The Empty Orphanage

[Ireen Cole]

The facade was maintained with military precision: between 1900 and 2100 hours, ninety percent of the lights were turned on in random sequence, at three minute intervals; between 2100 and 2200 hours, the drapes were drawn; of a day, the sound of children's voices vaulted the high walls, and, of a night, the deliveries arrived. Above the durasteel gates sat a sign, woven in blackened metal:

The Eris Latombe Orphanage of Nashal

The orphanage was empty.

####

It was bedtime, and Manni was missing again. The search party had grown; they were four-strong now, with the addition of Bramble, a thigh-high 6-year-old from Drall. She trailed at the back of the group, clinging to Jinn's sleeve, wide-eyed and floofy, fresh from her bed. Ireen led the way in pink slippers, flanked by Derik, a Nikto boy who walked like he was smuggling watermelons under his arms. They had checked under ever bed and inside every trunk, they investigated the toy chest and the boy's bathroom, and were on their way, at last, to the girl's bathroom, where, Ireen suspected, they would find the mischievous little Devaronian. The door hissed open, unfurling a column of light across the hospital ward. Derik flushed, and retreated from the threshold, as if the tiled floor would burn his feet. Instead, he elected to stand guard outside, rigid like a statue.

Just as she was about to step inside, Ireen noticed something moving in the gloom, a great mass rose, taking the shape of a hulking ghost, fashioned out of bedsheets. It moaned and it howled as it closed in; Derek gasped and Bramble shrieked, attaching herself to Ireen's leg. Jinn, on the other hand, was not so easily scared: stomping forth, she socked a fist deep inside the mountain of sheets, and it crumbled.

"You idiots!" she said, to the slowly shifting mound, "You scared Bramble half to death!"

From beneath the bedsheets appeared a dazed Devaronian and a rather bedraggled Wookiee. Unclamping herself from Ireen's leg, Bramble sucked in a shocked breath, "Lewie!"

"Braccaloo, I am surprised at you." Ireen chased away her amusement, and put on her best disappointed voice; the lanky Wookiee wilted a few inches. He muffled an apology to Bramble, and rubbed at his belly, sore, no doubt, from Jinn's swift justice.

"Aw, don't be hard on him, Miss! It was all my idea!" There was something about Manni's protestations that suggested he cared more about his share of the credit than Braccaloo's share of the blame. Braccaloo, too, sensed he was being short-changed, and growled an objection. Manni was having none of it, "No way! I'm the brains of this outfit. You're just the muscle, Bra!"

"That's enough. Both of you to bed, now. We'll... talk about this in the morning."

Faltering though it was, the edge in Ireen's voice cut through the dispute, silencing the boys, who gathered up their sheets and trudged off to bed. Bramble climbed into bed with Jinn, resembling a real-life teddy bear when snuggled up to her Twi'lek bedfellow. Jinn told her the story of the Ewok Princess while Derik escorted Ireen to the exit, because he insisted.

"Miss," he began, tentatively, "When will Sualee be back?"

"When she's better, Derik. Sualee is very ill right now."

"She will get better, right?"

"I'm sure she will, Derik. In time."

"But-"

"Okay, I'm safely at the door now!" Ireen declared with agonising brightness, "Thank you, Derik, for being such a brave escort."

"Bodyguard, Miss. I'm your bodyguard."

"You totally are. Now, off to bed."

Derik beamed and scuttled off, "Goodnight, Miss!"

"Goodnight."

Ireen slipped through the door and watched as the maglocks clamped into place. One. Two. Three. On a panel beside the door, she prodded a six-digit key code, and waited for the lights on the locks to turn from green to red. Satisfied, she proceded down the long white corridor with the Imperial officer who had been waiting for her. They walked in silence, footsteps ringing into the distance, where the walls appeared to shrink before them. She hated the place: the lighting was stale, there was a tang of metal in the air, and she hadn't seen the sun in weeks.

A technician fell into step alongside them and she started to change. First to go were the fluffy slippers, replaced by a pair of flat white pumps; the dressing gown fell away to reveal a set of clean blue scrubs, which she draped in a long white coat; next came the hairnet, name badge, mask and gloves. When she was handed a clipboard, she left both the officer and the technician without a word, and passed through two pairs of guarded doors.

The theatre was large and round, like the colliseums of old, except, where there once might have been tiered terraces of roaring spectators, there were high walls and darkened windows. And, in the centre, in place of a gladiator there was a child. A Rodian child, lying face-down on an operating table; her green scaly skin shimmered like jade in the spotlight. She was accompanied by a robust medical droid.

"Is the subject prepped?" said Ireen.

"Affirmative. Subject Three is sedated and ready for the procedure, ma'am."

"Good." Her voice was not her own, strangled as it was by the mask. Every breath was an effort, pounding like hammer blows in her ears: haww-paah haww-paah. She stared hard at the monitors until they came into focus.

"Ma'am, before we continue, I must remind you that - based on my calculations - Subject Three has a 16.2% chance of survival."

Ireen looked up over the monitors at the Rodian girl, and the spiked pipes glistening dangerously above, and up again, at the darkened windows, and the shapes that moved behind them. She sucked in another breath: haww-paah.

"Do it."

[Lilaena De'Ville]

She sat in perfect stillness, the only light in her room coming from the multicolored sworls of hyperspace outside the window. She had made it a habit to meditate every day to ensure her mind was clear. A vestige of a horned demon faded in and out, and she banished it with a thought.

The door chimed, and De'Ville reluctantly opened her eyes. "Come."

Jeng poked his head inside, and then the rest of him followed. He had his helmet tucked under his arm. "Mand'alor," they still insisted on the title, "There is a result on the search you asked for."

"Good," she said, uncrossing her legs and pushing herself up from the floor. She paused, and took a moment to stretch cramped muscles. Perhaps today's session had been too long. The blond Mandalorian handed over a datapad, looking around the room for threats as he did so. "Thank you." She scanned the pad as the door swished shut behind him, and walked over to her desk and keyed the comm.

