“Well, Imperial, I’d think now that you’d gotten your captain’s pips you’d’ve known better than to try and take on a pirate corvette with only a shuttle.”

The voice was warm and female. It was also oddly familiar. Captain Pellaeon groaned. The brief flight from the safety of his ship Chimaera to an Imperial outpost should have been straightforward, but since the implosion of the Empire following Grand Admiral Thrawn’s recent untimely death the pirates had become bold to the point where they would even attack an Imperial shuttle above a loyal Imperial planet. To the good was the fact that their captain’s presence aboard the small ship had heartened the crew into fighting back with great enthusiasm. The corvette had taken near-fatal damage before in turn nailing the shuttle. The last things Pellaeon remembered were the navigator announcing the forward shields were failing, a sequence of loud explosions, pain, and then nothing.

“Got to admit your boys did you proud, holding off L’gran and bloodying him so badly. It was a really nice bit of fighting. He was easy pickings for the Poet’s Song after you got through with him.”

Pellaeon tried to open his eyes and winced as light stabbed into his optic nerves. Stifling another groan he reached for the hole he was sure was in his aching skull, only to discover his arms were secured by shock-webbing. Blinking through a persistent haze he concentrated, ignoring the headache. Gradually his rescuer came into focus. Standing by the bedside was a tall woman who might have been his own age. Her long hair was pulled back and bound at the nape of her neck. She sported the standard spacer’s garb, although over her jumpsuit she was wearing a loose red shirt, which contrasted nicely with her brown skin. A red bandanna kept her long forelock out of her eyes.

Pellaeon suppressed another groan. “Jon Konrad. I should’ve known; from the clutches of one pirate to another.”

Konrad clicked her tongue. “Now, now, I’m no lawless pirate. I’m a Corsair, with a proper letter of marque and everything.”

Pellaeon blew out an exasperated breath and sucked it in again in a gasp of pain as he discovered a number of broken ribs complaining about the movement. “Corsair. I stand corrected.”

“Try not to move around too much, Gilad, it’s going to take a day for your bones to set up and the wounds to close. Our med-droid is very good, but I don’t have bacta facilities aboard my ship to accelerate the healing process.” Captain Konrad pulled the cover gently back from his chest for a moment so Pellaeon could see the layers of bandages swathing his torso. “You’re lucky to be in one piece.”

“Lucky.” Pellaeon suppressed the urge to laugh hysterically. “I would not call my experiences these past few years lucky.”

“Hey. Any landing you can walk away from is a good one.” Konrad spoke the old saying with a raffish smile. “You’re alive, don’t knock it.”

“I suppose.” Pellaeon lay back in the bunk looking beyond Konrad’s shoulder into the interior of a small but well-stocked sick bay. “What about the rest of my men?”

The corsair’s smile vanished. Turning slightly to give the captain a better view she pointed to several other bunks on the other side of the room. “We saved four others, besides you. The pilot, two of your techs, and your tail gunner.”

“Out of twelve crew.” Pellaeon pressed his lips together into a tight line.

“Sorry. Once your shields failed you took a set of hits that went right down the centerline. Those Lamda shuttles are tough, but they weren’t meant to take that kind of punishment. Half your atmosphere vented out. I’m amazed your ship didn’t explode, but somehow the laser bolts missed the drive cores.” Konrad’s face mirrored his own grim expression. “Once we dealt with L’gran, we reeled you in and evaced anyone still breathing. The shots you took melted chunks out of the hull and it was the spalling metal that caused so much damage to your crew. It was ankle deep in there.”

Pellaeon winced and closed his eyes. He was no stranger to death and destruction, but he was finding it more and more difficult to tolerate the heavy losses spawned by a chaotic galaxy. Around the lump in his throat he spoke carefully. “So now that you’ve ‘dealt’ with the pirates, what about us?”

Konrad patted the least-damaged part of his shoulder. “You rest for now, Gilad, and don’t twitch around, all right? We’ll discuss terms in the morning.” She walked away, paused to give some instructions to the medical droid, and vanished through the door.

Pellaeon waited until the portal had slid shut before tugging experimentally at the straps securing his wrists. They stretched mildly but showed no inclination to actually slide off. The effort of pulling at them caused his half-closed wounds to burn in protest. With a muttered oath he gave up and lay still, staring at the ceiling. “Lucky. Sure.”

---

“You did say we would discuss terms this morning.” Pellaeon reminded Konrad as he finished the last of his meal. They sat at a small table in the captain’s stateroom aboard her heavily armed pirate, no, corsair, ship the Poet’s Song. After a quiet night reinforced by a dose of sedatives, Pellaeon had been freed from his restraints, much to his relief, and allowed to rise, clean up, and check on his surviving crewmen. Lieutenant Vermel had been conscious, if somewhat surprised to find himself alive. The other three crewers were still wrapped in drug-induced slumber and according to the medical droid were supposed to stay so for another day. Pellaeon left Vermel in charge of the men before he was led away to breakfast and ‘negotiations’ with the corsair captain.

“Yes, indeed.” Konrad sipped at her caffe and worked at peeling a redfruit. Once she had removed the outer rind and bitter inner rind, she split it neatly and passed it over to him. “Here, it’s supposed to be good for you if you’ve lost blood.”

