Nick Rostu was living on borrowed time.

He knew it; had known it for almost three standard years, ever since that night in the command bunker on Haruun Kal, when Iolu’s vibroshield had opened him up like an overcooked Balawai meatpie. He had held his viscera in, his interlocked fingers the only barrier keeping them from spilling onto the duracrete floor, as he lay in a crumpled heap, only dimly aware of the final battle taking place a couple of meters away between Mace Windu and Kar Vastor. Then even that faint spark of consciousness had faded; Nick had felt the planet crack open beneath him, and he had fallen through it and tumbled toward the stars.

He hadn’t minded, really. As a Korunnai, all he had ever known was war, as far back as he could remember. He was more than ready for some peace.

But peace wasn’t in the cards just yet.

Nick had awakened two days later, on board a MedStar frigate bound for the Core Worlds. He was told that only his connection with the Force had kept him alive long enough to respond to medical aid. He’d asked that the scar across his belly be left unrevised—he wanted a reminder of what it meant to let his guard down, even for a split second.

He’d completed his convalescence at Coruscant Medical, under the best care available—the Jedi Council had seen to that. And Mace made it a point to visit him; often, at first, but as the days went by and the Clone Wars escalated, the Jedi Master appeared less and less. Nick understood why, of course. Things were really heating up. The last couple of times he’d seen Mace, the latter’s face had been creased with worry.


- Coruscant Nights I: Jedi Twilight, Chapter 2