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As usual, the Force was at least three seconds ahead of the moment, warning Jax in time for him to spin his energy blade. The energy bursts struck the lightsaber and were reflected back.

It took no more than a few seconds—the squad clearly hadn’t expected an attack from the rear. Almost as soon as it began, it was over. The corridor was filled with dust and smoke; some of the wild blasts had singed the walls and flooring. It was dark as well, because at least two sconces had been zapped out.

Jax squinted as the silhouette of his rescuer came toward him through the smoky darkness. He still had his lightsaber lit and ready. There was something about this man—something besides his tenuous connection to the Force—that was familiar.

“Power down your glow stick, Pavan,” said a voice that was also tantalizingly familiar, “and let’s go.” Jax heard the distinctive sound of a blaster sliding into its holster.

He deactivated his lightsaber but remained ready to use it. “Go where?”

“Does it matter?” A scuffed boot nudged one of the dead stormtroopers. “These guys are down, but more’ll come soon; you can bet credits to crumblebuns on that. That’s why they call ’em clones.”

As he finished speaking, he stepped out of the shadows and smoke and stood before Jax, who stared in surprise.

“Rostu?” he said incredulously. “Nick Rostu?”

“Nothing wrong with your eyes, but your ears must be full of wax. I said, let’s go.” He brushed past Jax, heading toward the corridor’s far end. Jax followed, still surprised at seeing a familiar face, albeit one he hadn’t encountered in over a year.

They passed several more doors, all of which remained closed. In fact, none of them had opened at any point during the fight, which was only common sense on the occupants’ parts. He was sure this wasn’t the first altercation the building had seen, though quite possibly it was the only one to involve Jedi and stormtroopers.

Rostu passed the last door. “There’s no exit at that end,” Jax called, then winced at the sudden explosion.

“There is now,” Rostu yelled over his shoulder. He leapt through the hole he’d just blown in the wall ahead.

Jax crossed the last meter of floor and jumped, hoping Rostu had remembered that they were on the third floor. He used the Force to partially levitate, slowing his fall to a gentle landing, and looked around. He was in the alley behind the building. It was narrow and littered with obsolete equipment parts, like the sheddings of some gigantic mechanical beast. A foamcast mattress, which had no doubt provided Rostu’s landing pad, lay to one side. Gutted and discarded astromech shells, broken portable scanners, even a Z-6 jetpack—obviously unworkable, which was a pity—were just a few of the things he noticed. And the place stank, as badly as if all the detritus had been organic instead of mechanical.

Rostu was nowhere to be seen.

Then, abruptly, he heard a hiss and a whispered “Down here!” from the alley’s far end. He gathered himself and leapt again, sailing over the debris. No point in trying to be stealthy—his whereabouts had obviously been discovered. Otherwise an assassination team wouldn’t have been sent. Speed was of the essence; he fancied that he could already hear the approach of PCBUs called to the scene of the battle and the explosion. They wouldn’t risk the lives of real officers down here, but the droids piloting the police cruiser backup units were, like stormtroopers, infinitely expendable.

He landed beside Rostu, who turned and headed for the mouth of the alley. “Let’s keep moving,” he said.

As they walked down the avenue, Jax glanced at the man beside him. Hard to believe that this was indeed Nick Rostu, the Korunnai whom Master Windu had brought back, grievously wounded, from Haruun Kal; the hero who’d helped capture the notorious Kar Vastor and turn the Summertime War around.

“You’ve changed,” he said. It was true. Rostu had always had an air of confidence, a don’t-mess-with-me attitude, which wasn’t surprising, given his upbringing on the high plateaus of his jungle world. Jax had