Disclaimer- Star Wars, Kotor, & Kotor II are property of Lucasfilm, Bioware, and Obsidian respectively. This writing is not intended for profit of any kind and no infringement on copyright has been intended

Authors Note- Well, I hope you all enjoy reading this and reviews are always welcome.

Chapter 2

Exorsus

Nails dig into the palm of my hand, a slight trickle of blood dampening the pale skin.

I'm stare down at thousands of them – no tens of thousands- wrapped in fading fabrics and surrounded by cold, unyielding durasteel.

I can smell their anguish even through the transparisteel window, an eddy of vapid sweat and failing flesh. Many of them amble with bent backs and shuffling steps. Scores of them don't walk at all.

Some are human. Others are strange, their scales and fur relaying how inhuman they truly are. They all move in the same way, the weight of their homelands squarely on their backs. They are broken.

They're all refugees…

Nine months of peace and yet here they remain…

I can hardly believe it has been that long.

I take a long drink from the bottle of Telosian whiskey that I grip so tightly in my left hand; I fear the glass will shatter. It courses down my throat, and liquid fire waters my eyes. The reflection in the window is strong enough for me to see the various troupes of intoxicated people behind me, attempting to remain ignorant of the outside world. I try to join them, the contents of the bottle finding my mouth once again.

I wipe the trickle of blood on my palm onto a tavern cloth.

A man clad in an ash colored jumpsuit and dark boots pauses for a moment inside the doorway. His eyes stroke the back of my neck for a moment before his feet carry him off to the private booths in back.

Fawkes…

I hand the barkeep a few creds and make my way to the back, strolling with no urgency, while deftly dodging falling forms and shifting chairs.

I close the door behind me and take a cushioned seat opposite the man, his eyes unwavering amber orbs. His hands are locked together, resting firmly in his lap. It does little to reassure me. The intonation in his tone is the sole indication of his displeasure, hard as the glaciers of Mygeeto, "Your performance was underwhelming."

A girl with tears etched into her pale flesh crosses my mind. I push it down, the effort taking more from me each time.

He continues uninterrupted, "Why didn't you take them earlier?"

"The Duke wasn't with them," my voice is dry to my ears, from neglect I imagine.

"He was with them at the Senate."

I shake my head, "Security was too tight." It's mostly true.

The pallid skin around his arched cheekbones stretch, muscles clenching. My stomach tightens, a knot forming in the center.

I almost let out a sigh. "There were Jedi."

His eyes narrow for a moment before he shakes his head. I had told him when we first met that I don't deal with the Order. He never pressed the subject but it looks like that is about to change.

Relief floods into my chest when he glances down and changes the subject. He pulls a datapad from a side pocket, and my hand flexes to my holstered blaster involuntarily. He merely looks at it as I unclench my fingers and the blaster falls back into its holster.

"The credits have been transferred to your account," His voice is crisp, firm. "This is the next assignment we want you to take."

I take hold of it, its dark screen lit up with leaden viridian data.

My mouth parts open slightly, my back stiffens. I tear my eyes from the information as a kernel of fire goes into my words, "He died aboard the Majestic three years ago." I had seen the wreckage myself, metal plates strewn across the Force forsaken lunar landscape for dozens of miles.

He's almost smug, "No, check the video footage."

I do. I recognize the face immediately. He's grown a beard and he's thinned down to a memory of his former glory. I don't want to even think about the layer of… grime covering his skin. But it's him, without a doubt. I would know him anywhere.

Fawkes stands up abruptly, one hand smoothing out the creases in his jumpsuit, the doorway nearly touching him. My head turns, focused on the nape of his neck, "The rendezvous coordinates are on the datapad," He announces to the door, "Payment will be delivered upon completion, as usual."

His head twists to look at me from the axis of his neck, the glare of the light hiding his eyes, "And Jash… that guilt you're carrying? Eject it out the nearest air lock. The Republic can't stand to have its pillars crumbling."

He leaves.

I stay.