Tales from a Galaxy Far, Far Away

The Face of Evil

All Creatures Great and Small

The Crimson Corsair and the Lost Treasure of Count Dooku

High Noon on Jakku

© & TM 2015 Lucasfilm Ltd.

All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Lucasfilm Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Lucasfilm Press, 1101 Flower Street, Glendale, California 91201.

ISBN 978-1-4847-5684-3

Designed by Gegham Vardanyan

Visit the official Star Wars website at: www.starwars.com.

Contents

Title Page

Tales from a Galaxy Far, Far Away

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter 01

Chapter 02

Chapter 03

Chapter 04

Chapter 05

Chapter 06

Chapter 07

Chapter 08

Chapter 09

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

IT WAS a dark night on the world of Takodana as the lush, green forest-covered world was drenched in a storm of violent thunder and lightning. All across the surface of the planet, the many species that lived among the trees sought shelter, waiting out the tempest so they might return to their normal, mundane lives.

But in the highest tower of the castle of Maz Kanata, work was under way.

Thromba adjusted the vibro-scalpel, gently tracing the contours of the specimen’s features. The cut was clean and even, despite the pointless struggling of the being strapped to the surgical platform.

Thromba chittered across the dark laboratory to her partner, Laparo. They were Frigosian, which meant they were short by galactic humanoid standards and covered in a thick layer of yellowish fur, with dome-shaped heads as wide as their shoulders. As members of a nocturnal species, Laparo and Thromba wore heavy black goggles to protect their sensitive eyes from the light. To compensate for the atmospheric difference between Takodana and their homeworld of Tansyl 5, rounded metal breathing apparatuses sat where their humanoid noses would likely be situated.

Laparo chittered back, removing her cybernetic black rubber arm and switching it out for one with a small circular saw attachment. She flexed her arm, and the saw began spinning, emitting a high-pitched whine as it did.

“Jibb!” Laparo said. “Jibb jhu-woo!”

“Jeeba!” Thromba said in agreement as she pulled a lever. White lightning leaped between the two imposing energy receptors positioned above the surgical platform, and then the color of the lightning began to swirl from one to another in a striking—if disquieting—exhibit of the violently powerful technology at play. The creature strapped to the platform could not witness the spectacular display, nor could it see the vast wall of levers and switches at which the two Frigosians furiously worked—which was probably for the best, as it really was not the most comforting sight.

“Meep!” Laparo said in her high-pitched voice, her saw blade having reached its maximum speed.

And with that, the fluffy yellow Frigosian loomed over her subject and continued with the procedure.

MEANWHILE, in space…

“I’m sorry,” the tall, red-haired, heavily tattooed female human known as Ryn Biggleston said, climbing aboard the single-person escape pod. “I know we go way back, and we’ve had some wonderful times together…but you’re the only one who knows who I am.”

On the floor of the V-13 spacehopper, BeeLee Amdas, a blond Balosar with wide blue eyes—eyes now tinged with betrayal—clutched at her own throat with one hand as a glass laced with poison slipped from the other.

“You…traitor,” the Balosar coughed. “I’ll see…see you burn….”

BeeLee tried to drag herself toward the escape pod hatch where Biggleston stood. “Give me…my money…” she choked.

“My money now,” Biggleston quipped, blasting the ship’s control dash. And then, giving her former partner in crime a final kick in the head, she slammed the escape pod shut.

OUTSIDE THE castle of Maz Kanata, lightning struck and the wind howled.

The hunchbacked Snivvian known as Drix Gil clambered up the long winding stone staircase of the castle tower, his great snout flaring in irritation as his ample chops grimaced in an expression that many species mistakenly interpreted as a smile.

Drix had been tasked with seeing to the needs of the Frigosian scientists, and it seemed the two short and furry creatures were always requiring something: Equipment. Service droids. Energy. They had a constant series of demands, catered to by those within the castle with far greater influence and power than Drix held.

