Chapter 1: As The Wheel Turns

((Opening Crawl)) A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away..

STAR WARS: Tapestry, The Tattered Edges

Episode I: AS THE WHEEL TURNS

The galaxy is in a state of constant turmoil. With the surprise emergence of a new Sith Empire, the tentative peace assured for the last century by the Galactic Alliance and Jedi Order has been shattered, while Roan Fel, the Emperor-in-Exile, strives to regain the new-found glory of the Empire, and restore the galaxy to order under his rule.

Profiting from the chaos is the Fringe element. On the frayed outskirts of civilized society live the pirates, smugglers, bounty hunters and others that thrive on the strife and discord engendered by a galaxy perpetually at war. But even on the Rim, far from the core of galactic civilization, legends are born, heroes die, and even the lowliest moisture farmer will make decisions of epic proportions.

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The Wheel is a massive space station located in the Besh Gorgon system, in the Mid Rim. True to its name, the station is ring-shaped with four spokes meeting a long, tower-like section piercing its center. Home to all manner of smugglers, gamblers, tradesmen, and thrill-seekers, the Wheel has managed to remain a position of neutrality in the galaxy for centuries. The means to maintaining this neutrality comes through all manner of bribes, treaties, kickbacks, tax payments, and even the occasional military action.

But what the Wheel is best known for is its many casinos and entertainment facilities. Amongst the most popular of establishments is the Wheel Within a Wheel Casino and Resort, home to the hottest sabacc tables in the galaxy... or so it claims. Beings the galaxy over come to the Wheel Within a Wheel to spend and make their fortune, as well as to escape the rigorous laws and restrictions of larger galactic governments.

In fact, crime lords, entrepreneurs, and even major governments use The Wheel, and the Wheel Within a Wheel Casino in particular, as a neutral stage for sensitive negotiations.

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"You see?! Naxy found you one o' them... whatchacall'ems... Sweet-liver deals, eh?"

The Sakiyan's shrill voice screeched over the clamor surrounding the big gambling wheel. Waiving the Mandalorian over, Naxy Screeger began walking towards a doorway shrouded by a beaded curtain.

"Naxy Screeger always hits the... whathis... Jack-kettle!"

When Naxy holds the curtain aside, Al'verde sees poshly appointed auction hall just beyond. The dull whisper of conversation drifts to him at the doorway, and all manner of species sit huddled over various tables within. Off to his left, and around the large Barabel that had been quietly flanking the door, he sees several tables of items being sold after not being bid on in the auction. In the middle of one of the tables is a set of Beskar'gam, although obviously not as heavy as that which the Mandalorian wore himself.

Al'verde had heard rumor that an assortment of antique Mandalorian goods were to be auctioned off, and a couple of inquiries lead him to the Wheel Within the Wheel Casino. Lead him to Naxy Screeger, somehow had access to the auction and would allow the Mandalorian in for a small finders fee.

On a raised dais at the center of the room, the auctioneer is presenting his next item: A large crystal and metallic casket, which appears to be currently occupied.

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Kanos watches as the Mandalorian marches past him into the auction hall, accompanied by a rather twitchy Sakiyan. He had been stationed there on security detail, along with his Barabel counterpart, and both now stood flanking the door.

As the Zabrak swept his gaze over the auction hall's inhabitants, he had to keep himself sharp lest boredom take over. At one table an Ithorian sat nursing a drink, anxiously looking over his shoulder every so often until the latest auction came up, whereby he sat forward at the edge of his seat. Another table near the Ithorian held a Zeltronian who seemed more interested with the small computer sitting in his lap then the auction itself. A couple, human male and female, sits in a shrouded corner of the hall, their heads bowed together likely whispering sweet nothings to one another. Not too far from them, a Feeorin with a cybernetic eye scowled at an Aqualish, who could only be described as wearing a poodoo-eating grin.

Yep, looks like it was going to be another boring detail for Kanosâ€¦

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â€œAn even 200k, Kurr. The ship is practically brand new, and Master Rav is almost giving it to youâ€¦ With a small finders fee, of course.â€

The Aqualish leered across the table at Kurr, its mouth quivering in an approximation of a cruel smile. On the table between the two lay a datapad with a binding contract scrolling across it and a fingerprint capture device at its bottom, and a cylinder lock attuned to the security systems of a particular vessel.

