go to ground somewhere. Rest for a week. Get to know the guys, relax, mesh a little."

"What about Tangraley?"

"Command's moved the schedule up, we're hitting it in two days. Good news is, Intel does know what is there, and Rogue is just going to borrow two of your B-wings to take the capital ships."

"You don't need us?"

"Nope. You're off-duty starting now, Colonel. I'd call your guys to the briefing room and tell 'em to start packing."

Planet Ozakura

What had began as a pleasant family vacation had quickly and suddenly turned very, very wrong.

Jen Krytsal was screaming, tears streaming down her face, as the man in black armor grabbed her arm and propelled her towards the door. Somewhere, she heard her father cursing the five armored figures; somewhere else, her mother was whimpering, cuddling her baby brother to her chest as they were shoved out.

Their helmets warped their voices, making the already impossibly huge men more of a horror from a nightmare than humanoid. They carried wicked-looking rifles, and she could see the sheaths for vibroblades strapped to their bandoleers. Jen was terrified; she didn't want to risk her family�couldn't let them hurt Jys.

She stumbled into the hall where another armored man grabbed her. This one threw her against the wall, then twisted her arms painfully behind her back. She felt metal stun cuffs snapped around her wrists, and her screams were muffled by another metal band, around her head.

The last thing she remembered was the loud explosion of a blaster. A tingling sensation rippled through her body, and she slumped to the floor.

The Egg, CRS Liberty

C'our Dentran winced, leaning back in his chair. With a sigh, he keyed off the hyperspace transceiver, then steepled his fingers together.

He was in the Egg, a room in the Intelligence division of the Liberty. The Egg was so named because of its roughly oval shape, as if an avian's egg lying on its side. The Egg was suspended from the rest of the Lib by shock-resistance cables, and had only one entrance - one exit. The half-meter thick door could only be opened by a keycode, and only one individual on the Liberty knew that code.

The Egg was Intel's baby; most fleet flagships had one. Everything contained within was the highest security level, and it was where the top-of-the-ladder spooks needed to disappear to when their superiors needed to pass orders or information along.

It was also the only place Dentran could go to unwind. He found the solitude comforting...usually, there was a squadron leader, or fleet goon, clamoring for his attention, if it wasn't the captain or admiral. And now...now, he needed to think.

Quick keystrokes brought up the data he'd been sent, and he looked through it, eyes going to the pertinent points. He let his mind spin as he stroked the fur under his chin, and then finally decided.

Reaching out, he keyed the inter-ship comlink. "Dentran to Bridge. Captain, I need to see Lieutenant V'tikan in Intelligence, as soon as he can make it. Thank you." Before Afron could reply, he turned the comlink off.

Briefing Room Two, CRS Liberty

"What's going on?" First Lieutenant Alastair "Rancor" Harper, Buccaneer Four, whispered over to the nearest pilot, Jonathon "Valkyire" Hu. The exec shrugged; the briefing had been called ten minutes ago, and he hadn't seen Guardian at all to ask what was up. The CO was the only Buccaneer missing from the briefing room, but since nobody, not even Valkyrie, knew what was going on, the buzz in the air meant something was shaking.

Muted whispers went silent as the door slid open once more, admitting a datapad-scanning Lt. Col. Burns, followed by the Liberty's flight control officer, Lt. Silk V'tikan. The squadron straightened at the serious look on Guardian's face; the CO moved to the holoprojector and slipped a data cartridge into the 'projector. The lights darkened as a hologram of a beautiful blue-green world flashed into existence.

"This is Ozarkura," Guardian began. "It is a newly-settled, relatively sparsely populated world. It holds no tactical significance, and Imperial presence is virtually non-existent - the local prefect's office, and a starport."

Valkyrie's hand slowly rose. The CO called his name, and he found his voice. "So...what does it mean to us?"

Guardian nodded slowly. "It's where we're headed for the next seven days."

