Corellian Sector Warehouse District, Nar Shaddaa | 19 BBY
Darkness had texture on Nar Shaddaa.
Not just the absence of light but something physical, weighted with exhaust fumes and the perpetual haze of industrial runoff that the ventilation systems never quite managed to scrub away. I crouched on a catwalk three stories above the warehouse floor, watching security patterns through eyes that had adapted to the gloom hours ago.
The analyst was in there. Kira Venn, according to the dossier Sabetha had provided. Twenty-eight standard years old, specialist in Separatist fleet movements, low-level enough that she'd been overlooked during the initial Republic transition. Then someone had flagged her file and suddenly she'd gone from bureaucrat to fugitive.
I'd been watching for two hours now. Long enough to map the guard rotations, identify weak points in their coverage, calculate the optimal insertion route. The warehouse belonged nominally to the Exchange, which meant the guards were competent but not exceptional. Mercenaries doing a job rather than believers in a cause.
That made them predictable.
The system had been helpful during the reconnaissance, offering overlays that highlighted guard positions and patrol routes. It quantified threat levels, calculated optimal approach vectors, and turned what should have been guesswork into something closer to mathematics. I'd stopped questioning how it knew these things. The Force worked in mysterious ways, and apparently so did whatever had hijacked my perception.
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TACTICAL ANALYSIS COMPLETE
Guard Count: 8
Patrol Pattern: Predictable, 12-minute cycle
Optimal Insertion: Ventilation shaft, north wall
Estimated Time to Target: 8 minutes
Threat Level: MODERATE
Recommended Approach: Stealth
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I dismissed the display and moved. The catwalk connected to a series of maintenance ladders that spider-webbed through the warehouse district's superstructure. I descended three levels, boots finding purchase on rungs slick with condensation, until I reached the ventilation shaft the system had identified.
The grate came off with minimal effort. Someone had loosened the bolts recently, which meant either Venn had scouted her own escape route or someone else had been here first. Neither option was particularly comforting.
I squeezed through the opening and into the ventilation system proper. The shaft was barely wide enough for my shoulders, forcing me to crawl on my stomach through accumulated dust and things I didn't want to identify. The Force whispered about spaces ahead, about the layout of corridors I couldn't see, about presences moving through the warehouse below.
Eight guards, just like the system had calculated. But something else too. Something cold and sharp that felt wrong in the Force, like a blade pressed against bare skin.
Dark side presence. Faint but unmistakable.
The realization hit me like cold water. An Inquisitor. Here. Hunting the same target I was trying to extract.
My hand found my lightsaber automatically, fingers wrapping around the familiar metal. Using it would announce my presence to everyone in a five-block radius. Not using it might get me killed if the Inquisitor found me first.
The ventilation shaft split ahead. Left led toward the warehouse's administrative section where Venn was supposedly hiding. Right led to the main floor where the guards congregated. I went left, crawling faster now, racing against a clock I couldn't see.
The shaft terminated in another grate overlooking a small office. I pressed my face against the slats and looked down. Kira Venn sat at a desk with her back to me, hunched over a datapad. Her hair was tied back in a practical bun and her clothes were civilian standard, nothing that would draw attention in a crowd. She looked exhausted in the way people looked when fear had burned through their reserves and left them running on fumes.
I tested the grate. Locked from the inside, which made sense. She'd be paranoid about entry points after weeks on the run. I could force it with the Force, but that would make noise and noise would bring guards.
Instead I tapped on the metal. Three quick raps.
Venn's head snapped up. Her hand went to something on her belt, probably a holdout blaster. She stared at the ventilation grate with the expression of someone trying to decide if they'd actually heard something or if paranoia was finally winning.
I tapped again. Three more raps, deliberate and clear.
This time she stood slowly and moved toward the wall beneath the grate. "Who's there?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Someone sent by a friend. I'm here to get you out."
"What friend?"
"The kind with good connections on Alderaan and an interest in keeping Republic assets alive."
That seemed to penetrate. She studied the grate, trying to see me through the shadows. "How do I know you're not Imperial?"
"Because if I was Imperial, I'd have already kicked in your door instead of crawling through ventilation shafts." I shifted position, trying to find an angle where she could see my face. "Sabetha Drel sent me. We have maybe ten minutes before the guard rotation brings them past this section. So you can either trust me or you can wait here until the Empire finds you."
The mention of Sabetha's name seemed to decide things. Venn moved to the wall panel beside the grate and keyed in a code. The lock disengaged with a soft click. I pushed the grate open and dropped down into the office, landing in a crouch that sent jolts of complaint through my injured shoulder.
Up close, Venn looked worse than her holo had suggested. Dark circles under her eyes, the kind that spoke of nights without sleep. Her hands trembled slightly as she grabbed a pack from beneath the desk.
"There's a complication," I said quietly. "There's an Inquisitor in the area. Dark side Force user, probably hunting you specifically. We need to move fast and quiet."
Her face went pale. "Inquisitor. I thought those were just rumors."
"They're not. How much do you know about the Jedi purge?"
"Enough to know I don't want to be anywhere near an Inquisitor." She shouldered her pack. "What's the extraction plan?"
I pulled up the route I'd mapped earlier. "Back through the ventilation system to the catwalk level. From there we move through the maintenance corridors to the spaceport. Sabetha's contact will meet us at Bay 47."
"That's a lot of ground to cover without being seen."
"Which is why we're leaving now."
I boosted her up to the ventilation shaft first, then pulled myself up behind her. The crawl back was harder with two people, every movement amplified by the metal shaft's acoustics. I kept my senses extended through the Force, monitoring the warehouse below for any sign that we'd been detected.
The dark presence was stronger now. Closer. Moving with purpose through the lower levels like a predator following a scent.