Drix entered the laboratory and was instantly greeted by a diminutive but enthusiastic Frigosian—Thromba, if the Snivvian recognized the cryptosurgeon correctly. “Gubwanna!” Thromba asserted in her shrill voice, jumping up and down. “Geeb Wabla!”

Laparo ran up to him carrying a substantial empty syringe. With another handful of screeching utterances, she shoved the syringe into Drix’s waiting hands. The Snivvian teetered on the heels of his boots, barely maintaining his balance.

“You already have sample from Specimen Nine,” Drix groused with exasperation. “Drix brought you sample of Specimen Nine yesterday.”

Disgruntled, the Frigosian spun around in a circle, her arms extended horizontally from her sides.

“Gep Ghee b’wann?” Laparo squawked indignantly. “Gep zhu!”

“Hfff. Fine. Okay. Fine…fine.” Drix mollified her, rolling his eyes with irritation. “Drix get you another! Fah!”

The Snivvian limped as he turned to descend the long staircase and grumbled scornfully under his breath as he carried the syringe down to the basement dungeon.

Drix hated Specimen Nine. Specimen Nine was a biter.

BEELEE WASN’T quite finished yet.

If she hadn’t been dying from a deadly poison, she might have been impressed. Balosars were almost indistinguishable from humans save for two specific traits: two small sensory-enhancing antennae that protruded from the tops of their heads and an almost complete immunity to every known toxin in the galaxy.

Ryn Biggleston had clearly done her homework; BeeLee knew she wasn’t going to last long.

Even worse, the ship was venting oxygen, and without a great deal of time—time BeeLee didn’t have—repairs would be impossible.

The Balosar had worked with Biggleston for ages, and in all those years BeeLee had never been foolish enough to trust her partner in crime; so she had taken steps against her inevitable betrayal. BeeLee might not survive, but she could certainly ensure that Biggleston’s life would not be worth living.

With one arm, the Balosar dragged herself to the console and pressed a secret button hidden underneath the center array. BeeLee felt the light fading. There was very little time left to her—even if the ship weren’t about to be consumed by the fire of an uncontrolled reentry into planetary atmosphere.

But even as the small ship began to burn apart in the gravitational pull of Takodana, the data core exposing every secret Ryn Biggleston carried was broadcast far and wide, to every government listening station in the sector.

“Revenge…” whispered BeeLee, with a cruel smile on her pale lips. “I always get my—”

The ship exploded, and the notorious criminal known as BeeLee Amdas was no more.

ON THE storm-torn world of Takodana, things weren’t going well for Ryn Biggleston.

The escape pod had taken the criminal to the closest planet that she could reach without a security scan. The options had been limited, but it was worth it for Biggleston to stay off the grid until the heat cooled down. After all, she thought, no one knew who she was or what she looked like.

That was why she had needed to ditch BeeLee. The Balosar had been picked up by security cameras during the job on Nordis Prime, and her ID was now well-known, making her number seven on the Tashtor sector’s most-wanted list. Sloppy but not unexpected, Biggleston thought. Amdas had been increasingly careless in recent months. An end to their partnership had become inevitable.

Besides, a full cut of the money sounded pretty sweet to the thief.

So Biggleston found herself on Takodana, a place where she hoped she could disappear for a while, until the galaxy forgot about the crimes she had pulled. Especially after they found the remains of her ex-partner drifting in space.

Unfortunately, that’s not what ended up happening.

By the time Ryn Biggleston had found her way to one of the small outposts on the northern hemisphere of the planet, her face was blazoned across the holonet. She was a wanted fugitive with a bounty of 100,000 credits on her head.

“Somehow…” the thief whispered to herself, “somehow BeeLee did this. That treacherous little…”

Now every bounty hunter in the system would be looking for her.

Hiding on a lawless world wasn’t enough anymore. Biggleston needed to disappear altogether. Lucky for her, she was on the right planet…if the stories she had heard were true.

Biggleston jumped onto a speeder she had stolen. The castle of Maz Kanata was close; she could be there before sunrise.

DRIX WAS beside himself.