Most of the air was sucked out of the room by the Buccaneers' gasps.

"Stryker has relieved the squadron of all duties and responsibilities onboard for the next week. We're flying ourselves in the Corellian transport Wild One; we will all be assigned new credentials and identities by Intel, and our assignment is to evaluate the possibility of its usage by future vacationing Alliance personnel. As Intel liason, Silk is coming with us."

"In other words, sir?" Lt. Eloy "Mynock" Cintron tossed to Guardian, the hope apparent in his voice.

"In other words, we're going on vacation for seven days, Mynock. The Wild leaves in one hour, gentlemen; bring nothing that can trace you to the Alliance or this ship. Dismissed."

The Buccaneers whooped, raised triumphant fists in the air, and high-fived each other on the scramble to the door.

Cabin 1149, CRS Liberty

"Hey."

Jeff "Kallysto" Young announced himself with a knock against the door's frame, then stepped inside. He grinned as he looked around Guardian's mess, shaking his head as he saw his friend stooped over the duffel on his bunk.

"Hey." Guardian returned the salutation with a grin, then offered a bottle to Kallysto. "What brings you down this way?"

Jeff shook his head, taking the bottle. "Not a lot. Checking on you."

"Stryker send you?"

"No. Just the scuttlebutt." Kallysto took a swig from the bottle, letting the sweet tea slip down his throat. "Rumor has it you've been ordered on vacation."

"Rumor would be right." Guardian moved to his dresser, grabbing a few sweatshirts and tossing them into the duffel bag. "Ozakura, exactly. Nice little world out of the way."

Kallysto read the emotions on his friend's face. "Where Stryker has you out of his hair for a while."

"Yeah. Something like that."

"Hey, don't take it personally." Young put the bottle on Guardian's desk, then stepped to clap a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You could use the rest."

"I know. I just..."

"Let it go, G-man. You have a break, an overdue one."

"Maybe."

"So..." Kallysto moved back to the doorway, smiling. "...what're you going to bring back for me?"

Guardian smiled, looking up. "What do you want?"

"Oh...not much. A Twi'lek dancing girl, or maybe a nice, long-legged, tan beach honey."

Burns shook his head. "I'll see what I can do."

"One more thing, Adam?" Jeff's voice went serious.

Guardian turned back to the dresser, nodding. "What?"

"It may not have a big presence, but...it's still an Imperial world. Be careful."

Burns turned, smiling. "I'm always careful." With one underhand sweep, he tossed his hold-out blaster, in its holster, into the duffel.

No Rest for the Weary

Chapter 3 - Vacation

With a gentle thud, the modified YT-1300 freighter Wild One nestled into the confines of docking bay 402. The spotless circular bay, situated in the center of Eden's Gate, the central spaceport of Ozakura, seemed to greet the freighter like a wayward child returning home. The feeling managed to calm Guardian's stomach as he unbuckled from the copilot's station in the Wild One's cockpit. "Sure you don't want to stay with us, Shannon?"

Flight Officer Shannon Thies, attached to the Procurement division of the Liberty, keyed the Wild One's loading ramp, then turned to Guardian. "Sorry, Co�Major. The boss needs me to make a few supply runs, and then head back to base while you boys are here partying. This is your vacation, G-man�enjoy it." She flashed him a winning smile. "Besides, being around you attention-starved fighter jocks isn't the place for a proper young lady like me."

"Touch�." Burns smiled, hands rising to adjust his flight cap. The black cover was marked with the insignia of Starfire Security Incorporated's fighter group; SSI was an Alliance front company. The security firm was utilized as a training organization for ground forces, and maintained cover identities for Rebel agents and vacationers. The Buccaneer flyers had all been given fake identities, and their credentials would pan out through all but the most time-consuming background checks.

"Well, Shan, thanks for the ride. Take care, and don't wait up."