"Akasha, find Kei and meet me in the ready room." A conference room off of the bridge of the Aranar, it would do for her purposes. She looked down at the datapad with unfocused eyes, her fingers tapping idly on the screen, and then she called up Zereth Lancer, giving him instructions to join them. De'Ville sat down, pulled on her boots, and walked out of her room with purpose.

[Akasha Khan]

Akasha Khan reclined across a beaten vinyl couch in what passed for a recreation deck aboard the Aranar - just enough room for a couple dejarik tables, a sunken lounge, and a holoscreen, all of which could be cleared for action at a moment's notice to access one of the frigate's six turbolaser batteries. On her lap lay her beloved lightstaff, brushed a matte black and unadorned so it wouldn't gleam in the shadows. She had already dismantled and cleaned both emitter arrays and was just replacing the blade shrouds when her feline ears twitched at Master De'Ville's voice over the comm.

"On my way."

The sleek, black Orryxian rolled to her feet, slipped her completed lightstaff back into its holster across the small of her back, and padded onto the broad action deck that ran the length of the frigate. After nearly a year of living as an apex predator on the Ossian frontier, she didn't relish the idea of returning to life aboard a starship, all bland metal corridors and recycled air and nothing to eat that wasn't frozen, reconstituted, or irradiated. But she'd decided that was a small price to pay for returning to her master's side, completing her training in the Dark Side of the Force, and finally realizing the glory and power that had been promised her what now seemed like a lifetime ago.

So of course her master had summoned her for a temporary furlough from her assignment with the Jedi, only to introduce her to her feckless new whelp of an apprentice. Akasha's hackles rose unbidden as she stalked her way across the deck to the cargo bay which had been repurposed as a sparring chamber. Inside, she found Kei Durall exchanging blows with a tall, gray-haired Mandalorian woman who offered encouragement and criticism with equal dispassion in her low, gruff voice. Akasha bared her fangs in a grin. If Granoi was involved, at least she could be certain Kei wasn't being coddled.

"Kei!" Akasha shouted from the doorway. "Master De'Ville wants us."

[Kei Durall]

"Don't let your guard down!" The mandolorian shouted in her lower voice as she brought Kei down with an open palm to his face. Kei fell to the floor, but only momentarily. He jumped back to his feet and returned a blow that landed on her right shoulder. His fighting had improved much since he started his training, which wasn't saying much since he didn't know much to begin with. Yet he was at a point where he wasn't getting knocked flat on his back every blow that came his way. The few mandolorians he had been sparring with respected the fact that he was no quitter, and that he kept getting up. They told him it was a good quality for a fighter, even one so inexperienced.

The sparring stopped as Akasha shouted for him from the doorway. "We will resume this when you return." The Mando woman stated and left to tend to other business. Kei grabbed his towel and wiped the sweat from his face before moving towards Akasha. He knew little of this feline who was an apprentice of Lilaena before him. Only having greeted briefly on her arrival on the Aranor.

"Lets go" Kei spoke, as he walked past Akasha leading the way to the ready room.

[Zereth Lancer]

Inside the maintenance closet a man sat, cross-legged, and levitating several feet off the ground; a book held in one hand while the other occasionally turned a page. Finding peace and solace aboard the Aranar was sometimes a futile endeavor. Between the many Mandalorians and the ever expanding cadre of force adepts the ship was becoming increasingly cramped. Zereth would much rather sit aboard his own ship, in the space he had created for himself, but while traveling through hyperspace he preferred to make himself available in case Lilaeana required him. There were spaces for meditating and training, as well as recreation, on board this ship, and he despised them all. He was no so anti-social that he could not stand the presence of others, but he occasionally needed respite from others and the counsel of himself.

The comm at his waist chimed, and the request came through. Licking a finger, he turned another page, and continued to read for a few more moments before he slipped a scrap of paper into place and closed the cover of the fictional novel. An alternate present day where everything was powered by steam and mechanical gears was shut away. On the utility shelf beside him a collection of more serious subjects could be found, but now and again he needed respite even from his own goals. The advancement of his own powers and abilities could wait a few hours while he relaxed his mind and body.

He was not far from the ready room, and took his time walking the distance. Without his big cloak he appeared a much smaller man; all tight muscles and grimaces. The simple black tunic drew a sharp comparison to his pale skin and with his long, sharp hair tied up in a topknot there was nothing to obstruct his red mottled eyes.

Perhaps he dawdled too long. By the time he arrived both of Lilaena's apprentices were already present; the new boy with the attitude and lack of care that annoyed Zereth, and the shadowy felinoid of which Zereth knew very little but suspected her to be a sneak that needed to be watched. Without a word he took a seat, clasping his hands on the table in front of him and looking Lilaena in the face. Whatever she had called them for it had to be important, and that meant she had his full attention.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Akasha and Kei were settling in, each eyeing the other when they thought they weren't looking. Sizing each other up. Lilaena knew Akasha wasn't happy that there was a new apprentice on the scene, but there was little that could be done about that now. Rivalry would sharpen them both.

Once Zereth sat down De'Ville pressed the button on the holoprojector in the center of the table, displaying the Corellian system, planets arranged around their star in various orbits. "I have been following up on a rumor we heard out of Corellia - a pair of Force sensitives murdered in their beds. Such a crime did happen, but in the chaos of terrorism the planet has fallen into it is hard to say if it was a hate crime or just a home invasion gone wrong. I found that the child was taken to an orphanage on Talus," the projection zoomed in on the planet, and then a city on its surface, "specifically Nashal.

"A little digging and I realized that some of the other recent orphans were all the children of parents the Empire had flagged as Force adepts. We are en route to Talus to make sure these children are taken care of as they deserve."

To say she had a soft spot for children in bad situations would be understating it. De'Ville remembered her own upbringing vividly, even if it was no longer the fresh wound she'd carried with her so many years. The emotional scar tissue remained. "I feel this is more than a coincidence. Questions?"

[Akasha Khan]

"Yes. What aren't you telling us?"

Akasha stood with her arms folded and her eyes narrowed to venomous slits. Only her tail moved, swaying back and forth like an agitated cobra.

"You didn't summon me from Ossus just to pay a welfare visit. The Empire is doing something with these children, all right, that's obvious, but even if this is some sort of re-education camp, sending in the three of us seems like overkill."