The goon's cruel smile grew even deeper and more malicious as he leaned back in his chair. When Kurr had contacted Rav about securing a loan for the ship, the old pirate had offered Kurr an even better deal: a fully armed Nemesis-patrol ship Rav had requisitioned from a small-time Black Sun vigo that had run afoul of the one-legged Feeorin. Kurr knew that Rav was charging him easily an extra twenty-thousand creds ontop of what the patrol boat cost brand new.

"And we both know Rav the Crimson Axe ain't one to be refused. So whadya say?"

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Nestil and Jaster sat off in a corner of the dimly-lit auction hall, speaking to one another in hushed tones. Both Imperial Knights were covertly dispatched to the Wheel to meet with an informant who claimed to have had information vital to the effort to restore the true Emperor. They were told to look for the Ithorian in red, but so far a handful of Ithorians dotted the patrons of the auction hall, but none seemed to be wearing anything particularly crimson.

"Would either of you two lovebirds care for a drink?"

A Devaronian waitress sidled up to their table and offered menus.

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The Ithorian had been nervously sitting through the auction for close to an hour now, but it did not seem that Rehn was the one he was looking out for. Sheffro Gil'usa, the bothan owner of the Wheel Within the Wheel casino had ordered the young Zeltronian to begin following the Ithorian when Rehn's attempts to figure out how the hammerhead kept winning proved fruitless. But so far, the only peculiar thing the Ithorian had done was be twitchy, and there were countless number of those sorts all over the station.

An alert chimed in on Rehn's personal computer: an angry message from Sheffro asking about his progress.

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"Feast your eyes, ladies and gentlemen, on the next wonder we have to offer!"

The Krish auctioneer made an overly-dramatic bow and flourish towards the casket-like device behind him. As he did, it slowly spun on a revolving dais built into the floor, but judging by the awful grinding noises coming from the dais it hadn't been properly tended to in a long time. Frowning briefly, the Krish recovers his perpetual smile as he stands aside so that the audience may gain a better view.

Standing nearly three meters in length, the box is richly made by seemingly simple in design. Blue metal of an unidentifiable origin makes most of the casket, while the lid and parts of the sides are made of a semi-opaque crystaline material. The casket is in overall good condition, but the keen-eyed can see a few old scorch marks, chips, and scratches where multiple attempts had been made to open it. Those close to the stage can see what appears to be a young human male sleeping inside of the casket, completely oblivious to the world.

"Here for your bidding pleasure, we have... a Jebble Box! One of only two to have ever been found, this relic of ancient times is said to house a king of a long extinct civilization, and the secrets to all of his riches! Shall we begin the bidding at 50,000 credits?"

As the bidding began in earnest, a barely-perceivable change began in the so-called Jebble Box. The crystal of the oubliette became more and more transparent, and it slowly became more clear to all the spectators that the casket held a tall youth with light brown hair who was mostly nude.

Before long, the bidding came down to just two: the twitchy Ithorian and an attractive blonde woman wearing a long cloak of expensive silk. Rehn and the pair of Imperial Knights notice that the Ithorian has been using a bright red bidding paddle, when just about everyone else have been using the casino-provided paddles, which are a dark brown.

"Going once! Going twice! Sold to the Ithorian in Red for 1.2 million credits!"

As the Krish auctioneer banged his gavel on his podium, a loud hiss issues from the oubliette, and then a large curtain of steam. The auctioneer dives for cover, and many of the patrons go scattering away from dais as the lid to the casket slowly begins to slide open. Oddly enough, neither the twitch Ithorian or the blonde woman shy away; on the contrary the blonde woman glides to her feet and stalks her way toward Oubliette while the Ithorian does so as well, although much more timidly.

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Even the dimness of the auction hall is blinding to Wes, as his eyes hadn't been opened in close to two centuries. Awareness rushes in on the Mandalorian, and he finds himself with a sudden and powerful sickness. To either side of him is an Ithorian and a beautiful blonde, although they do not seem to have noticed Wes's being conscious.