"You're welcome, Major." The reduction in rank was intentional - Adam was one of the youngest commanding officers in the Alliance, and while his rank had come with the office, he'd been "demoted" in case someone starting thinking too hard. "Now get your stuff and get off of my boat."

Guardian chuckled, shouldered his duffel, and slid out of the cockpit. "Clear skies, Shan." Down the main corridor, then he took a branching hallway and descended down the loading ramp.

The Buccaneer flyers were all there, waiting for him. Dressed casually, with a few assorted pieces of SSI wear, the group looked like fighter pilots getting ready for vacation. Even Silk, who had been "added" to the roster for the vacation, wore a pair of new wraparound sunvisors, and each had their duffel slung over a shoulder.

"Nice place you picked, boss," Rancor said, smiling. "Not a cloud in the sky."

"Yeah, G-man," Paladin piped up. "And that ocean on the way in�gorgeous."

"Cut the chatter, squad. Move out, by flights�we have hotel rooms to claim."

A dark-clad figure lounged near the exit way of Landing Bay 8311. Arms folded across his chest, he watched as the seven new arrivals trudge from the bay. He fell into step behind them, not close enough to catch their chatter, but watching every move they made. As the group made their way into the lightrail station, he pulled a comlink from his belt and lifted it to his lips.

"Jeager here. Seven new spacers; claim they're from SSI. They look like space jockeys, all right. What do you want me to do?"

The comlink crackled back with a reply. "Stay with them. Alert us of any new developments - they may be ISB."

"Gotcha." Jeager keyed the com off, tucked the unit back into his belt, and glided into the lightrail depot.

Guardian inhaled deeply. They'd caught a lightrail to the resort "city" of Joytown, then checked in to their hotel - the Come On Inn - with a minimum of fuss and absolutely no worries. They'd taken a few minutes to get oriented and change into gear that would let them get some sun and the breeze, then headed for the nearest beach.

Which, as it so happened, was right across the promenade from their hotel. Passing through a large, fountain-decorated plaza with a handful of information and sales kiosks, the team had finally found the sweet white sand and dispersed. While they were technically present for a recon mission, Guardian had told his guys that the work could wait - the two suns would only be providing light for another few hours, and the beaches closed after first sundown.

So, in the glorious atmosphere of the beach, Adam had climbed to the boardwalk and claimed a seat overlooking the beach, while the rest of the squad tossed a pair of speedballs in the surf below.

He'd shed his shirt as well, letting the suns bake his skin. While he'd kept in shape, due to his own PT routines, he wasn't an impressive specimen of physical acumen. And the lighting on the Liberty did absolutely nothing for the relatively drab color of human skin. But the beach wasn't all that populated, and Adam needed some quality sunlight.

He heard the calls and cries of the guys below - giving Prowler grief, yelling at Rancor to stop hogging the speedballs - and couldn't help smiling. This is what they needed�to get away, to get to a place where they could all relax and get to know each other. He reflected on Stryker's words, and knew his friend was right. He'd been trying to forge Buccaneer into a sword without tempering the metal, and it had been threatening to break them. This little romp would get the Buccaneers on the same page, and then they could build from�

He snapped out of his dozy reverie at the sound of a throat - a feminine throat - clearing. He sat up, looking around, and froze as he saw the woman standing on the other side of the long beach seat next to his. "Is this seat taken?" she asked, smiling.

"Uh...no, no. Not at all. Please..." He stood, fighting to yank his shirt back on as he did so.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to interrupt. But there aren't many people out this time of day, and I thought you might like...I mean, I thought I could..."

"Join me. Please." His arm stretched offering the chair.

"Thank you." She slid onto the chair, leaning back, and smiled more as she watched him sit. After he settled back to the plastiform, she offered a hand. "I'm Kathryn."

He took her hand, shaking it firmly, marveling at the softness of her skin. "Adam. Pleasure to meet you." He took the moment to give her a hopefully inconspicuous once-over.

