The commander felt her gorge rise, and it took her a moment to control herself. That would have been me… almost ten years ago, now, that’s how I would have been … if it hadn’t been for Han ….
A step came from behind her, and Bria whirled, sidearm ready, only to relax when she recognized Daino Hyx. He raised an eyebrow at her. “A little jumpy, Commander?”
Bria smiled sheepishly. “Maybe just a tad.”
“That got anything to do with the dead woman out there in the corridor?”
“Not really.” Bria holstered her blaster, realizing disgustedly that now she was the one doing the shaking. “More to do with them.” She jerked her head at the agonized Pilgrims. “They’re all yours, Hyx.
Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
He nodded, studying them with a healer’s kindly detachment. “How soon will the Shackle be ready to rendezvous with the transport?”
Bria glanced at her chrono. “I allowed thirty-five minutes to take this ship and get her working again. It’s been thirty-nine. I expect to hear—” Her comlink signaled, and Bria smiled and answered it. “Red Hand Leader here.”
“Commander, this is Jace Paol. We have secured the ship, and the prize crew reports we are now hyperspace capable. Proceed to our rendezvous coordinates?”
“Copy that, Jace. I’ll advise Retribution. Tell Lieutenant Hethar to take her out. Deliverance is waiting for us to transship these Pilgrims.”
“I copy, Commander.”
Bria keyed her comlink. “Captain Bjalin, Helot’s Shackle is ours, along with her cargo. Prepare to rendezvous with Deliverance at our assigned coordinates.”
“I copy, Red Hand Leader. We’ll meet you there. And …
Commander?”
“Yes, Tedris?”
“Congratulations on a smoothly run operation.”
“Thank you, Tedris.”
One month later, Bria Tharen, on a rare visit back to Corellia to meet with her commanding officer, walked quickly into his office. Pianat Torbul, a short, dark-haired man with intense eyes, looked up.
“Welcome home,” he said. “You’re late. I was expecting you two days ago.” “Sorry, sir,” she said. “I picked up a last minute call to help the Pride of the Rim out with a couple of Imp picket ships.
Retribution took a hit that damaged sublight engines, and we had to lay up for a day.” “I know,” he said, and smiled—his quick, irresistible grin. “I received the report from the Pride. Don’t be so defensive, Tharen.” She smiled back, then, at his gesture, dropped wearily into a seat. “So, did you get my report, sir?”
“I did,” he said. “Seems your friend Hyx is reporting great progress in turning those Pilgrims you rescued off the Helot’s Shackle back into normal citizens. Congratulations. Your faith in him and his new treatment seems to be paying off.” Bria nodded, her eyes lighting up.
“It means a lot to me, to be able to give those people back their lives. Their families will be glad to see them …. They’ll be able to live in dignity, and comfort ” “Unless, of course, they choose to join up with us,” Torbul said. “Which apparently some of them are already talking about doing once they’re returned to health. Which may take a couple of months. I gather that malnutrition plays a pretty big part in the brainwashing they undergo on Ylesia.”
Bria nodded. “I remember my gums started to bleed all the time. It took me two months of decent food to overcome most of the effects.”
He glanced back down at his datapad. “Helot’s Shackle is almost finished being refitted for combat. We can really use her, Tharen, thank you for acquiring her for us. With that in mind … want the honor of renaming her?”
Bria thought for a moment. “Call her Emancipator,” she said.
“That’s a good one,” Torbul said. “Emancipator she is.”
Torbul clicked off his datapad, leaned his elbows on his desk, and leaned forward. “Bria …” he said. “Now that the official stuff is over and done with, I have to tell you that I’m concerned about some aspects of your record.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “But, sir—!”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Tharen. You are a good fighter, an able leader.
Nobody’s gainsaying that. But look at the name those slavers gave you, that your squadron cheerfully adopted. Red Hand—symbol of no quarter.
Look at this report on the taking of Helot’s Shackle. No prisoners.
Not a single one.”
Bria stiffened. “Sir, they were slavers. They know how the civilized world regards them. They put up a lot of resistance, and not a one offered to surrender. They fought to the last.”