They suddenly do become aware as Wes is unable to maintain his standing posture in the oubliette without the casket being sealed, and tumbles out to land naked on his hands and knees, retching violently. Off to his right, Wes sees a table bearing his armor and weapons, as well as an assortment of gear and other odds and ends.

Both the Ithorian and the blonde leap back from the ever-expanding pool of spittle in front of the newly-awakened Mandalorian, but as the blonde does so she draws a holdout blaster from within her cloak and takes aim at the Ithorian. At the exact same moment, three others pull concealed weapons, while the Barabel standing next to Kanos raises his blaster rifle and prepares to let off a shot.

To his credit, the Ithorian seems a great deal more agile than what is typical of his people, as he dives and hides behind the oubliette. The other attendees of the auction need no further prompting to disperse, as they exit the auction hall in a panic.

"You should have just let me have it, Ithorian. Now I will take it, and you, for the glory of Emperor Krayt!"

"Half a million credits to whoever gets me and this casket away from this station!"

The Ithorian's panicked shout reverberates in the auction hall, and it is punctuated soon after with a hail of blaster bolts from the blonde, barabel, and their associates.

"Frak," when the Oubliette started to activate. Immediately, Kanos activated his comm link. "Boss, something strange is going on down here," said Kanos as he looked at his partner. "We might have..." Not yet, he thought. It could be nothing.

Nothing my butt, was all he thought when the blonde pulled out a hold blaster. "Hey, whore*, your under fraking arrest for bringing fraking weapons onboard and threatening the patrons. Drop the frakking blaster before I make you fraking drop it." Kanos immediately brought his blaster rifle up, taking aim at her as he made sure it was on kill. Go ahead, ya fraking whore*, make my day. I'll fraking gut you and any other fraking Imperial that so much gives me a fraking reason.

Almost immediately after making his order, his Barabel partner started to fire.

Rehn quickly hammered out a message back to his employer, his long fingers flying expertly over the keyboard. "I'm doing the best I can, boss. If you wanted results faster, you should have put Glicks on it."

His message complete, he turned his gaze back to the Ithorian, just as the alien began bidding on a crystal casket--the first thing he'd bid on since Rehn had arrived. His green eyes burned with hatred for the Ithorian. For weeks, he'd been watching him win endlessly, all without cheating. Nothing Rehn did seemed to change that. What was his secret?

When the Ithorian won the auction, Rehn turned his eyes to the oubliette as it hissed open and a naked man tumbled out. Well, that was interesting. Rehn didn't have much time to dwell on it though, before the shooting started. A blonde woman shot first but others around the auction hall quickly joined in. Rehn quickly ducked behind a row of chairs as the crowd flooded out around him. He tucked his computer away in his bag--he'd paid a small fortune in credits for it and wasn't about to let it get destroyed.

His comlink, tucked next to his ear under his bright purple hair, went on with a word. "Gil'usa, we have a problem down here. Some idiot started a firefight in the auction hall--and with that blasted Ithorian, no less."

Nesti Ronda checked her chrono once again, tapping her foot under the table impatiently. She looked stunning even in the bulky robes that concealed her armor. She cased the Waitress a paralyzing glare. Her apparent cover was as a noble woman slumming it on the station. "I will NOT mistake my bodyguard for a romantic interest again." Was all she said to her.

Her mind wasn't on the items that were actually up for auction, and she finally slammed her hand against the table. "I need to stay here, So you start walking around and look for him."

Suddenly the auction came to a conclusion, and The noblewoman turned Imperial Knight heard two important phrases. "Ithorian in red" and "Glory of Darth Krayt." Not needing to hear another word, she draws her own Lightsaber and activated it.

"Stand down in the name of the True Emperor!"

Al'verde looked at the armor as best he could. He knew it wasn't the armor any of his squad wore but he knew it was mando armor. "Where did they find this, and how did it survive for so long?" he asked himself. He also couldn't help but notice that the armor had the same coloring as his. This only raise more questions, questions that he didn't have time to answer.

