The first pilots to emerge were humans who looked rough and wanted you to know it. “This place is abandoned, huh?” one of them said, stalking right past Reath’s hand outstretched in welcome. “That makes everything on board fair game.”

“Wait,” Reath began. “Everyone should get a chance at the resources they need.”

“Not if they’re mine.” The guy tugged at the red kerchief around his neck as he smirked at Reath. “Anything that’s not bolted down is mine. Anything I can pull loose isn’t bolted down. Come on, men. Let’s start hunting.”

They stalked through the rings, looking for lockers and other storage. Before Reath could decide whether to go after them, another group emerged. These were the Orincans, who appeared to be related to the Gamorreans, only paler and less photogenic. Their captain squealed in outrage at the sight of the humans already plundering the ring, then took off after them.

Reath first went for his comlink. “Master Cohmac, we’re dealing with some, ah, unrest among the refugees. If you could come, that would be a big help.”

No answer came. Reath drew on the Force, summoned his will, and called out, “You want to stop looting the station and return to this place!”

Nobody listened. He breathed out in frustration. Master Jora was so good at bending people’s will with the Force, but it was more an innate skill than one easily taught. Reath might get the knack of it someday, but that wouldn’t do any good in the here and now.

Reluctantly, Reath pulled out his lightsaber. Time to lay down the law.

Which he’d never laid down before. But he’d figure it out.

25 Years Earlier- Part Two

Smoke in his nostrils.

Roaring in his ears.

Blood on his tongue.

Last to come clear—faint swirling light, clouded with dust that stung his eyes.

Cohmac sat up amid the wreckage of their craft and took stock of the situation. The ship remained more or less intact, which he knew because the temperature remained constant. Through the viewport he could see the planetoid’s surface, salt-crusted, small crystals glittering in the howling winds. They’d made landfall on the slope of a hill, it seemed, because the entire ship tilted perilously to one side. Deep scrapes the ship had left in the surface revealed dark green stone beneath, buried in centimeters of salt.

I must find Master Simmix, he thought. That was his most important responsibility—but that didn’t mean he could ignore those closer to hand. Next to him, Orla leaned forward, bracing her hands against the pilot’s console. Her breaths came shallow and fast. “Orla,” Cohmac managed to say. “Are you all right?”

“... Yes.” She sounded as if she wasn’t completely sure.