Specimen Nine was gone. The lower dungeon cell was unlocked, the door to the caverns underneath wide open—and no one had been down that way since Drix had collected the sample the day before. He knew that as fact, because the key to the dungeons had never left his pocket.

“Yesterday…” his mind raced, trying to recollect what had occurred. “Yesterday. Drix unlocked dungeon door, unlocked cell door, collected specimen…dropped…”

He had dropped the syringe, he recalled. Dropped it and rushed to collect it and keep it from rolling away. Then he had left, locking the dungeon door behind him. But not the cell door. He had forgotten the cell door.

Drix felt his knees go weak. He slumped against the wall, the open cell door mocking him. Taunting him. Things were as bad as they might be.

The Frigosians were out of test subjects. The Frigosians hated being out of test subjects.

ONE NIGHT.

That was all Biggleston could negotiate. One night and she would be back in the wilderness—with no way off Takodana and a price on her head.

And to make matters worse, the storm was still raging outside.

The thief was in a large common hall within the castle. The room was filled with slablike tables and a scattering of heavy stone pillars and very little else. There was a variety of beings in the hall: a long-snouted Bravaisian was arguing with an Onodone. A robed Ottegan gently swayed in a corner, moving to the rhythm of the soft music that drifted through the lower corridors. There was even a group of small, bipedal ursine creatures—primitives by the look of them. How the beady-eyed, thick-furred, adorable bear-like creatures managed to find their way into a pirate den was beyond Biggleston. Though in truth, she didn’t really care.

What she did care about was the complete lack of support she had managed to find there in Maz Kanata’s castle. It was said that all were welcome—at least for a price. And just by glancing around the halls, Biggleston knew there were beings there with laundry lists of crimes greater than her own. But none of that mattered, a polite protocol unit had argued when she first arrived. The outlaw would not be accepted, would not be given more than the token courtesy all beings received for free: one night, no questions asked. Food, water, and shelter from the storm. After that Biggleston would have to depart or pay some very heavy fees.

And parting with her loot was not something the thief was prepared to do. That’s why she had hidden her credits outside the castle walls, as well as stashing the speeder bike she had managed to steal from a nearby camp. Never knew when a quick getaway would be needed, after all.

Biggleston strode out of the common hall and down one of the castle’s many corridors. She paused for a moment, taking in her environment. At every junction, a camera was installed, mounted directly to the stone walls, scanning and recording the presence of every passerby. As quickly as the idea of getting lost within the corridors had occurred to Biggleston, it was dismissed. Every step she took in that castle was being monitored.

Biggleston slammed her fist against a wall in frustration. Thanks to that double-crossing Balosar, she was as good as dead the minute she stepped outside the castle. Muttering a curse under her breath, the thief wished she could go back in time and poison her former partner all over again.

“Excuse poor Drix? But…you seem…troubled?”

Biggleston turned to find an earnest-looking Snivvian hunchback staring at her.

DRIX HAD been following the human thief since she had first arrived.

The castle was small, and word spread fast. Ryn Biggleston had betrayed her partner, a Balosar criminal known as BeeLee Amdas. Amdas had been around a long time, and she had made many friends. Now someone with influence—one of those friends—didn’t want the traitor in the castle.

Drix saw an opportunity.

The Frigosians were understandably upset at having lost Specimen Nine; you could tell by the way they flapped their black rubberized arm attachments and the yellowish fur that covered their heads bristled. But the chance to make a considerable amount of money while performing delicate surgeries with a consenting patient? That was a golden opportunity.

The Frigosian cryptosurgeons might have been obsessed with their work, and they certainly were almost incomprehensible and somewhat creepy to most other species, but like anyone else, they still needed credits. Besides, the laboratory equipment the pair used did not come cheap.

“Greep!” said Laparo.

“Kikiki!” Thromba replied.

“What are they saying?” Biggleston asked the Snivvian who had taken her to the tower.

“What you want is easy enough.” The Snivvian rubbed his hands together. “But facial reconstruction only gets you so far….To reinvent yourself, you need to think fingerprints. Dental. Retinal. And tattoos…not good choice in your…uh…your line of work.”

