Hello once again, awesome readers! I hope you've enjoyed these KOTOR stories as much as I've enjoyed writing them. Now we're coming up on a moment I've been waiting to write about for quite some time now, the introduction of Bastila. I hope you enjoy this chapter and you should never be afraid to drop a review and let me know how you're liking the story so far. Also, I do a weekly recommendation for other authors on my profile page so if you'd like to be featured on it, PM me a story you're writing and I'll check it out! Anywhoo, I don't own KOTOR, Bioware does. All characters and events belong to them. This is simply an homage from a fan. Cheers! -LCB

Remember to breathe. Breathing is good for you.

The mantra repeated itself over and over inside Nic's head as he, his friends and their Hidden Bek entourage stepped onto the platform of the swoop track. The setting certainly looked sordid enough to be a gang activity. Located in what could only be appropriately described as a slum, the race track was dirty and dingy. The ceiling hung so low over them that it gave the impression they were all standing inside a giant sardine tin. It smelled just as bad as a sardine tin would, Nic thought, crinkling his nose at the pungent aroma of exhaust, oils and various body odors. Racers and mechanics alike were milling about the platform, seeing to their swoops and hastily conversing with one another, preparing themselves for the impending race. Nic felt his spirits fall a bit. How many racers were competing in this thing? How many would he need to beat? Could it even be done?

Nic fell back on Carth's words from last night. If he didn't go into this race ready mentally, he might as well not race at all. Swoop racing was just as much a challenge for the racer's mind as it was for their body, or so Nic assumed, becoming all too aware that he had never done this before in his life. The simulations he had studied were one thing. Real life was different. Real life had death.

The combined cacophony of the race track and his own thoughts almost made Nic miss Gadon's last few orders.

"Take these," the gang leader whispered, looking left and right before handing out a series of small earpieces to his charges. The last one he offered to both Nic and Carth.

"What's this for?" Carth whispered, his eyes darting around for any onlookers.

"They'll keep us on the same page should things turn nasty," Gadon replied. "Now, which one of you will be party leader?"

Carth quickly swiped the earpiece and handed it to Nic, who just stared at it.

"What, me?"

"I can't think of anyone better, partner." Carth assured. "Besides, if a fight breaks out while you're racing, you'll need to know before you speed back into a trap."

Nic saw the wisdom in the Republic veteran's words and placed the device in his ear.

"Now, before the race can begin, you'll need to register," Gadon said. "Head on over to that desk and alert the race announcer that the champion for the Hidden Beks has arrived."

Nic nodded. "Got it."

He looked around and spotted a metal semi-circle deak in the middle of the landing, manned by a gray-skinned Duros wearing a white jumpsuit. Nic made a beeline straight for the desk and stood before the race announcer, hands folded behind his back. The Duros didn't acknowledge him, seemingly distracted by his small computer terminal. Nic cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Sponsor?" The alien's modulated voice rang out curtly, translating in perfect Basic to Nic's ears.

"The Hidden Beks," Nic spoke evenly.

That made the duros's gray, slender fingers immediately stop typing. Its bulbous head looked up to look directly at Nic's face. Nic felt a slight tremor in his stomach as the Duros's gellatinous, pupilless red eyes seemed to bore straight into him. Could the alien tell that Nic wasn't a regular face among the Beks? They were already technically cheating with the prototype accelerator. Would they be kicked out already? After a couple seconds of silence which felt like an entire day to Nic, the announcer spoke up again.

"Ah, yes," he continued. "Always liked them. I hope they can show these Vulkars a thing or two. But, I digress."

The Duros hammered a few keystrokes rapidly. "Name?"

"The Mysterious Stranger."

The Duros just looked at Nic again, who stared back resolutely. No need to give out names if he didn't have to. Plus, The Stranger hadn't been mentioned in a while. It still had its novelty.

The alien shrugged its thin shoulders and shook its oval head. "Very well, then, 'Stranger,' hold still for a moment."

The alien held up a small handheld device that Nic didn't recognize. He flinched as a blinding flash exploded. Nic stumbled back a step and his hand flew to his blaster. What the kriff was that? Had he just been shot?

"I told you to hold still!" the Duros huffed, angrily typing again. "Now your picture will be blurry. You'll have to rely on the serial number for identification, then."

In the next moment, the sound of flimsiplast being processed and printed emanated from behind the announcer's desk. The alien reached down and handed Nic a small rectangular ID card containing his name, a random assortment of numbers and, yes, a blurry picture.

"Don't lose that." the Duros warned. "Should you be lucky enough to win, you won't be able to claim your prize without it."

That got Nic's attention.

"Speaking of the prize," Nic cautiously began. "Is...it...here?"

The alien didn't bother to stop his typing, simply nodding its large head.

"Yes, she is here, being held in that containment cage behind us. Don't be confused. She's in perfect physical condition. She's currently being restrained by a neural disruptor."

She? The announcer had just confirmed it. Bastila was here, on this platform. The one woman he and his friends had been searching for up and down this entire kriffing planet for was within their reach at last. Nic couldn't stop the butterflies in his stomach as he spotted the cage indeed standing behind the desk, facing away from them. He didn't dare betray any outward reaction, though. He had to play the part of a veteran swoop jockey. To him, she had to appear to be just any other prize and human trafficking was perfectly normal.

Keeping up this facade was going to be harder than Nic thought.

"OK, you're registered now," the Duros exclaimed. "Good luck, and try not to get yourself killed. We've only lost one rider today and we want to keep it that way."

Nic swallowed and pushed the anxiety to the back of his mind, stading up straighter and pocketing his new ID.