As he eyes fixed on casket he looked at the man sleeping ins side and wondered if he ad done something to be sold off or if he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He let out a small sigh hoping that none of his squad had fallen to the same fate.

As the man fell out of the casket Al'verde watched everything get out of control and went to activate is weapon systems. As his hud came online it said that all weapons were out of ammo. At that point he remembered that he had left everything but his hold-out blaster at the check-point "Oh well I'll just have to make due without my besbe'trayce." he said as he charged the blond pulling out some mesh tape.

Jaster Mitsun scans the crowd looking for the Ithorian in red. Jaster nods to Nestil and stands to make a circuit around the room when he notices the Ithorian with the red paddle and the commotion around the stage.

Jaster springs to Nestils side and draws his saber in a smooth practiced motion cutting upward forcing anyone in our path back. "MOVE ASIDE!" Jaster shouts with authority.

Kurr looks at the Aqualish with a squint and snorts a bit as he says, "That depends ... what's Rav adding on to it? Any ... special ... modifications? I'm sure he'll want me to run jobs for him ... and, well, we wouldn't want the same poodo to happen like last time, right?"

While speaking, he glances at the action going on and slowly pulls his pistol under the table and at the ready, expecting the worse. The quiet whistle of the rifle can be heard by any around him. He looks back to the Aqualish and says, "Seems there's a rowdy crowd in here t'night ... wouldn't want any of that spillin' over to us, now would we?"

I'm so tired

Wes laid there where he was. He was tired, so tired he didn't want to move. He tried to moved his arm to feel for his carbine which was never far. Yet the neurological impulses that would normally cause his arm to move failed.

Oh Wes what did you do last night?

The sound of a loud hissing came to his ears as well as an immense brightness to his eyes. This time he did move. His arm came up to shield his eyes. From behind his arm he could see and almost feel the presence of two next to him. One an Ithorian and the other and beautiful blond.

Ohhh, What did you do last night? He thought in exasperation.

He attempted to sit up but the unexpected movement brought on the unexpected urge to empty his stomach. Not knowing he was in a standing position he fell forward arms shot out on reflex as his hands and knees took the brunt of the short fall. His back arched as his insides came roaring out and splattering all over the floor in front of him. The light which wasn't as bad as before let him see a bit. He looked to his right. Tables were there loaded with things. They looked odd but familiar. His head slumped and hung there. "what's happening" He said softly to no one in particular. His head drooped farther as he looked at himself. Seeing the state of his nakedness started to clear up the fogginess of his mind quicker than being shot. He could count the number of times he had been without his armor in the past two years on both hands.

A realization hit him and his head snapped up to look at the table. Black and grey items were there. Blinking his eyes in an attempt to focus was mildly successful as he recognized what they were. His Beskar'gam and carbine. He was armor less and weaponless. Not a good situation to be in. He tried to remember what happened. He remembered the old man and how he was talking. From what he recalled he sounded like a Jedi. Telling him how he would 'be needed and of 'potential'.

He didn't have time to dwell on it as he noticed the blond drawing a blaster and all hell breaking loose. He could hear her voice. "You should have just let me have it, Ithorian. Now I will take it, and you, for the glory of Emperor Krayt! "Half a million credits to whoever gets me and this casket away from this station!"

He had no idea who was she talking about as he crawled as quickly as possible for the table that had his armor and weapons on it. Either way it sounded bad as other voices added to the commotion.

One word stood out though. 'Besbe'trayce' It was a Mando word. He tried to speak but found that his throat was dry. He took a deep breath and force the word out through clenched teeth. 'Hukaat'kama' The word was said in the direction he heard the Mando speaking

He continued for the table. He focus was on the carbine. Its time to shoot and ask questions later. He thought.

As Jaster draws his lightsaber and ignites it, those few pedestrians still in his way let out a terrified shriek and flee from him, even more so when he begins to wave it menacingly. The sith spy closest to him turns with a snarl and lets off a shot at the Imperial Knight, catching Jaster unawares and wounding him greatly. (Natural 20, 21 damage, -1 condition track)

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Ruhsk looks around, a hand straying under the table as the fight breaks out, but he doesn't take his eyes off of Kurr. Again he smiles, the pair of criminals seemingly at home in this kind of atmosphere.