Pellaeon tried it, making a wry face at the initial tartness, but soon found the fruit seemed to fill some empty spot in his stomach. He looked up to find Konrad watching him with a half-smile. Wiping the remnant of the juice from his fingers, he raised his eyebrows. “Terms?”

“Eventually. It’s been a long time, Gilad.”

“Yes. I suppose it has. Ten years?”

“Something like that.” Konrad watched his face, her pale eyes keen. “You still remember?”

Pellaeon laughed shortly then rubbed at his aching ribcage. “How could I forget? We nearly leveled the Trullion Tapcafe, and the party afterward, well…” He blushed slightly as a number of carefully-stored memories surfaced.

“Ah, impetuous youth.” Konrad sighed happily.

“Youth had nothing to do with it,” Pellaeon said primly. “I was 32 years old and long over the irrationality I suffered when we first met. As a representative of the Empire, I couldn’t allow a slaver gang to operate out of a drinking establishment where they could prey on my men.” His proper expression softened slightly. “I also didn’t want to end up sold as chattel property. Neither did you, as I recall.”

“I found that a compelling reason at the time.” Konrad agreed, washing down the last of her own breakfast with kaffe. “The fact that you were the one generating all the fuss may have also piqued my interest.”

“Terms?” Pellaeon nudged again. “I know you don’t typically work for free.”

“True, true, it’s an expensive universe out there and the ship is forever wanting repairs.” Konrad placed her cup on the table and sat back as her droid swiftly cleared the table and left. Her long fingers swept the air in a nonchalant motion. “However, in this case, I’m willing to do certain things for you, all for a very reasonable price.”

“And those things are?” He leaned forward slightly.

“First, shelter you and your men till you’re safely healed up. Second, track down your ship, and third, return you to her, well and sound.” Konrad ticked off the points on her fingers. “I’ve left out shooting off L’gran’s ass because that was a public service to the galaxy at large.”

Pellaeon nodded. “While I personally might count the first three items on your list as most important, ridding the spacelanes of the pirate will earn you more accolades from others.” He looked thoughtful. “I also seem to recall a sizable bounty on L’gran’s head; I’ll see that you get it.” He watched Konrad’s face. “What else do you want?” Her grin had returned, he noted with an internal twinge of uneasiness.

“The usual. I want you.” She held up a hand at his outraged expression. “Hold your fire, Gilad. I’ll return you to the tender care of the Empire soon enough, but while you and your men heal up, you’re mine. Deal?”

“Why me?” Pellaeon waved a hand at his chest, still wrapped in bandages and half-covered by a loose shirt loaned him by one of the crew. “Look at me. I’m hardly the sort to appeal to… someone adventurous.”

Konrad leaned on the table and favored him with a long appraising look. “True, you’re not like the folk I usually run with. You’re law-abiding, honest, and loyal to a fault.” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, it must be that ‘attraction of opposites’ thing or something.” Konrad smiled. “Perhaps it’s the Force?”

Pellaeon felt horror crawl along his nerves. “Don’t say that! I want nothing to do with that! Not ever again.” He rose quickly and paced the length of the cabin, ignoring the various pains that followed his abrupt movement. Cold sweat slicked his skin and he rubbed the sleeves of his shirt, suddenly chilled to the bone.

“What has happened?” Konrad was behind him, touching his shoulders gently, moving up to stand close against his back.

He did not turn to look at her. Instead, he stared out the small viewport on the near bulkhead, breathing shallowly. “Tell me something, Jon. Have you ever been raped?” He felt her stiffen.

“Yes. Once.” She took his shoulders in a firm grasp and turned him around, staring in his face. “You?”

“Not physically.” He looked over her shoulder. “It might have been better had it simply been a physical attack. Instead I found my mind no longer my own, my innermost thoughts laid bare, my actions controlled.”

“When?”

“Last year, when the Grand Admiral brought a Jedi aboard the Chimaera; Joruus C’baoth, a clone created by the Emperor. He was quite mad.” Pellaeon shuddered deep under his skin. “To him, we were all playthings, nothing more than toys to be used and broken. He could get inside your mind, make you do things...” He stopped, unable even now to verbalize the depth of the violation.

Konrad’s expression grew savage. “I’ll kill him.”

“He’s already dead, at the hands of Luke Skywalker and his friends.” At her stricken look he added with a wry smile. “I do appreciate the thought, however.” She pulled him close to her and the heat of her body eased the chill. “Are you a Jedi, Captain Konrad?” he asked softly into her ear. “I often suspect you are.”

“No!” She pulled back to gaze at him in concern. “No,” she added in a calmer tone. “There’s not a Jedi in my family and my clan has had nothing to do with them. I’m just lucky, that’s all.”

He breathed out slowly, conscious of his sore bones. “You misunderstand. I wish you were a Jedi. Then perhaps you could remove the memories from my mind.”

Konrad took his face between her hands and looked long into his eyes. “Even if I were a Jedi, Captain Gilad Pellaeon, I wouldn’t do that to you. But I’m not, so the point is moot.” Her sober face relaxed. “I’m not a Jedi, however, I’m told it is possible to overwhelm bad memories with good ones, and that anyone can do for another.”

Her fingers stroked up his temple into his short-cropped hair as she drew him into a kiss. Her mouth was soft on his and the room warmed considerably. When she finally let him up for air he asked. “And how does the memory-repair technique work?”

“Here, come lie down and let me show you.”

##