We reached the junction point and I directed Venn right, toward the exit shaft. She moved well for a desk analyst, keeping her breathing controlled and her movements measured. Whatever training Republic Intelligence had given her, it was paying off now.
The catwalk was exactly where I'd left it. We dropped down one at a time and I took point, leading us through the maze of maintenance corridors that connected the warehouse district's superstructure. The Force guided me more than memory, whispering about paths that led away from danger and toward relative safety.
Behind us, something metal crashed.
I grabbed Venn's arm and pulled her into an alcove barely large enough for both of us. We pressed against cold durasteel, breathing in shallow synchronization, while footsteps echoed through the corridor.
Not guard boots. These were measured, deliberate, the gait of someone who knew exactly where they were going.
The Inquisitor emerged from the shadows like darkness given form. Dark skinned Human male, maybe forty standard years, wearing black armor that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. His white hair, tied into a ponytail blew from the freeze. His face was covered by a cloth wrapped around the lower half of his face, covering his mouth and nose, while leaving his eyes and head exposed.
He was also...blind..
And he was looking directly at our hiding spot.
"I can sense you, Jedi." His voice carried the mechanical rasp of someone who'd damaged their throat and never bothered fixing it. "Your power in the Force is crude but distinctive. Young. Untrained in proper stealth."
My hand found my lightsaber. Venn pressed herself harder against the wall, trying to become invisible through sheer force of will.
The Inquisitor took three steps closer. "The Empire is offering substantial rewards for Jedi capture. Alive is preferred but corpses are acceptable." He drew his own weapon, a double-bladed monstrosity that ignited with twin crimson blades. "I'm not particular about which option I deliver."
Every instinct I had screamed to ignite my blade and engage. Form IV lived for this, for the moment when hiding ended and action became the only option. But engaging meant noise and noise meant every guard in the district would converge on our position. Venn would die and my mission would fail.
The system offered no guidance. Just a simple readout that I didn't need external confirmation for.
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THREAT ASSESSMENT: EXTREME
Enemy Level: 22
Recommended Action: FLEE
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Fleeing required space we didn't have. The Inquisitor stood between us and the exit route. Behind us, the corridor dead-ended at a locked maintenance hatch. We were trapped.
Unless I created an exit.
I reached into the Force and found the maintenance hatch behind us. Felt its locking mechanism, the simple electronic system that kept it sealed. Master Drallig had taught me basic technical manipulation during my training, enough to handle simple locks and electronic systems. I'd never been particularly good at it, but desperation had a way of sharpening focus.
The lock clicked open.
The Inquisitor's head snapped toward the sound. I grabbed Venn and shoved her through the hatch, then followed, slamming it shut behind us and ripping the locking mechanism apart with the Force before the Inquisitor could follow.
The space beyond was pitch black.
I fumbled for my glow rod, activated it, and revealed a vertical shaft dropping into darkness. Service tunnel, probably leading to the lower levels where power conduits and water recycling systems lived.
Behind us, the Inquisitor's blade carved through the hatch with surgical precision.
"Down," I told Venn. "Fast as you can."
She didn't argue. We descended the ladder built into the shaft's wall, our movements frantic now, abandoning stealth for speed. Above us, the hatch gave way with a shriek of tortured metal and the Inquisitor's presence flooded down the shaft like poison gas.
My boots hit solid ground. We were in the sub-levels now, deep enough that the darkness was absolute beyond my glow rod's limited sphere. Pipes and conduits lined the walls, carrying resources to the levels above. The air was hot and thick, hard to breathe.
"Which way?" Venn's voice carried an edge of panic she'd been suppressing until now.
I reached out with the Force, trying to orient myself in the maze of tunnels. North led toward the spaceport. East led deeper into the warehouse district. South was back the way we'd come.
West felt empty. Open. Like a door left ajar.
"West," I said. "Stay close."
We ran through the tunnels, my glow rod creating a sphere of light that moved with us through the darkness. The Inquisitor followed, his presence a cold weight pressing against my senses. He wasn't hurrying. Didn't need to. He knew these tunnels as well as I did, knew we were trapped down here until we found an exit.
The tunnel opened into a wider space. Some kind of junction chamber where multiple passages converged. Water dripped from overhead pipes, creating a rhythm that echoed off stone walls. And in the center of the chamber, a ladder led upward to what I desperately hoped was street level.
I pushed Venn toward it. "Climb. Don't stop until you reach the top."
She looked at the ladder, then back at me. "What about you?"
"I'll be right behind you."
It was a lie. We both knew it. But she climbed anyway, because the alternative was standing here arguing while an Inquisitor closed in on our position.
I turned to face the tunnel we'd emerged from and drew my lightsaber. The blue blade ignited with its familiar snap-hiss, casting new shadows across the chamber. This was it. The moment I'd been avoiding since landing on Nar Shaddaa. The moment when hiding ended and I became exactly the thing the Empire was hunting.
The Inquisitor emerged from the tunnel like a specter. His twin blades painted everything crimson, turning the chamber into something out of a nightmare. He saw me standing there with my weapon drawn and something like satisfaction crossed his features.
"Finally. I was beginning to think you'd never fight."
"I don't want to fight," I said. Which was true. Fighting meant noise and attention and all the things I'd been trying to avoid.
"Then you'll die quickly." He moved forward, his blades beginning to spin.
I thought about Master Drallig. About three years of training that had been interrupted by war and politics and the demands of leading clone battalions. About sequences I'd practiced ten thousand times until they lived in my muscles more than my mind.
About the fact that I'd survived Order 66 while better Jedi had died.
That had to mean something.
The Inquisitor attacked and I met him in the space between heartbeats, blue plasma clashing against red in a shower of sparks that illuminated the chamber like lightning.