Her eyes ticked to her left, and she added, "All right, the three of us and Kei."

[Kei Durall]

Kei cocked his head to the side at her comment. A frown came across his face before he could stop himself. If Akasha was looking to get a reaction from him, she succeeded. He held Akasha's eye for a moment, and before Lilaena could answer Akasha's questions, Kei jumped in, "I share the concerns of our 'temporary' resident feline. What more is it that you haven't told us that you think is going on? And if it is something a bit more dangerous, would I just... be in the way?" He knew that in comparison to those present in the room, he was an amateur in just about everything, though his telekinesis was coming along. Still, there was nothing more that he wanted then to prove Akasha wrong. Show that he was more useful than she thought.

[Zereth Lancer]

"I agree, we should investigate." Zereth's reply completely ignored the concerns of his fellows that Lilaena was hiding something. Perhaps she was. It was not his place to question in this situation. There was a very clear issue presented and instead of arguing politics or angles, of who benefits from what, they should be more concerned with the gross loss of life and the potential horror being inflicted upon those children. The Empire had a great affinity for harm and destruction. Anything even resembling a forced extinction of force gifted adults and kidnapping of children should have their full attention.

"Are we going to investigate publicly, knock on the front door and ask for a tour, or kick the door down? Should a more backdoor approach be the preference, we may want to leave Kei behind. No offense." He nodded to the young apprentice. "This is extremely dangerous and we cannot risk getting caught behind enemy lines. The Empire will put it's jackboots to us in a heartbeat. We should only bring those who can fend for themselves should the worst happen."

[Lilaena De'Ville]

She let them talk, and then held up a hand. "You are right Akasha. I am keeping something from you. A few years ago I uncovered an Imperial laboratory on Coruscant - one that was hidden deep in the Underground. They were ...experimenting on Force sensitive children." De'Ville's lip curled in distaste at the memory.

"We destroyed the lab and everyone inside it, but I later learned that the scientist in charge of the project had not been there that day. He avoided judgement...and this orphanage in Nashal has his name on the board of directors.

"A cautious approach is best. We do not want them to scuttle their plans and escape if we tip our hands early." Lilaena looked at Kei. "I am leaving you here to continue to train in combat with the Mandos."

[Ireen Cole]

The machines loomed high over the bed, hissing and chittering. There were wires, and glossy pipes that pulsated, hanging like a spider's web or a maniac's dreamcatcher. The lights were low and the walls, grey; and in the darkest recesses, where shadows towered like columns, the watchers watched.

During the Clone Wars, a Separatist ship crash landed on the Noghri homeworld, and leaked its toxic cargo into the water. The resulting ecological disaster forced the Noghri to flee their homes, as every manner of flora and fauna withered and died around them. Honoghr remains to this day a wasteland; a cesspit of toxic marshlands, fetid swamps, and barren earth. From orbit, it resembled a bucket of diseased waste: swabs of browns and pallid yellows, and weak watery greens. It was the colour of life succumbing to death. That was what she was reminded of when she saw Sualee in her bed.

She looked tiny. The bed was a white slab, built for occupants five times her size, and the sheets were pristine and smooth. Its occupant was, by contrast, a mottled mess that glistened in the gloom. Her shallow chest rose and fell with the pumping and hissing of valves. Her eyes were closed, her limbs were still; she was, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world. The only sign of life was her pulse: recorded by probes and reproduced like a blip on a radar. Ireen sat and took her hand.

"Hey. It's me again. I just... wanted to let you know... how everyone's doing."

She winced at her words. If that marked the height of her conversational fluency when her companion was comatose, then she was truly doomed. In her hands, Sualee's fingers felt crisp like snakeskin. She reminded herself to smile and continued, brightly.

"The gang misses you. We all miss you, of course. Derik especially." Here, Ireen leaned in, and muttered out of the corner of her mouth, "You know, I think someone has a crush. And if you don't get well soon, girl, I'm gonna have to steal your man."

She consoled Sualee with a gentle pat on the hand, "Just kidding, of course. It would never work between us. Derik is far too possessive."

While she spoke, her eyes dared a glance into the darkened corners of the room. Staring back at her were four glass screens, each comprising eighteen hexagonal pieces; as black as the shadows in which they lurked, they watched like the disembodied eyes of insects. She stiffened in her seat and returned her attention to Sualee. It was nice to think of her as Sualee again, even if it was wishful thinking.

"Jinn has been teaching Bramble our secret handshake. And I think Manni is trying to charm it out of her - he says its gender discrimination. Oh, and did I mention we've been working on a patchwork quilt for you? It. Looks. Awesome! Lewie wanted to donate a square of his fur to the cause, which was sweet, but also a bit gross. I politely declined on your behalf. Of course, this is all strictly confidential, so you've got to promise me: when you see it, be surprised!"

From her breast pocket there came a buzz that shook her heart inside her chest. Ireen's breath caught in her throat as she fished out the tiny communicator. She fumbled, turning it in trembling fingers until the green light caught her eyes:

Choose your subject.

She closed her eyes but it was no use. The message was always the same. And the words had become branded onto her retinas so she could read them even in her sleep. The words burned like tears. Horrified, she turned away from the watchers and leaned over Sualee. No. Subject Three. She placed a hand on her forehead. Cold. She peeled back a bulbous eyelid and found herself staring into a sky of stars reflected on the ocean. They were the most beautiful eyes.

From her lips, the words trickled like grains of sand, "I will get you out of here. Just... wake up. Please wake up."

[Akasha Khan]

The orphanage was on the outskirts of the city, skirted on three sides by thick stands of pine trees that sheltered it from view of the few rickety homesteads dotting the mountain road. Nashal was a was a glimmering diorama of lighted streets and strange, dome-and-pyramid architecture in the river valley below, a gaudy imposition on the gothic tranquility of the grounds.

Well, perhaps more moribund than tranquil. Akasha had been watching the place for thirty minutes now and hadn't seen, heard, or smelled so much as a rodent stirring in the lawn. Not that she expected to see anyone playing in the grass at night, but humanoid children were stinky abominations who left their filth in trails behind them like slime off a Hutt's tail. No orphans had run through the orphanage grounds in months.