Outside, lightning flashed, filling the room with an eerie radiance. Moments later, a heavy wave of thunder shook the castle floors.

Biggleston glared at the Snivvian. “How much?” she finally asked.

ONCE AGAIN, white lightning flared between the two energy receptors positioned above the surgical platform. Thromba removed her left arm attachment, replacing it with a syringe-based design that allowed the Frigosian to instantly mix, measure, and administer whatever chemical agent the circumstances required.

Meanwhile, Laparo adjusted dials and levers on the large control panel that sat against the far wall of the laboratory. The energy receptors surged in response, and the lightning arcing between them changed color rapidly, creating a dizzying rainbow effect that did not seem to trouble the two surgeons.

“Huu Zhee wubu!” yelled Laparo.

The Snivvian grunted, bending over as much as his awkward hunchbacked form would allow, and began turning a large wheel mounted to the lever array. In response, the platform to which Ryn Biggleston was strapped angled upward.

The thief was uncomfortable. Not because of the straps or the intimidating surgical procedure she was about to undergo—though, admittedly, that was a bit nerve-racking, too. No, she was concerned about something else.

The Frigosians had been quite insistent on one point: they would be the ones to determine how Biggleston would look at the end of the procedure. They were, as Drix explained, artists. And like most artists, the pair of cryptosurgeons had to find their muse and follow it as they went along. Every face, the Snivvian translated, was a story waiting to unfold, and the true story that was Biggleston would not be known until the Frigosians began exploring the skin, muscle, and bone of their subject.

They would guarantee a few things though: Biggleston would still be human, or a reasonably close species anyway. She would still be female in appearance. She would look young, healthy, and attractive. To sweeten the pot, the Snivvian had arranged for a set of documents that would clear casual scrutiny. Good enough for Biggleston to get off-world and away from there. Once she was back somewhere civilized, such as Hosnian Prime or Candovant, she could commission a new ID, complete with a thorough background that would ensure the thief the fresh start she needed.

It was cheaper than safe harbor in the castle would be; still…it made her nervous, which was why she had refused to pay the full amount up front. She gave up a deposit out of the money she had kept on hand, but the rest…the rest of the money was hidden outside the castle. Biggleston had promised she would deliver it when the surgeries were completed.

It was hardly the first time Biggleston had lied to get what she wanted.

SO THE surgeries began.

Laparo preferred the more superficial and cosmetic aspects of her art—the delicate reassembling of muscle and the slight tinting of flesh. To affect this, the Frigosian attached an arm unit that functioned as a vibro-rotary of sorts. Then, when the muscles were properly adjusted to their new configuration, she switched to a needle arm attachment.

“Dee dee dee…” Laparo sang happily. “Doot dee dee doo deet!”

Laparo attached a plasteel mask over the newly reshaped facial muscles and nodded to Drix. The Snivvian pulled a lever, and a specially altered gas discharged through the mask and onto the muscle.

Now it was time for the eyes.

Retina reshaping was possible, but it was far easier to simply replace the eyes with new ones. To that end, Laparo searched a drawer full of parts that the Snivvian had hauled up from the basement. There were several eyes to choose from: red, green, hexagonal, even multifaceted. But Laparo, knowing exactly what she wanted, dug deeper into the chilled compartment and retrieved a large pair of blue eyes. A bit larger than the originals, but that was something Thromba would account for when doing the bone restructuring.

In the meantime, Laparo turned her attention to the skin itself. First, the entire thing needed bleaching—tattoos everywhere! Once all traces of those markings had been removed, the Frigosian began the dyeing process. The skin was quite healthy despite the primitive ink applications Biggleston had subjected herself to; so other than the color changes, there seemed little alteration to make.

Hair color was easy—too easy, Laparo thought. Instead of just changing the color, she opted for a new texture. Only one would do for what the Frigosian had envisioned—thick blond hair, coarser than Biggleston’s own fine red locks. Each strand needed to be implanted in the scalp, so Laparo attached a new device to her arm—one very much like a strange sewing needle—and got to work.