Her hair was a deep auburn, shimmering in the sunlight, pulled back in a braid that hung over one shoulder. Her eyes were an elegant blue-gray, deep and piercing. She was slightly shorter than average, but it was obvious she took great pains to stay in shape. Well-built, her legs stretched out on the long chair from under the towel wrapped around her waist. Unlike him, her skin was a deep tan, and she was clad in a white ocean suit that, while cut modestly, was highly flattering. She regarded him with a friendly smile, her chin supported on the hand not in his. "I need my hand back, Adam."

"Oh...yeah. Right. Sorry." He felt his cheeks flush as he released her entrapped appendage, then settle back on his chair.

"So...what brings you to Ozakura?"

"Oh...a little shore leave."

"You're a soldier?" Her voice seemed to float to him, at once relaxing and engaging.

"A pilot. Starfire Security, Incorporated."

"Ah. How interesting. Is it just you?"

"No, ma'am. My crew is here, too - they're the ones you can hear down there." He nodded towards the beach, and she turned her head to look at the frolicking pilots.

"Why aren't you down there with them?"

Guardian chuckled. "You can't tell? I need the sun time."

She laughed, a lovely sound, and Guardian tried to remember how long it had been...

"So...what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Why are you here?"

"Oh...just vacationing from my accounting job on Coruscant."

"Wow. A bit far from Imperial Center, isn't it?" He used the "official" title for the Imperial capital planet.

"Yes. But worth it."

"I think so. How long have you been here?"

"A few days."

"What do you think of it so far?"

She paused, turning her eyes out to the ocean. "It's a nice enough place. Hasn't gotten a very big reputation across the galaxy yet, which keeps it nice and small. So, for a while more, it'll be without crowds like this."

Adam's brow furrowed, then he pressed the inquiry. "What brought you here, of all places?"

She turned back to him, smiling as her face reddened a bit. "Well, I-"

Kathryn was cut off by Mynock's voice. "Hey, boss!" he called, jogging up the stairs to the boardwalk. "We need you...we've just been challenged to a speedball game by some joke pretenders."

Guardian glanced over to his friend, brow furrowing. "Doesn't s-ball have eight-person teams?"

"Yeah, but you can play with seven." Eloy's eyes moved to Adam's companion, and he suddenly realized what he might have stumbled in to. "Of course, we can go with six..."

"Nonsense," Kathryn cut in, rising and offering her hand to the reclining Guardian. "You've got eight right now."

Adam stood, a smile spreading on his face. "Are you going to play?"

"Well, I'm certainly not going to cheerlead. Come on...there's a game waiting."

Mynock's jaw dropped a hair, and he looked to Guardian. All Adam could do was shrug.

"That was wonderful, what you did for that Wookiee." Kathryn smiled at him, raising her glass to her lips for another drink.

Guardian shrugged, studying the cool glass of his mug. "I spent two years in the Space Rescue Corps. If I can't splint a broken arm, then I didn't learn anything."

The woman set her drink down, then pursed her lips. "You're too modest."

"No, I'm telling the truth. Besides, it was all his fault."

"How do you figure?"

"Easy. First, they should have told us they were Ozakura's speedball champions up front. Second, you never sneak up on Paladin like that. Even in a game."

"Your pilots seem like a good bunch." She changed the subject slightly, her smoky-blue eyes watching him.

"They are. A bit rough around the edges, but a good group."

"The young one - Prowler, wasn't it? He seems a bit out of place."

"He's the newest one; and you should see him in the simulators. He's earned his spot; he just needs to mesh with the rest of us a bit. He'll probably be an exec some day."

"It must be exciting, what you do."

Guardian shrugged, then took a mouthful of his lum. "It has its moments."

Kathryn giggled, then set her drink down. "I need to be going...thank you very much for dinner."

Guardian slid out of his chair, stepped around to her side of the table, and offered her his arm. "I'll walk you to your room."