"She's got maybe a trick or two up her sleeve, you'll find out once you sign the contract. Master Rav, in his infinite mercy, will allow you to pay 10% of the total every month, and its to be immediately taken out of your cut whenever he calls on you for a job."

The Aqualish taps the datapad with a thick finger, sending it sliding across the table into Kurr's lap. Kurr doesn't recognize all of the legalese used within the contract, but he understands enough to know that the contract contains some outrageously stiff penalties.

Standard for these kinds of deals.

"Skip out on a payment, or kriff it up like last time and you'll become poodoo, we'll see to that! Now sign the karkin' thing so I can get out of this nerfhouse!"

Ruhsk leans back in his seat, the chair protesting against his girth, but his hand remains under the table, likely clutching a blaster that is probably more trained on the Feeorin than the participants of the blasterfight.

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Two of the spies move to intercept the charging Al'verde, both drawing combat knives as they go. One, a tall red-haired woman with the frown lines of a person that never smiles, goes low for the Mandalorian's groin, while the other, a short man wearing a maniacal grin, aims for his throat.

Al'verde barely manages to shunt the woman aside with his mesh tape, while the man's combat knife sends a shower of sparks into the air as it scrapes along the Mandalorian's helmet. Both set themselves in combat stances, showing some military training, and await Al'verde's next move.

******************************************************************************** Weakened, near-blind, and naked, Wes manages to crawl to the tables holding his armor and weapons, feebly scrabbling up onto his knees to retrieve his carbine. His eyes refuse to focus, but what he can make out is chaos: Two humans squaring off against a Mandalorian; a pair of armored Jedi wielding silver lightsabers, one being accosted by another man wielding a blaster; the blonde-haired woman now chasing the Ithorian around the casket; and a Feeorin and Aqualish conversing rather calmly through it all.

Little by little, the Mandalorian feels strength returning to his stiff limbs, but with it comes the burn of blood being forced through vessels long inactive. While his legs still offer betrayal, his trigger finger is beginning to feel just fine.

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"What the Kriff do you mean, Davik?! Bring me that Karkin' hammerhead, or I'm going to hang you by your nadgers until they pop off! I'm sending reinforcements!"

The commlink rudely, and rather abruptly cuts out on the Zeltronian and he finds himself rather alone in the middle of the chaos. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the same naked youth that had occupied the casket, but now he's crawled to the table holding those goods that didn't sell at auction. Amongst them is a blaster carbine, which the youth snatches up in a faltering grip.

He's turning to aim...

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"No one threatensss the missstresss!"

The Barabel turns from firing on the oubliette to Kanos, and lets out a hiss of outrage. With a frighteningly fast spin, the mercenary whips his tale at the Zabrak, the appendage making a whip-cord crack.

The tip of the tail catches Kanos on his cheek, drawing a sharp line of blood and causing the Zabrak to lose his aim. Hissing menacingly, the Barbel tosses his blaster rifle aside, flexing wickedly sharp claws that seem intent on rending the hapless security guard.

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Nestil's proclamation draws a sinister sneer from the lovely blonde, but she maintains her focus on the Ithorian. The noble Imperial Knight doesn't have far to go, as the spy that shot Jaster turns to her, his face a mask of pure hatred.

Nestil brings her lightsaber to bear, but the man seems undaunted in the face of two Imperial Knights.

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"Damn you Jedi scum, hold still!"

The blond woman continues to chase the Ithorian around the crystal casket, the scene appearing somewhat childish and comical if the woman weren't so intent on doing the Ithorian harm. Finally, the blonde manages to corner the Ithorian, but once again showing miraculous dexterity, or perhaps a desperate need to remain alive, he manages to roll away at the last minute.

"Six Hundred-Thousand to whoever saves me! Oh please help!"

With that, the Ithorian begins a dead sprint for the beaded-curtain door.