“Zwhee doo wha…zhua!” Laparo chirruped, bouncing up and down.

The Frigosian loved her job.

THROMBA EXAMINED the skeletal structure of the subject.

The first thing the cryptosurgeon noticed was a specific thinning of the bones, likely due to a period of malnutrition during childhood. Easily rectified, even if it was outside the order of the surgery.

Using her syringe arm attachment, Thromba injected a battery of chemicals into the bone tissue. It would take a little bit of time for the cells to respond to the treatment, so Thromba began some basic points of reassembly that met the needs of the subject.

For starters, Ryn Biggleston’s new body would be slightly shorter and her hips would be wider than her previous configuration. Both could be accomplished in one step: by adjusting the hip joints so they were constructed farther apart, five centimeters of height would be transferred to the width of the hips. Shortening the arms so the subject remained proportionate was trickier though….

Thromba switched out her arm attachment for the circular saw. Sometimes the old-fashioned methods worked best.

“Ghu ghee!” The Frigosian called out. Drix hobbled over with the welding array. It was a large device that had cost the Frigosians a small fortune, but it was worth every credit. It could knit together bone as if it were welding metal—hence its name. Left like that, the bone would never be quite as strong as it had been; however, there was a means of compensation to be applied: Thromba added a plasteel sleeve over the weld. That would lend enough strength to the fused segment so it was as sturdy as the original bone.

Then there was the skull. That was delicate work, because whatever Thromba did there, it had to complement the work of Laparo. Furthermore, proportion had to be maintained at all costs; that had been a condition of the contract with Biggleston, and the Frigosians had a reputation to maintain—one for quality work.

The cryptosurgeon first went to work on the eye sockets, measuring carefully against the eyeball size estimates that Laparo had provided. Wider and rounder. Simple enough. Then some slight alterations to the jawline and the nasal structure…modifications to the cheekbones…

It took some time, but finally the skull was ready.

“Dweep?” called out Thromba.

“Dwoop!” agreed Laparo.

So the surgeons, with the aid of their Snivvian assistant, began reassembling the newly shaped form of Ryn Biggleston, thief at large.

RYN BIGGLESTON couldn’t sleep. The noise of the storm combined with the itching of her face conspired to keep the thief awake.

The bandages wrapped around her face were uncomfortable. Her entire body ached. Everything felt…different.

She was sitting on a cot in the back of the large laboratory where she had been placed after coming out of a three-day stint in a bacta tube. The extra time hiding out in the castle had been a bonus. That much more time for the bounty hunters to look for her elsewhere.

“Shaboo shwa,” said Laparo.

Drix Gil translated. “She say you can take bandages off soon. When itching stops. If you had taken them off earlier…”

Laparo raised her black rubberized hand attachments to her own fur-covered face and made melodramatic melting gestures.

“Yeah,” Biggleston muttered, grabbing the case her old clothes were in. Her new body felt strange, and her clothes no longer fit. Fortunately, the Snivvian had managed to dig up some loose garments for her. Unfortunately, they smelled a lot like Snivvian. “I get it. When itching stops.”

Biggleston stepped toward the laboratory door. The hunchbacked Drix moved to block the thief’s path.

“Now wait!” Drix said. “You owe. You pay.”

“Yeah. Fine. When I see my face,” Biggleston said, pushing past.

Laparo stepped backward, making a hissing sound and baring several rows of sharp teeth. Biggleston had seen a lot of strange things in the galaxy, but the giant, fluffy yellowish head of the goggle-wearing Frigosian exposing a previously unseen gargantuan mouth was definitely one of the stranger ones.

“Okay! Okay already,” Biggleston griped at the angry Frigosian, who suddenly looked very much like she could swallow Biggleston whole. “Just hold on….”

Ryn Biggleston was not an honest woman; she was not even an honorable thief. The idea from the start had been to skip the second half of the payment, get off Takodana, and say good-bye to the sorry mess that she had found herself in ever since BeeLee so rudely exposed her.