She laughed, then shook her head. "No, thank you." Pulling herself up on his arm, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I appreciate the offer, but you need to stay here with your team. Listen...what room are you in?"

"207."

"I'll leave a message about tomorrow - lunch is on me. My treat, then, okay?"

Guardian smiled and nodded. "You've got it. You sure about getting back?"

"Yes. I'm staying in the Imperial, just down the plaza. I'll be fine." She squeezed his arm, then waved to the other Buccaneer pilots, all huddled around their drinks at a corner table. "Good night, guys."

A rousing chorus of "Good night, Kathryn," echoed back to her.

Adam groaned. "I can dress 'em up..."

Kathryn giggled again, then blew Adam a kiss. "Tomorrow, just you and me."

He nodded, blushing slightly as she turned and headed from the hotel's restaurant. Grabbing his mug, he strode over to the squadron's table, and couldn't stop smiling.

"Dost mine eyes deceive me," Mynock challenged, "or does G-man actually look...happy?"

"Your eyes don't lie." Guardian raised his mug to the table. "Huzzah to the champion speedball players on the planet." He was answered with seven raised glasses and cries of triumph. He let the guys throw back a drink, then set his mug down. "Okay, kids, time to turn in. Tomorrow, we actually start working. Breakfast is at...oh, oh-nine-thirty local."

Cheers answered him. They were used too much less sleep than even that early start afforded. "So, go rest up, and I'll see you tomorrow."

No Rest for the Weary

Chapter 4 - Investigation

Paladin stirred and opened his eyes. It took him a moment to orient himself. Absent was the hum of a Mon Calamari Cruiser's stardrive. Also absent was the stiff, cramped bunk of his quarters aboard the Liberty. In its place was the magnificent aircot that managed to give the feeling of weightlessness despite the planet's .08 standard grav. Instead of the superhumid atmosphere of the Liberty, Paladin was breathing the warm, sweet breeze of Ozarkura, wafting in through the window of the Come On Inn, the Buccaneers' residence for their stay on the recreation world. The Lomabian pilot sat up, stretched � and smiled. He felt completely refreshed, reinvigorated, like he'd just emerged from a Bacta bath minus the awful taste in his mouth. Paladin flicked a toggle on the air cot and the bunk slid down from its position next to the window to allow the pilot's feet to touch the floor. He smiled again and ran his toes through the thick thranka-hair carpeting. It was so soft Paladin wondered if he'd sink right through it if he tried to stand up. "Ranc," Paladin said to his roommate in the middle of another stretch. "Ranc."

The slumbering pilot stirred, and cast a squinted glare across the room. "Do you have any idea," Rancor said groggily, "what you've just interrupted?"

"Dreaming of Twi'lek dancers again, eh?" Palading gibed.

"Very funny, swordboy," Ranc retored. "But I'm feeling much, much to good to be mad at anything," Rancor said, savoring a morning stretch. "Is this a great vacation or what? We've been here a day and I feel like I've been relaxing for a week."

Paladin nodded as he put on the touristy garb the Buccs had selected for their visit to Ozarkura. "Can't argue with you there. War doesn't afford too many off-days, so any downtime feels good to me. Today, though, we've got to start doing some actual work."

"Work? I don't know how Lomabians define it, but I don't classify wandering around a beautiful resort world seeing if it's safe for shore leave as 'work.' Tug duty is work. Cleaning Ewok bunks, that's work, swabbing the flight deck, that's-"

"Okay, Ranc, I get the idea," Paladin said. "Let's get down there. The others will be there shortly."

Guardian watched as the second of the Buccs' two investigative teams left the Come On Inn's tavern. Part of him wished he were going to be out in the field with one of the teams. It was as simple an intelligence operation as there is: Go out, be active among the locals, and note anything that seems strange. There shouldn't be trouble, he knew, but if there were, he wouldn't be there to protect them. Lt. Col. Adam Burns found that troublesome.