Akasha took one more gander at the lighted windows of the orphanage through her macrobinoculars, then handed them off to the armored Mandalorian girl standing next to her in the cover of the pines. "Still nothing," the Orryxian said into her wrist comm. "How much longer are we going to wait?"

[Lilaena De'Ville]

"Patience, Akasha." Lilaena gently chided her apprentice. "It's only been half an hour. From what we heard from the neighbors, the delivery truck arrives infrequently. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow."

The fact that the orphanage was obviously empty, while the data she'd sliced suggested there should be about fifteen children in residence, was not a good sign. Reports of deliveries being made (or perhaps things being transferred from the property?) to an empty building were promising.

Lilaena had felt something slippery in the Force when she extended her senses into the building. Jeng handed her the macrobinoculars, and she looked through them at the back of the orphanage property. Everything was perfectly maintained, and unused. A security droid was traveling the perimeter of the fence, the light in it's head slowly scanning from side to side in its path.

As far as security went, it was less than impressive. She handed the macros back to Jeng. For this outing she had left her armor in the ship, but all five of the Mando'ade who had come had full sets, including jet packs. She had had no intention of being caught unprepared, so alocytes had been her only choice. Except for the young one, Lanai, who Granoi had insisted she bring along. No one defied Granoi for long.

De'Ville lifted her commlink again. "Anything interesting to report, Zereth?"

[Zereth Lancer]

"The building is producing strange energy levels." Zereth crouched at the edge of the nearest rooftop to the Orphanage, a full spectrum scanner in his hands. To any watcher he appeared difficult to look at, the brain's naturally affinity to rebel against what it doesn't understand or that hurts it's rational would cause many to look away and forget they saw anything. Cloak in his illusions Zereth was relatively safe from observation and detection. He did not dare sneak too close. Droids and machines were not so easy to trick as sentient minds.

His mottled red eyes looked over the scanner in his hand. There was interference, either a signal jammer of some sort or a more natural buffer like layers of duracrete. "Considering how dark and empty the building appears, it should not be producing the equivalent of several domestic homes worth of energy, and that is just what I can detect for sure. There is no doubt something happening beneath the surface."

It was a troubling sign, and hopefully enough for them to act on. He was feeling antsy, ready to strike. It was against his more passive nature, but he feared there were children, force sensitive children, being horribly abused inside whatever macabre facility the Empire was running. Every moment that passed could be another horror visited upon an innocent soul. Every moment his blade went thirsty.

[Ireen Cole]

Supper was a one-two combo of homemade nuna broth and steamed vegetables with ghoba rice. The resident chef was a talented man, when he had the inclination. Fortunately, the children, who had emptied their plates with gusto, were yet to recognise the cruel correlation between a decent meal and the thinning of their numbers. Braccaloo even requested a second helping. He sat cross-legged on the floor, the others congregated around Bramble's bed; it was story time, and Ireen read from a new book called The Forest Children of Endor, while Braccaloo provided an unearthly soundtrack of snuffling, chewing, and lip-smacking. The story was about a group of orphans who crash-landed on Endor's moon, where they lived in the forest with Ewoks - Bramble loved Ewoks - they learned to fly, and swashbuckle, and they never grew up. Ireen was only halfway through the second chapter, when she felt Bramble nestling into her arm.

"It looks like this little Ewok has decided its bedtime." The murmur of uniform objection fell on deaf ears. Ireen untangled herself from Bramble and rose from the bed. When she fished a small tube of pills from her pocket, the room became as silent as a graveyard, "Don't look at me like that. Everyone has to take their medicine from time to time. Quickly, to your beds."

The children dispersed on leaden feet. Ireen turned to find Bramble sat upright in her bed, ready, with a glass of blue milk in her paws. A knife turned in her heart, forcing a pained smile to the surface. She placed a white pill on the little Drall's tongue and took the glass from her once it was empty. Her fur was the softest thing she had ever touched. Bramble was asleep before her light was out. If only the others were as compliant. Even Derik, who was normally putty in her hands, was reluctant to take his medicine.

"The last time we took our medicine, Sualee got sick. Isn't medicine supposed to make us feel better, Miss?"

"Some medicine makes you feel better, Derik. Some medicine we take for our own protection. Open up."

Jinn was deep in a sulk by the time Ireen arrived at her bedside. She folded wiry arms across her chest and stared holes at the door, as if by sheer force of will she could dispel Ireen from her presence. After a string of promises and some undignified bartering, Ireen got tough, "If you won't take your medicine from me, I'll have to call the doctor."

A flare of nostrils. Jinn stiffened with indignation, shook back her headtails, and plucked a pill from Ireen's hand. The pill was swallowed without water. Jinn buried herself into her pillow without a single word. Her teenage years would be murder, thought Ireen, somewhat hopefully. Braccaloo issued a throaty growl when it was his turn, and he looked away whenever Ireen got close, grunting objections. He was won over, in the end, by an empty promise of Bantha Surprise for dinner the next day. Water trickled down his chin fur as he took his pill, then with a great yowling yawn, he sunk happily into bed. Ireen decided she would need a long sonic shower after this experience.

When she arrived at Manni's bed, she was surprised to find him waiting, wearing a pleasant, albeit devilish, Devaronian smile. He was strangely compliant, and went as far as to make polite conversation while his medication was administered. His hammy gulp raised suspicion, however, and Ireen asked him to open his mouth - which he did with a sing-song "Aaahh." Ireen smiled in spite of herself and turned off the last of the bedside lights. She left the dormitory with a whisper of slippered feet.

"Miss Cole, I bring a message from Doctor O."

Lieutenant Culditz was waiting outside. He was a tall, slim, pale-skinned man, with pristine blonde hair and a neat moustache. When he spoke, his lips barely moved, and his words slithered over his teeth like a whisper. His appearance, as always, opened up a cold sinking hole in the pit of her stomach. The lieutenant served two functions: he escorted her to the operating theatre, and he delivered bad news. A message from Doctor O was invariably bad. And, as always, the lieutenant appeared to take no pleasure in his duty, but Ireen had her suspicions that beneath that stiff upper lip lurked a wet glistening grin. She waited for the maglocks to seal before acknowledging him.