So it wasn’t like she didn’t have a plan.

Biggleston slipped her hand behind her back, grabbing a vibro-scalpel she had stolen while the cryptosurgeons and their hunchbacked assistant thought she was sleeping. She slashed at Drix’s nearest limb, causing the Snivvian to stumble away in shock. That put her a good distance from Laparo, and the door was in reach. From there, she could make her way through the castle and escape before the alarm was sounded. The rest of her money and her stolen speeder were hidden in a rocky outcropping nearby, which meant soon Biggleston would be off Takodana and free from the wrath of the cryptosurgeons.

She wasn’t quite ready for Thromba.

The other Frigosian had slipped into the lab quietly, watching the proceedings with interest. And when Biggleston attacked, Thromba already had her teeth exposed and ready to bite.

Which she did.

Ryn Biggleston screamed. The Frigosian’s mouth was huge, and each tooth was like a tiny dagger in the delicate and newly reattached skin of the thief’s shoulder. But Biggleston was no stranger to pain and shoved the short, fluffy snarling cryptosurgeon off of her and into a large table crowded with lab equipment.

Glass vials shattered. Steam and smoke billowed. A large panel of electronic equipment began sparking wildly. The lightning generators activated, cascading green and blue bolts at random.

Not one to waste an opportunity, Biggleston ran out the door and down the winding stairs.

DRIX PURSUED Biggleston as best he could, but between his injured arm and his natural limp, he was no match for the thief’s speed and agility.

That said, Drix Gil knew something Biggleston did not: the door from the stairwell that led back into the castle was sealed. After all, it wasn’t like the Frigosians had trusted the criminal; they had given the Snivvian clear instructions to lock…

Drix slowed to a halt, his hand shaking as he reached for his pocket.

“Oh, no…” he muttered to himself. “Drix did it again.”

Drix pulled a key out of his pocket—the key to the dungeon he had once again forgotten to lock. Even worse, this time he was almost certain he had locked the empty cell, but in his distress over finding Specimen Nine missing, he had failed to lock the door that led to the dungeons or to reseal the secret passageway that led to the surface of Takodana.

Drix ran as fast as he could. Maybe, he thought…maybe he could reach the door first.

BIGGSTON DIDN’T hesitate. When she saw that the door into the castle was sealed, she turned and descended farther down the stairs. It really didn’t matter what was down there; it had to be better than going back up.

Her shoulder ached where the Frigosian cryptosurgeon had bitten her. She’d need to get that disinfected. Who knew what kind of bacteria the Frigosian harbored in that giant mouth she had kept hidden—

Biggleston ran directly into the Snivvian.

The pair fell down the remaining stairs, rolling into the dungeon with a loud crash. Drix slammed his head against the stone floor while the more agile Biggleston managed to avoid injury. The thief knew Drix was stronger—but he was wounded and disoriented. Biggleston didn’t hesitate and struck her opponent’s head hard and fast with an elbow.

The Snivvian wasn’t quite ready to quit yet and countered with a punch in Biggleston’s stomach that left her gasping. Soon the two were locked in combat, hands around each other’s throats, both struggling for survival.

The thief soon won out.

“Stop…” Drix whispered, the voice gurgling out of him. “Stop…or my masters…my…”

And it was over. Biggleston knew she couldn’t return upstairs, and she couldn’t open the door to the castle. Probably too late to escape that way anyway. But then…

A flash of light filled the passageway, followed by the sound of thunder. Then a draft of cool, wet forest air drifted into the cell. There was an opening somewhere. Large enough to let in the light of the storm.

But there were no windows. Was there a way out?

There was. A small door that looked like part of the wall had been kicked open. Biggleston could not believe her luck. Everything was going better than she could have planned.

With that optimism at the forefront of her thoughts, Biggleston entered the passageway and sealed it shut behind her, believing that she had found the path to her salvation.

And in the darkness, something moved to follow her.

THE BANDAGES itched—especially two spots at the top of her head. Biggleston resisted scratching. The skin was rapidly healing under those bandages, and she didn’t want to do anything to disrupt that. Soon though; the itching was declining, and she wouldn’t have to wait long.