Still, Valkyrie's suggestion that Guardian use the downtime to expand on the relationship he'd made with Kathryn was a good one. He knew his pilots were simply trying to give him more time to relax, and he certainly appreciated the sentiment, but talking with Kathryn could actually benefit the Bucc's intelligence mission. She'd been here two weeks already, and anything she could relate about Ozarkura would be added to whatever the other Buccs uncovered. But-and he would never admit this to his pilots-that's not why he wanted to see Kathryn again. In fact, Guardian had hoped the Buccaneers' stay on the planet would afford him at least one more opportunity to talk with her. It had been a long time since he had felt so at ease with someone so quickly. A long time.

Guardian pulled out his datapad and pulled up the information on Kathryn's hotel.

"A galaxy of apologies, sir, we simply don't have the necessary goods," the stout Triffian restaurateur pleaded with the Buccaneer trio. "We'd most graciously bend to accommodate you if it were but possible, but we've run out of both harl-fengs and delberries."

"Run out?" Valkyrie asked quizzically. "There's not another lifeform in this establishment. How can you be out?"

"Oh dear sirs, a sun-sized apology for the confusion," the Triffian said, shaking his body nervously. "Our shipper hasn't arrived yet this week and for that we flog ourselves, kind sir, absolutely flog ourselves. These transplanted shipping workers just cannot understand what it's like to run a business here, I say, and we're doing our level best I can assure you to work around-"

"Don't worry about it," Valkyrie assured restaurateur. "We'll come back at another time." He, Paladin, and Prowler had simply wanted to try the "UNIVERSALLY FAMOUS OZARKURAN FLANR SALADS" so flamboyantly advertised on the Eclipse Eatery's streetside holosign.

"Oh, thank you, gentle offworlders, we do apologize. Please accept these gift-creds as a token of our sincere sorrow at this rude inconvenience. We are flogging ourselves so over this, I assure you."

"Appreciated," Valk said as he took the small gift-creds from the Triffian's furred hand. An instinct prodded Valkyrie to keep the conversation going. "I'd think, though, you'd find a more reliable shipping company. Can't run a business without the right materials, now, can we? What's the name of the shipper you're using?"

The Triffian shifted his weight to his back foot. "Oh stars indeed. There's no reason to encumber you visitors down with the details of this after we've so inconvenienced you, no reason indeed."

After another failed attempt to keep the Triffian talking, Valkyrie and the other Buccs left the Eclipse Eatery.

"Ah, well, there's plenty of places to eat on this world," Paladin sighed as they continued down the JoyTown Thoroughfare. "And anyway, did you see those prices? The Alliance doesn't have those kind of credits to throw around, even for a universally famous flanr salad."

Silk dabbed his forehead with a paw. For a Bothan, it was much too hot here on Ozarkura's Sandshorel, a destination touted in one of the planet's many travel guides as Ozarkura's "most excellent solar-ray absorbing experience." The perspiration beaded up beneath his black and silver fur and dripped occasionally from the tip of his nose. His two human companions, Eloy "Mynock" Cintron and Alistair "Rancor" Harper, didn't seem to mind the warming rays of Ozarkura's dual-sun, one of which was now bearing down on them in its midday phase, but Silk wondered how he got stuck doing beach duty.

In an effort to cool down, Silk picked himself up off of the silvery sands, brushed handfuls of the tiny granules of silicon from his damp coat and stood among the dunes of Sandshorel. It was beautiful; even a skeptical Bothan must admit. The water of the Oza Sea was so clear it was difficult to tell where the seas met the silver sands. He scuffled up one of the nearby white-blue sand dunes to get a better look at the foaming Oza lapping against the beach.