"The doctor requests your presence. In his study. Immediately," the lieutenant afforded her all of a second to process his words, before he turned on his heel with a squeak of boot leather, "Follow me."

Fear set like duracrete inside her legs, forbidding them to move; the weight of it pulling her down, down, down. Doctor O. She blinked and saw the words as plain as if they were branded to the back of her eyelids: choose your subject. It took a hammer blow of anger to break herself free and pursue the lieutenant on uncertain feet. Her mouth was so dry she almost choked when she swallowed, "What does the doctor want?"

"I'm afraid I can't say," Lieutenant Culditz didn't even bother to look at her this time, instead he turned his attention to a key panel, and stepped aside when the turbolift door gasped open. He followed Ireen inside. The remainder of their time together was spent listening to the low turbolift hum, with Ireen boring holes into the back of the lieutenant's head with her eyes. You can't say or you don't know, you pompous bastard? By the time the lift stopped, she had scratched her forearm raw.

When the turbolift reopened, Culditz led the way, clicking a brisk pace over the hard grey floor. A pair of armed guards flanked a shielded door, they saluted with a clatter of armour as the lieutenant approached. Culditz plucked a keycard from his breast pocket and swiped it at the entrance; there was a whine as the wall of red shielding vanished, and the doors parted. Warm light spilled into the corridor and a gust of crisp sweet air rushed out to greeted them even before they were over the threshold. Once inside, Ireen gaped.

The study, for want of a better word, was a long white hall with a high ceiling; it housed a veritable jungle of exotic plants. They climbed the walls and spilled out in looming arches, all around they blossomed with explosions of vibrant colour and spilled over their tables in spiralling curtains of green. Overhead, two rows of fans circulated the air, which brushed the skin like a warm kiss. Ireen squinted and looked up. Where she expected to find windows, she saw large round spotlights that bathed the entire room in mock daylight. If there had been windows, she wondered what sight would've greeted her above: the sun or the moon. She was no longer sure.

Her tight-lipped escort negotiated a route through a web of thorned vines, making no concessions for his dawdling charge. When they stepped out from the shade of some large leafy canopies, the room opened up on either side, providing them with some much needed space. In the middle of the white tiled floor there was an antique desk made from dark varnished wood that was utterly at odds with the sterile greenhouse aesthetic of its surroundings. As they approached, Ireen saw there was an open file on the desk, and realised she had seen it before. Her heart started to stampede in her chest.

The lieutenant came to a stop with a sharp click of his boot heels, "Miss Ireen Cole, as requested, doctor."

"Oh!" The crow came from behind, freezing Ireen to the spot, "Just a minute, if I can find my way out of- nrgh! There we are."

The words were squeezed out between laboured breaths, and punctuated with feeble high-pitched grunts. There was an airy sort of rustling; Ireen dared to turn her head a fraction and saw out of the corner of her eye something small and white emerge from behind a large fern. It walked the periphery of the room on shuffling feet, wheezing all the way, and occasionally stopping to squirt something. When the doctor spoke again, Ireen couldn't help but notice an uncharacteristic downturn in the corner of the lieutenant's mouth, a grimace, like he had just caught the scent of something foul.

"Ireen Cole. Ireen Cole. University of Coronet. Graduated with distinction in molecular biology, xeno-genetics, and clone theory. Discovered the self-splicing toads of Aximia. Revolutionised the theory of interspecies genetic transferral. And then shit it all away on a frog-dog." What began as a throaty chuckle mutated into a violent hacking cough that echoed off the high walls. The lieutenant moved to assist but was stopped dead in his tracks by a croak, "Lieutenant Culditz. Leave us."

His small sphincter of a mouth sealed shut. Culditz retreated a step to his original position, pulled on the hem of his jacket, and turned. For the briefest instant, Ireen could feel those acid green eyes sweep over her with the smug satisfaction of some detention-dodging schoolboy. She listened to his clipped steps beating a retreat as fast as fast as decorum allowed. When she heard the whoosh of the door, she knew they were alone. Doctor O could be heard tending his plants, shuffling, squirting.

"Have you ever heard of the Alderaanian Coward?" He gave a grunt, and then there was a sharp shhtk, "It was a species of rose that grew only in the grasslands of Alderaan. Rare, now, for obvious reasons. A beautiful thing. The Coward was an uncommon flower that had one singularly effective defense against all the grazers and nerfs that would otherwise gobble it up: mimicry. You see, the Coward's petals were as pure and white as the snowy peaks, but when a grazer came along, they turned yellow. There was another flower that bloomed on the grasslands - an ugly wretched thing called Bilius Barbaricus - extremely toxic, a single bite would kill even the largest of herbivores. It had yellow petals."

Doctor Terrabeus O hobbled into view. He was a tiny, crooked old man with long mangled fingers and a bulbous head. Sad wisps of white hair stretched across his glistening crown and hung limply about his swollen ears. Every inch of his face was creased with wrinkles, which, when he smiled, warped and bunched around his eyes - his glossy, white, unseeing eyes. In gnarled grey fingers he held a single white rose. He held it aloft, and said, "By pretending to be something it is not, the Coward thrived where it would have otherwise failed, and been devoured. Take it."

Ireen reached out and took the rose with a trembling hand. And, sure enough, the moment she touched the stem, the white petals turned a diseased shade of yellow. She considered it for a moment, and when she spoke, there was only a slight tremor in her voice, "Normally, in nature, when something adapts to evade a predator, it's called survival."

The blind doctor frowned, staring, it seemed, at the yellow rose. "Curious. The Coward should only change colour when it senses a predator is nearby."

Ireen fed the rose into a button hole, and said, "I'm vegetarian."

Dr. O's face pulled itself into thin smile, "Sit. Please."

On the spot, he turned, and set off in earnest towards the far side of his desk, huffing with every misshapen step. Ireen allowed a long-held breath to escape and sunk into the padded leather chair. By the time Dr. O had climbed into his seat, there was a slick sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. He didn't acknowledge Ireen to begin with, instead he reshuffled the flimsi on his desk, and divided them into two neat piles. Atop each pile there was a picture, one of a silver-haired man in uniform, the other of a bald man in a suit. Ireen's fingers clamped the arms of her chair in a vice grip.