Feeling the passage walls with her hands and following the air current, Biggleston desperately hoped that the end of the passage was open and not a locked gate or, worse, just a series of welded bars without any chance of unlocking. The air current was strong, which was promising. And she was starting to think the narrow, cave-like corridors of the not-very-secret passage were starting to lighten. She could almost see…

…someone.

Steadying herself, Biggleston blinked. No one there. It hadn’t looked like the Snivvian or one of the cryptosurgeons…but there were a lot of other beings residing in the main section of the castle. Maybe she imagined it, Biggleston thought. Maybe…

Suddenly, a slimy tentacle looped around the criminal’s neck and Biggleston let out a surprised scream.

She instinctively kicked backward and made contact with something. An unnatural roar was the only response, and whatever was holding Biggleston hurled her down the corridor with significant force.

Biggleston struck the stone wall with her already injured shoulder, and the pain that lanced through her chest helped motivate her to move. The passage was definitely lighter now. It might not matter, she thought as she eyed the monstrosity the Frigosians had labeled “Specimen Nine.”

In a flash of light from the storm outside, she could briefly make out the creature’s appearance. Some aspects of the beast were recognizable: it had the three telltale eyes of a Gran, but its long mouth looked vaguely similar to the cone-like snout of the Kubaz, and those features were strangely out of place on the elongated, hammer-shaped head of the Ithorian.

There was more: horns on the side of the twisted-looking skull and a set of human eyes—very sad-looking human eyes—staring out from its chest….

Biggleston gasped in horror. The body of the nightmare looked to belong to an Amani—a worker species from Maridun. Its moist tan skin was easily recognizable, as were the long, slithering tentacle-like arms the boneless creature had grabbed her with.

Reptilian, mammalian, planarian, amphibian…there were even some traits suggesting an insect-like race such as a winged Geonosian. And all those parts…they were mashed together like a reflection in a broken mirror. The being opened its long mouth, the tongue of yet another species lolling out of it, and screamed—whether in horror at its own existence or in rage at Biggleston’s intrusion into its lair, the thief could not say.

Biggleston ran like she had never run before.

She heard the creature galloping after her. Biggleston felt its breath, hot and wet on her neck. The creature screamed again. It was earsplitting. Startled and in a near panic, Biggleston almost fell—but righted herself just in time. She knew that if she stumbled, she would die.

And suddenly she was outside in the night, the storm still raging. Biggleston didn’t stop running; even though her lungs burned and every centimeter of her body hurt, she kept moving.

Finally, gasping for breath, Ryn Biggleston stumbled to a stop. Whatever had been chasing her had evidently given up; she wondered why.

No time to think about it now, not with the castle of Maz Kanata looming behind her. Biggleston moved fast as she could, running for the stone outcropping where her speeder and money were stashed.

Her money. Everything she had done…she had done it to keep her money. Money she had rightfully stolen. Money she had subjected herself to a house of horrors to keep.

Money that was no longer where she had left it.

Biggleston felt the panic rise in her chest. She had buried the money carefully under wet dirt and rocks. The rocks were gone and the dirt uneven from a recent disturbance.

She dropped to her knees, plunging her bandaged fingers into the soft ground. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. Biggleston cursed under her breath. Everything she had worked for…everything she had sacrificed. Her friendship with BeeLee, her ship that she had scraped and starved for…

Her face…

It was useless. The money was gone. Ryn Biggleston stopped digging.

THE SPEEDER was still hidden in the deep bushes not far away; that much was working out for Biggleston. Pushing aside the shock and numbness she was feeling, the bandaged thief rode for the nearest town large enough to have a landing field but far enough away that she wouldn’t feel watched by agents of the castle.

It took a solid day, but eventually Biggleston reached a suitable trading outpost. It was the first step toward a new life for the thief. She could steal more money. It would be hard to build her fortune back up, but she could do it. And she had a new face. A new body. No one knew who she was anymore. She was free.