When the Bothan reached the apex of the sandhill, however, he was stunned not at the sublime mingling of sand and sea but at what he didn't see: guests. His position atop the dune gave him a fairly clear view of a large stretch of Sandshorel, and yet Silk could count only four others on the beach - a trio of humans and, further down the shoreline, what appeared to be a lone Dressellian. The beach had been this deserted earlier in the morning when Silk and the two Buccaneer pilots had arrived at Sandshorel. Yet when they questioned an information attendant about the empty beach, they were told, "Never mind that, visitors. It's a bit of an Ozarkuran custom to come late to the beach." The infotendant had further told them it would likely be quite busy due to the day's temperate weather, which would be pleasing to a number of humanoid and non-humanoid species-save perhaps fur-bearing ones, the attendant had said for Silk's benefit.

Now, though, two hours after Silk and company had arrived, there were no latecomers. And that, more than the stuffy heat of the dual sun and the sand sticking to his fur, was making Silk uncomfortable.

"Mynock, Rancor, heads up," he called down to the lounging pilots. "Something's not right here."

Despite the humans' grumbling, Silk led them back through the dunes to the Oza Oasis, a small bevearge and delicacy establishment that featured a repulsordeck overlooking the silver beach. As the trio approached, Silk's eyes, a bit keener than the two pilots', noticed a pair of humans sitting on the deck. The appeared to be engaged in a rather private conversation-a conversation made easier by the fact that they were alone on the Oasis's deck. Silk wondered how they might react if they were suddenly joined on the repulsor deck by a sweaty Bothan and two sunburned pilots.

After paying the rather steep cover charge, the Renegade Wing trio found themselves wandering through the Oza Oasis headed for the outdoor deck. Like the rest of Sandshorel, the interior of the Oasis didn't appear to be a popular destination for Ozarkuran vacationers. The only patrons were a pair of Duros at the bar. Silk noted that they seemed rather inebriated for this time of day.

The three chose a table half a dozen meters from the humans they'd spotted from afar and ordered a drink, a frozen stardust. The Oza Oasis was supposedly the only place on the planet you could get one.

"Those twinsies don't look dressed for the beach," Rancor noted. Silk smiled at Rancor's description. While it was clear the pair weren't twins, they were certainly similar in appearance: tall and thin with hard, angular faces. They were both clad in something between a business suit and a formal uniform, though both had a bit of a disheveled overall look. Each had a frozen stardust in front of them. One of the two men was holding a datapad that appeared to be the subject of their conversation.

"I'd like to get a look at that datapad," Silk said. "Perhaps-" The Bothan's sentence was interrupted as one of the twinsies calmly but deliberately glanced over his shoulder at the newcomers. A moment later, the two nonchalantly rose from their table and left the repulsordeck, drinks unfinished.

"Well," Silk asked, "how long do we give them before we start tailing them?"

It was the cumulative effect of what they'd seen during the day on Ozarkura that had the Buccs thinking like espionage agents as they shared stories over spirits in a secluded corner table of the Come On Inn's street level tavern. They'd initially decided to wait for Guardian to start the discussion, but after a few drinks, the pilots couldn't help but spin the tales of the day.

"We followed Rancor's twinsies for about 15 minutes before losing them," Mynock said sometime between rounds three and four on the Buccs' tab. "We thought they'd ducked into to the holovid theatre over on Jovial Street, but we didn't find anything inside. The clerk said he hadn't seen anyone since before the second matinee."

"After hearing stories of deserted restaurants and not-so-crowded streets, I'm wishing we bought a ticket to see if anyone was actually watching the second matinee," Silk lamented. For a moment, he allowed the hard taste of his vodka martini to linger on his tongue. "You know what the most telling thing was about those two humans from the Sandshorel? They didn't smile. Vacationers smile."

"They looked like men at work," Mynock added.

The others seemed to consider this for a moment.

"Hmm," Paladin said, looking up from the datapad that had been causing him to ignore his still-full drink. "Here's what I was searching for. It seems much of the retail shipping on this world is done by migrant laborers."

"That's right," Prowler said, shaking his head in recognition. "The Triffian called them transplanted shipping workers."