"Ah!" On the table, there was an ornate silver bowl with a glass dome; Dr. O appeared to have only just noticed it. Something was moving inside, something shiny, and dark. He leaned across, lifted the dome and, with surprising speed, snatched. It wriggled in his deformed claw; tiny black legs, thorny pincers, desperately thrumming wings, "The Tarisian bark beetle is believed to be extinct. Cherished as a delicacy on Hutta, the bark beetle is said to produce an enzyme that counteracts the ageing process. Did you know the average lifespan of a Hutt is a thousand years?"

Eyes wide, the doctor bit the beetle in half with a crunch, and chewed noisily. Ireen's insides twitched. The second half was eaten as an afterthought. When he was done, the doctor leaned back in his chair and turned his milky gaze on the back of the room, "I am a hundred and six years old, Miss Cole. We do what we can to survive. Now, tell me about Subject Three."

"Extensive damage to the nervous system. Minimal brain activity. The subject is comatose, but alive."

"An intriguing development. I had wondered if Subject Three's survival was a result of your painstaking research, or simply a fortunate by-product of a Rodian's physiology. How is your arm?"

"My-" Ireen looked down, and gasped. There was blood on her fingers and angry red scratches down the length of her forearm. Clearly, her nerves were in tatters. The doctor's mouth curved like a scimitar, revealing a wall of chunky dentures. "How did you-"

"The manipulation of midi-chlorians inside living organisms is uncharted territory in official scientific circles. Being a pioneer in one's field of research comes at a cost, and not without its fair share of risks. You must question your findings at every turn. I am unconvinced by your faltering success with Subject Three. Repeat the procedure with a new test subject - not the Twi'lek, certainly not that Nikto creature - a species far removed from the Rodian. Like a Drall, for example."

Just as the fresh wave of nausea reached its crest, it froze inside Ireen like a great rampart of ice, "No."

"Miss Cole, you embarrass yourself," Dr. O made a lazy stretch for a flimsi, "Captain Marti Cole, fifty-six, of the Corellian Security Force. A storied and decorated career. A family man, I see. Married to a Ged Cole, professor of computer science, Corellia University."

"You can stop right there." Ireen was on her feet, hands balled like rocks. "If you think I'm going to let you threaten my family-"

"I'm not going to threaten your family, Miss Cole. I'm going to destroy them. You see, it turns out the mild-mannered university professor was in fact a cyber terrorist who sold secrets to Her Majesty's enemies. He will be executed as a traitor. And the good captain? He will be sent to the spice mines of Kessel for abusing young offenders. I will see his faggot ass ripped open by a Herglic and broadcast it live on the Holonet, you ungrateful whore!" The doctor was perched on crumpled hands, a string of saliva dangling from the corner of his mouth, "Now, choose your subject."

Ireen sat. On all sides, the chair seemed to consume her. If she was shrinking, perhaps she would disappear. High above, the beating fans gave the silence a pulse. It was sacred, the silence; unsullied for as long as she held her tongue. But a choice had to be made, and every time she made it, she gave up a piece of herself. There was so little left to give. She closed her eyes.

"The wookiee is healthy and strong. His advanced age and size will increase his chances for survival."

"The wookiee," the doctor repeated, she could hear him smiling. There was a click, "Lieutenant Culditz, have your men collect the wookiee. It must be shaved and prepped for surgery within the hour."

"Right away, doctor," the lieutenant's voice buzzed through the comm.

Once again, Ireen was standing, compelled by some impossible strength. The urgency of the moment constricted her throat like a durasteel vice, throttling hollow words to the surface, "I will oversee the transfer of Subject Four. The integrity of the experiment will be compromised if the test subject is rough-handled."

Dr. O scoffed, and reached for another beetle, "The mother must tend to her brood. Go."

Taking a page out of the lieutenant's book, Ireen walked like she was trying to puncture the floor. As she passed the guards outside, every step felt like an exercise in restraint, clacking diligently all the way to the lift. Time operated differently inside turbolifts. Ireen hammered buttons with her fist and clawed at a fresh itch on her neck: an insect bite from Dr. O's so-called study, no doubt. Probably the first of many. When the lift finally opened, all pretense was abandoned as Ireen sprinted to the dormitory. The door was already open when she arrived, which meant only one thing.

In the dimly lit expanse, she saw them standing like great white sentinels at the foot of the bed. With eyes like beetle shells and angry snarling frowns, the stormtroopers exchanged silent gestures, then moved in. Lieutenant Culditz was standing just inside the room. He found himself knocked sideways as Ireen barged past, and hissed orders at his men. Another pair of troopers emerged from the shadows and reached for the intruder, but what they failed to realise was that they were standing in her dormitory, and she was Miss Cole, and her authority was unmatched.

"If the test subject suffers so much as a scuff from your manhandling, I will be holding you personally responsible if it perishes on the slab." One of the troopers turned a ghastly white face on her, but she was undaunted. Hands on hips, she added, "Do you have a million credits to reimburse the board of scientific research?"

It didn't matter that there was no board of scientific research funding the facility: it worked. The stormtroopers gave her space to oversee the transfer of... of Subject Four, and were gentle in turning back the bedsheets, and easing the slumbering mound of fur upright in its bed. Braccaloo yawned, and rubbed his eyes. Ireen clapped a hand over her mouth and gasped. The sedative had worn off. Everything happened so fast: the troopers seized the young wookiee under the arms and hoisted him out of bed, and Lewie, still sleepy, gave a confused groan. It wasn't until his heavy footpaws hit the cold floor, that he started to struggle in earnest, yowling in alarm. His eyes were round with fright as he tugged and kicked at the large armoured men, and when his gaze finally fell upon Ireen, it hit like a superlaser.

"It's alright, Lewie," she said, her voice cracking and hoarse, "Don't be afraid."

That was the worst part, the flicker of realisation in his eyes, as the facade of the lovely Miss Cole came crashing down around her. She wished she'd given him two pills. She wished she'd given him a hundred pills. Even as he was dragged past, howling, pleading, she heard herself lie, "Everything is going to be just fine. I promise, Lewie."