And even the storm was fading, the moisture quickly being absorbed into the trees of the forest as if the long dark and furious tempest had never occurred.

Biggleston reached a commercial passenger ship. Small, but it would get the job done. Most of the itching had subsided, and there was no more time to wait. She had to take the bandages off. She had to get on board.

Biggleston quickly made her way up the gantry of the passenger ship, finding a secluded corner to sit in where she could forget about Takodana, forget about the Snivvian, forget about the cryptosurgeons, and especially, more than anything else, forget about the partner she had betrayed and left for dead.

It was time to look toward the future. It was time for Ryn Biggleston to find out what she looked like.

Unwrapping her face was liberating. Biggleston felt like she could breathe again after days of suffocating. The air felt strange on her skin…like the tingle after a limb has fallen asleep. It was almost like pain, but it was far too strange to be described as such.

Lifting up her hands, she stroked the contours of her nose and cheekbones. Less severe than they had been before…Her chin more heart-shaped…Her head…The top of it still felt funny in two spots. Like there was something under her hair…like small antennae…

“You, there,” came a voice from behind Biggleston. It was a deputy. Most of those ports had constables and deputies. This one, a reddish-orange and very expressive Ubdurian, seemed to have a particularly nasty temperament. “Let’s see some ID.”

Biggleston turned, reaching for her forged papers. At once the Ubdurian brought his rifle to bear. “You!” the constable yelled, disarming the safety. “Down on the ground, thief! Now!”

“What? But I…I’m not…” Biggleston was confused. “How…my face…how could you know…?”

Ryn Biggleston turned. Reflected in the viewport window, she finally saw her new face for the first time. But it wasn’t new. It wasn’t a new face at all. It was softer, yes. And the eyes bright blue and larger than the ones she’d had before…It was very familiar, that face. Too familiar…

“No…” the thief whispered, clawing at her own skin. “NO!” she yelled, scratching more deeply.

None of it was right. None of it. That face in the window…it couldn’t be her. She was dead. She was dead!

The Frigosians…they had kept their word. Biggleston was no longer number six on the Outer Rim’s most-wanted list. No. Now…now she was number seven. Now she had a new face….Biggleston clawed and scratched at her skin, eliciting sharp red streaks of pain. And somewhere behind that pain, the thief with a new face could hear herself laughing uncontrollably.

The Ubdurian blasted Biggleston with a stun shot before the thief could do herself any further harm. It didn’t matter, Biggleston thought as she blacked out. That new face…it was worse than scars. It was worse than what she had witnessed in the caves.

The face of BeeLee Amdas. The face Biggleston had betrayed.

THE TWO Frigosians beeped happily at each other. Thromba and Laparo had just finished watching the holonews; the infamous killer known as BeeLee Amdas was apprehended trying to escape the town of Andui, thanks to a tip delivered by the Frigosians themselves. The bounty was not inconsiderable—especially when added to the credits they had found hidden in the rocks near the castle.

Biggleston had told them all her secrets while under anesthetic. Everything she knew and everything she had planned—including her intent to leave without paying. That was okay. The Frigosians didn’t really mind. Not as long as they were having so much fun. Which reminded them…

“Dweep!” said Thromba in a high-pitched voice.

“Jhweep,” agreed Laparo.

The cryptosurgeons returned to the surgical platform to examine the progress on Specimen Ten. It had been a long day and night of operating, but both fluffy yellow beings wanted to ensure that the process went smoothly. They were lacking in raw materials, after all, and they no longer had an assistant to help them.

The creature that had once been a Snivvian stared out from the bandages with mismatched eyes. Electricity arced across the sheet that covered its lumpy body. A strange gurgling sound issued from the vocal structure freshly implanted in the throat once belonging to Drix Gil, and the two Frigosians jumped around excitedly.

“Gep Dowhoo!” yelled Thromba, upon checking the vital signs of the creature. It lived! The experiments were a success.

“GEP DOWHOO!” Thromba yelled again, cackling maniacally as blue and orange lightning crackled across the laboratory.