Paladin nodded. "It makes sense, when you think about it. Anyone who lives on Ozarkura probably runs a shop or a restaurant or a souvenir stand or other business because that's where the big credits will be made. With so few natives here, it's not surprising they would import hired hands."

"Taken separately, it doesn't seem like much, does it?" Prowler asked, absentmindedly tapping his tinder of Whyren's Reserve on the table. "I mean, an empty beach here, a kink in the shipping line there. It's easy to chalk it up to growing pains for a new resort world. But my gut tells me otherwise. Should we let the Rogues know about all this stuff?"

"Oh boy," groaned Rancor. "I can just here those Rogues. 'Missing salad ingredients, you say? Can even the men who killed the Death Star overcome such evil?'" The pilots laughed, and Prowler smiled, abashed. "Let's not jump to conclusions, mates," Rancor continued, grinning at his own joke. "Is it possible we just can't let ourselves forget about the war for a day? It's not like anyone got shot at."

"I tend to think you're right, Ranc," Valkyrie said. "I say we just keep our eyes open. I'll mention this stuff to Guardian, but it doesn't seem like there's anything here to inform the Rogues about, not yet anyway."

"Speaking of which, where is Guardian? That clever bantha has managed to miss this whole meeting," Paladin said.

"Maybe he's found some place where beings are actually congregating on this planet," Silk said. "Could it be," the Bothan continued, his mouth now agape into a comically exaggerated expression of shock, "that someone is having fun on the magnificent resort world of Ozarkura?"

"I'll bet he's having fun," said Rancor with a wry grin, "but my guess is he's less interested in a big crowd of people than one person in particular."

Guardian sat hunched over at the foot of Breezeway Park's grand floating fountain, resting his chin on his hand. She was late. She'd asked him to meet her at the park instead of dropping by her hotel room, and not wanting to invade her privacy, he'd agreed-a decision he was now beginning to regret.

The Buccaneer commanding officer craned his neck to view the fountain behind him. Streams of water leapt from the ground, then swirled into patterns in midair. Some trick of repulsor technology, he presumed. It was fascinating to watch a stream of water rise from the ground, circle around meters above his head, then dive back to the earth only to have a second stream follow the its exact path. Sitting alone, he wondered why the fountain wasn't a bigger attraction.

Kathryn was nearly a standard hour late. Guardian decided he'd waited long enough and took out his comlink. From the hotel desk he learned she hadn't left the building, so he asked to be patched to her room. A moment passed. "We're sorry sir," the voice came from the comlink, "but there is no response from room 504. Would you like to leave a holonote?"

"No," Guardian said, switching off the comlink and striding out of park in one movement. She didn't seem like the type to stand him up. Even if she were the type, Guardian would most likely still have walked the half-kilometer to the hotel just to check in. He shook his head. He knew he was overreacting, and was sure Kathryn would chide him for not abiding her tardiness, but teasing he could take. Finding out something had happened to Kathryn while he wasted time in a park-that was something Adam Burns could not take.

Guardian trotted past a hovercar as two hard-featured men got in. Guardian's attention was focused elsewhere; he failed to notice one of the stranger's hand move to a poorly concealed blaster on his hip as Guardian approached him. Likewise, Guardian also failed to notice the look of relief on the man's face as he passed by without challenging what they were doing with an apparently unconscious Ithorian in the vehicle.

The pilot burst through the entryway to Kathryn's hotel. He didn't even acknowledge the desk clerk as he bounded up the spiral staircase. Fifth level? Yes, that's what she had said. Winded, Guardian stepped out of the stairwell and into the hall.

He turned the corner and saw room 504 and felt the muscles in his chest constrict. The door was ajar. No light came from within. Instinctively, he swiveled his head from side to side. No one. He swallowed hard and reached for his blaster, which of course that wasn't at his side.

And they wonder, Guardian thought to himself as he stepped toward the darkened room, why I don't take vacations.