Kanos took a step back when the Barabel attacked him. Oh, I should've known this was going to happen. Almost immediately, Kanos dropped his carbine and drew his heavy blaster. "Frak it," as he hit the comlink again. "This is Agent Odaska in the Wheel Within a Wheel Casino. We have blaster fire and Imperials causing mayhem. Require immediate backup," Kanos yelled as he fired his heavy blaster at the Barabel. Karkin' fool shouldn't have taken the bribe.

Kanos did a quick look around after he fired, checking to see if the woman was still there. Definetely a bad day for doing guard work.

Nestil didn't seem terribly concerned about the spy that attacked her, Immediately moving forward. "This is your last chance to surrender!" She calls out even as she's already in motion. The Imperial Knight didn't much care who the woman was, only that she was an agent of Darth Krayt.

Kurr's mechanical eye whirs a bit as he looks over the datapad. "D'ast crime lords and their flunkies," he thinks, scratching his chin with his free hand. "I don't think Rav'll have t' worry about me gristing up a job," he says. "Ya fat piece of rancor poodo," he thinks, raising his eyes to meet Ruhsk's, the grinding whir of his mechanical eye running quiet as he narrows his good one. "Jus' so we're square here, while I may owe Kav some creds ... this'll be my ship, not his. I'm more than happy t' be payin' him a good fee fer th' flamin' hunk, as well as helpin' him out with th' occasional job, but it'll be my crew an' my terms," the Feeorin says calmly. "We good with that, mate?" Kurr grins a bit, looking into the Aqualish's eyes. "Really a shame this Spawn of Nilgarian Worm couldn't trip his way into an "accidental" blaster bolt," he thinks as he waits for a reply.

Jaster doesn't flinch when he is shot. He just charges the Sith continuing his smooth draw stroke into a down stroke that will cut the Sith Spy head to groin instead.

Wes crawled along towards the table as blaster fire and curses began flying with impunity. The bad taste of retching still lingered in his mouth as he reached the table. This is bad. What the hell happened? I remember the old man and now I'm here. What did he do to me?

The thought of the old man or possibly Jedi brought on some well deserved anger that has been lying dormant. Reaching the table Wes placed his left hand on the table and with considerable effort managed to make it to his knees. He was having trouble making out the items in front of him. Shades of black and gray lay before him. He blinked his eyes several times quickly as blaster fire continued along with the hum of what sounded like lightsabers. Karkin' Jetiise if they are behind this... The thought wasn't finished as the melee that was happening right next to him broke the concentration he was putting into forming cohesive thoughts.

His vision cleared for a second and hie eyed fell of his carbine. A grin appeared as his right hand found the grip. The weapon was home, right where it ought to be. Wes turned around and slumped to the floor as his legs still could not hold his weight. Quickly his left hand went over the weapon and found the power pack still in place with the read out still showing a full charge. It's setting was still set to lethal as Wes rarely saw a reason to stun anyone. The grin remained as he looked around to make someone's day become even worse.

Chaos was before him. Several pairs of people faced off. So many targets so little time. Now he saw the big armored warrior. Wes guessed it was the one speaking Mando just seconds earlier. Seeing that he was squared off against two Wes decided to try and even the odds. He braced the carbine against his shoulder and took aim at the closest hoping he had surprise on his side. His finger depressed the trigger.

Rehn uttered a litany of curses he hadn't used since his days with the Teeth. He cursed the Bothan's furry head and his own incompetence at the computer that had gotten him into this mess. Why the frak is it always me?

He threw his bag over his shoulder as he drew his Bluebolt blaster from jacket's inside pocket, his hands fitting on the grip like it was built for him. Putting on a burst of speed, Rehn jumped out from behind the chairs and ran for the door, moving to block the Ithorian. He stayed low, keeping as close to the ground as he could and letting the blaster bolts fly above his head.

If Gil'usa wanted the Ithorian, he was going to get the Ithorian, though Rehn had serious doubts as to his ability to capture the man. At this point, Rehn didn't have much of a choice if he wanted to stay out of prison. That thought didn't ease his doubts any.

As he and the Ithorian neared each other, Rehn waved him down. "I can help you," he called over the din. He was being honest--he could get the other man out of here. After that, though, the Ithorian might not agree Rehn was helping. It really depended on what Gil'usa had planned for him.