"Lewie?" Manni was sitting up in his bed, squinting into the darkness. Lewie's frightful bark had him out of bed in an instant, as wide awake as he had been when she had last seen him. Her suspicions were confirmed: he had never taken that pill in the first place. He saw the struggling shapes and cried out, "Lewie!"

Roused by the sound of reinforcements, Lewie roared, and cast one of his handlers to the floor. The futility of his resistance was crystallised by the thunder of boots, as the second pair of stormtroopers charged into the fray. Shadows scuffled, silhouetted in the doorway. Lieutenant Culditz watched, with perfect ambivalence, as his men took a limb each and lifted Lewie, writhing, into the air. Ireen, who had buried her face in her hands, started when she felt a small tug at the sleeve of her jacket.

"Miss! They're taking Lewie, Miss! Help him!" For all his pleading, Manni found himself restrained, firmly, by the shoulders. He fought when Ireen attempted to turn him away from the awful sight, and when Lewie gave one last despairing howl, he stamped on her foot and broke free. "Lewie! No! Get your hands off my-"

Even by the faint light, Ireen saw it coming. The barrel of the lieutenant's blaster pistol struck Manni's jaw with a crack. She reached out as she ran, as if she could somehow intervene, and beat gravity to the punch. But the scrawny Devaronian crumpled in a heap. Still, she ran. And like some wild thing, she drew back a clawed hand and stripped the skin from the lieutenant's face in four angry trenches. Another howl rent the air. Ireen lunged, this time for his throat, but instead, she fell as limp as a stuffed doll. The flash of blue light had sapped her of everything she had left. She clutched feebly at his crisp Imperial blues as she went down. The last thing she saw was a black polished boot - the boot she had lived under for so long - and with her last conscious breath, she spat on it.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Lilaena was pressing the earbud of her commlink to tell Akasha no, she couldn't go get some stakeout takeout, when the Force rent itself with a slash of terror. All that came through the 'link to her companions was a faint gasp. She managed to pull her hand from her ear, the sense of fear growing faint, but it had definitely come from the darkened building they were watching.

She activated the comm again, the transmission to their whole group. "Something is happening inside. I felt their fear. Akasha, take Lanai and find entrance on the second floor. Avoid the perimeter droid. Jeng, three acolytes to the roof and make your way down from there, leave one up to keep watch. Zereth, place a charge so we can cut the power if we need to, and meet me inside." There were probably redundant systems in place, but they could take care of those when they located them.

"Enter quietly, but quickly." She was already moving, two acolytes following her as she raced to the wall that surrounded the property. Lilaena grabbed at the brick, fingertips gaining traction as the Force fueled her vault up the surface and then over the top. The Mando'ade used their jet packs sparingly, just enough to gain the height needed to go over the wall. The other three were waiting for the others to breach before they flew for the roof. Whatever element of surprise they had would last until the first member of their group crossed the threshold.

[Akasha Khan]

Akasha didn't need to be told twice. She waited as the perimeter droid scudded by the fence, its search beam misty and blinding on the cool night air, and then plunged ahead on all fours with Lanai running silently alongside her. She cleared the four-meter fence in a single leap and hit the lawn on the other side in stride -

Danger!

In her mind's eye, the Orryxian saw her left paw split to the wrist and spurting gouts of blood into the grass. She twisted herself onto her right side, out of the path of gruesome dismemberment, and tumbled in the wet turf, landing on her feet just in time to raise a staying paw to stop Lanai, who'd just lighted beside her, jetpack puffing. The Mandalorian girl crouched beside Akasha, a questioning look behind her visor. "Vod'ika?"

Akasha's night-trained eyes narrowed, urgently scanning the lawn before her, and then she swiped at the air with her claws. The Force surged forth in a whisper-thin, scything arc, and with a sound like snapping harpstrings, a dozen or so glistening wires, gossamer-thin, curled up from their anchor points at ankle-height, just below the tops of the grass. Microfilaments - strong as durasteel, sharp as vibroblades, more than capable of shearing through a careless boot sole and straight through flesh and bone.

Curling her lip, Akasha tapped her earpiece and hissed, "Watch for wire traps in the grass."

She picked her way more deliberately now, leaping at intervals over additional traps, with Lanai following carefully in her footsteps. The delay meant she was in danger of the next sentry droid as she approached the orphanage wall. Rather than rush her approach to the second-story window she'd been aiming for, she bunched herself up like a spring and leapt straight up to the steeply gabled eaves of the roof overhead. Lanai read her instincts well and rocket-jumped with equal grace to a perch just above her, and both flattened themselves against the shingles as the second droid's search beams swept harmlessly by, leaving them in shadows.

No time to waste now. Akasha moved spiderlike from the eaves to the window and, perched with impeccable balance on the outer sill, traced a rectangle in the glass with her claws. The glass split cleanly and fell inward, buoyed by the Force before it could shatter on the floor inside, and Akasha tumbled through the aperture into a darkened dormitory. Lanai spilled through a moment later, expertly sweeping the corners with her blaster carbine.

But there was no need. Akasha slowly rose to her feet to find a room full of empty bedframes and broken shelves. Her feet shuffled through piles of dust accumulated from years of neglect. All was quiet as the grave.

Akasha touched her earpiece again and whispered, "We're in. There's... nothing. No one's been in here for ages."

[Zereth Lancer]

Adjusting the setting on the full spectrum scanner, Zereth pinpointed the general location of the exterior powerline. It was located on the side of the building, likely in a large shielded box to protect it from the very kind of damage he wished to inflict in it. Slipping the scanner into a pocket, he moved back from the edge of the building, got a running start, and threw himself over the edge. With the force as his guide, he soared the distance between the rooftop and the property wall; dropping on it in such a fashion that his hands clasped the edge and his feet propped him up against it's outside surface. The impact was graceful and the noise muffled despite the distance he just crossed.

Pulling himself effortlessly up on top of the wall he crouched at the edge, looking out at the expanse between the wall and the orphanage structure itself, and the droids sweeping in between. He was just about to leap down and cross over when Akasha's warning passed through his earpiece. Peering more closely at the grass he could make out the occasional dew-like glisten of the filaments. However, they were few and far in between. There had to be more. The droid was coming back. He dropped back over the back of the wall again, waiting for the droid to pass. When it did he returned to his perch and made note of the path the droid walked. Tensing up he gathered the force again and jumped.

Soaring once again he landed in a patch of the grass the droid had just vacated. He landed, checked the ground, and found himself in a safe patch with the wire blades to his front and back. Another jump cleared the rest of the lawn and allowed him to pull himself up on to the rooftop. Staying low, his illusions still wrapped about him, he quickly crept around the corner and looked over the side. There it was, a large metal box on the side of the building. Just like he guessed. That's where the city power entered. Slipping over the edge he dangled upside down, the metal tips of his boots hooked in the roof gutter. Using a throwing knife as leverage he pried open the access panel. A shaped demolition charge was withdrawn from a belt pouch and pressed up against the system inside. The trasmitted was wired in and snaked outside of the box so that the door could be shut and the signal still received.

"Demo charge in place." Zereth whispered while pressing his earpiece before pulling himself back up to the rooftop. Snaking along it's length, he moved to join Lilaena inside.

[Ireen Cole]

There was a beeping sound. Somewhere on the periphery of her muddled thoughts, it surfaced, low, steady, and inquisitive. From time to time, the answer came in the form of a sharp affirmative blip, other times, an exasperated sigh. Heavy lids peeled back to the sight of a dimly lit room, with knots of pipes and wires hanging overhead, and machines looming on either side, lights winking through the gloom. When she tried to turn her head, it felt like a blaster bolt shooting up her spine, into her brain. She winced as red pinpricks of light danced across her field of view. Another sigh, and the rush of cool air drew her attention to the mask strapped to her face. A thrill of horror: she was on the slab.

Her wrists were bound tightly to the bed, her ankles, too. She fought, rocking from side to side, shrieking at the explosions of pain behind her eyes. Metal rattled, cables whipped, and bedsheets gasped in the struggle. In the end, it was too much. The thick mask mocked her tears, choking sobs into silence. She was scared and alone, but what completed her misery was the total sense of betrayal: it pierced like a blade and festered like a wound in her heart. Stinging eyes squeezed shut.

Why?

Another futile struggle against her biting bonds was met with a frustrated hiss. She was not on the slab - not anymore. The damage was already done. She had been violated and abandoned. The itching was becoming unbearable; the length of her right arm was covered in a sheen of dry scaly skin, and her neck was stiff from the same unnatural carapace. She wanted nothing more than to strip the abomination from her flesh, but her hands were bound. A cry was expelled as her body convulsed against its restraints, writhing, burning, bleeding. She did not deserve it. She was a good girl. She did not deserve it.

Clutching at her last shred of liberty, she screamed. Bitterness, disappointment, rage; every dormant feeling came bubbling to the surface in a volcanic eruption of emotion. She screamed like she could breathe fire, and it burned like fire, purging her clean. And with an almighty crash, every towering machine was scattered, careening against the walls in fantastic showers of sparks. In front of her, a door opened, spilling blinding light into the room. There were footsteps, the clunking of armour, and a familiar click.

“I don’t believe it. She’s awake,” buzzed one voice.

“Jeez! What’s wrong with her eyes?” buzzed another.

“I don’t know. Let's contact the doc… tor…”

As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw the stormtroopers drop their weapons and start to claw feebly at their throats. There was a sharp snap as her binding broke. She raised a single sucker-tipped hand and reached out, lifting the stormtroopers into the air, gasping and wheezing. They would know her wrath. They would all know her wrath. She was powerless no more.

Ireen woke with a start. She was in her room, lying on a tangled mess of bed sheets. Her heart was racing, her skin was slick with icy sweat, and her head throbbed. Scoff, her pet frog-dog, was curled up on her feet. He stirred when he heard her panting, and shuffled close for a warty nuzzle. Ireen placed a hand on his bulbous head, and took a bracing breath.

“We gotta get out of here, buddy. Now.”

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Lilaena reached the side of the building and pressed herself against the cold brick next to the side door as Aang made short work of the locking mechanism. The door slid aside and she caught a glimpse of the remaining three acolytes as they soared up and overhead to the roof.

"We're in. There's... nothing. No one's been in here for ages."

Lightsaber in hand but not activated, Lilaena found herself in a large kitchen. It looked like it had been abandoned in a hurry, pots haphazardly put away, a ladle on the floor. She stepped over the utensil, her boots making footprints in the dust, Aang and Choruk spreading out to the sides as the door closed quietly behind them.

"Demo charge in place."

"Look for anything weird," she said into the comm. "Anything...more weird." Lilaena walked slowly through the kitchen, senses open and searching for the clues she knew must be there. Beyond the kitchen was a small cafeteria, chairs placed upside down on top of three rows of tables. The dust seemed undisturbed. The fear she'd sensed before was gone, but surely there was remnant... a trace of something.

"Mand'alor." Aang put a gloved hand out, and she stopped shy of the door they were headed toward. Without her Mandalorian armor she did not have the advantage of the HUD they were utilizing. Choruk pressed the door control and it slid open with a jerk. Overhead, Lilaena could sense Akasha and Lanai as they moved around, and as the acolyte stepped into the hall he was suddenly illuminated in red light.

"Droid!" he yelled, arm coming up and blaster firing as he threw himself backward. A Z-58-0 droid hummed down the hallway toward them, and Lilaena's lightsaber snap-hissed to life, deflecting a blaster bolt that came her way as the ground beneath her feet lit up with terror and fury. The strong and muddled mix of emotion was definitely coming from somewhere underneath the floor - she looked down, distracted, and Aang shoved her to the side as another droid hovered around the corner behind them, optics glaring red and weapons firing. A blaster bolt caught him in the chest, burning his armor black but leaving him unharmed as they both stumbled to the side.

Choruk activated his jetpack and zipped down the hallway, slamming into the first droid and knocking it out of the air momentarily. Reversing course he flew back to Lilaena and Aang, and she covered her head as the security droid exploded from the microcharge he'd planted on it.