"Thank you," Nic said. "I wish to inspect the prize for myself before I put in any effort."

The Duros waved his hand toward the cage dismissively, his eyes already glued back to his terminal. "Yes, yes. She's right there. You're more than welcome to. Whenever you're ready you can hit the track."

Nic stepped around the desk and walked toward the cage. It was a large one, easily seven feet tall and wide enough to hold a Wookiee, maybe even a very young Hutt. He walked around to the front of the cage. What he saw made the world around him slow down as his eyes shot open. He immediately rushed forward, his face mere inches from the cold metal bars.

The woman stood right in the middle of the cage, maybe a couple inches shy of six feet tall. Her hair was a rich, deep brown with a couple braids dangling down the sides of her face. Her skin was light, almost a pure cream color. She was dressed in what looked like a slave outfit and it looked like she was woozing where she stood. Her eyes were closed and serene, like she was sleeping where she stood. As the Duros had pointed out, two small round metal devices were planted firmly on the sides of her head. That must be why she was in her current state.

There was no way to know for sure without asking her, but Nic was sure this was the Bastila they were looking for. He couldn't explain how he knew, but he felt an undeniable draw toward her. It was almost like there was an invisible line tied between them, dragging them together. Why was that line there? Nic wasn't sure if he liked it. It was almost scary the way this draw existed inside him. This feeling suddenly asserting itself beyond his control made Nic stand on-edge, apprehensive.

He had seen her face before. He could hardly believe he was looking at the woman from his dreams in the flesh, but the likeness was unmistakable. Nic didn't need to see beyond her closed eyes to know that they were gray.

Why? Why was it her face that had filled these shrouded visions in his mind? Nic could only think of one reason. She wasn not only hot, she was drop-dead beautiful, the last quality he would expect from a Jedi. After all the stories he'd heard of their wisdom and power, Nic had pictured a bunch of old, wrinkled people in robes, some kind of super-powered retirement home. With the way Bastila's beauty lit up the dingy racing platform, any man wouldn't be worth his salt if he didn't have at least one dream about her.

But that still didn't explain this insatiable desire he had to be around her, now that he'd seen her. It felt just like his wayward instinct, which at the moment was also practically on fire inside his chest. It was going haywire, pointing him toward her and only toward her at the moment. Why? What the kriff did all of this mean? Nic had his fill of confusion and ominous feelings. He wanted some damn answers.

Since Bastila seemed to be a key player in his dreams of late, maybe she would be able to give him those answers. The need to make sure she left this race with Nic and his friends just grew twice as dire. Bastila was now not only their ticket off this infernal planet, she was also the possible remedy to his constant uncertainty. Before he could stop himself, Nic felt this invisible line pulling him in closer to the cage.

"I don't know if you can understand me," Nic softly whispered. "But I promise you that everything will be alright. We're here to get you out of here, Bastila, no matter what it takes. On that, you have my word."

A black-gloved hand smashed against the bars, making Nic jump back. A dark-skinned man sidled over around the cage. His black hair was crew cut in perfect form, much like the perfect gleam off his silver combat armor. What wasn't perfect was the look on his face, which looked almost predatory. The man had a cocky, lopsided grin and his narrowed, dark eyes were piercing straight at Nic.

"Spending some quality time with the swoop prize, are we?" His oily voice crooned. "That's a bit premature, wouldn't you say?"

"Brejik." Nic stated emotionlessly. This had to be the leader of the Black Vulkars, after everything Gadon had told of him.

"So, you do know me?" Brejik cracked another satisfied smile. "Good to know my reputation still spreads far and wide."

Nic did not hold back his scowl. Conceit practically oozed off of Brejik like some primordial sludge. If Nic ever had any doubts about which gang leader he was siding with, they had now been eradicated.

Brejik leaned his shoulder on the cage.

"I can't blame you for admiring my prize."

The gang leader turned and looked Bastila up and down, lustily.

"She's quite the...exquisite creature...isn't she?"

Nic's hands curled into hard fists, protective anger boiling within his gut. He may not know the first thing about this woman, but he sure as kriff knew that Brejik's attentions were unwanted.

"All the more reason I'm looking forward to winning her," Nic challeneged.

"Such confidence," Brejik practically spat. "I would advise that you save such words for the track...'Stranger.'"

Nic froze in a defiant stance, not backing down as Brejik drew closer.

"The racing profile lists you as the rider for those deplorable Beks this year, but I've never seen your face among their ranks."

"I'm new," Nic said curtly.

"You must be, because you're no member of any gang that I've seen," Brejik continued, slowly advancing as if he was trying to back Nic into a corner.

"But I have seen you on the vids before, 'Stranger.' Ice dealt you a humiliating defeat, if I recall correctly."

"She got the jump on me," Nic continued his now tired defense of that fight. "It won't happen here."

"So you claim," Brejik uttered in a low, menacing tone. He was now only a few inches away from Nic.

"You call yourself the 'Stranger,'" Brejik hissed in a feral whisper. "But you certainly are no stranger to the halls of my base...off-worlder."

Nic's chest tightened in an instant. He tried his best not to betray any outward emotions but Brejik pounced, nonetheless.

"I don't know who you and your little friends are, but I know you stole that accelerator," Brejik accused. "I know you've been looking for this woman. You really should have considered the host of cameras in my base before you came storming in."

Nic cursed inside his head. He hadn't thought of that. But then again, by the time they had gotten to the Vulkar base, he had been a few steps away from death.

"It makes me wonder why off-worlders like you would be so interested in this woman..."

Brejik turned back to look at her, sneering. "Perhaps she is worth much more than a mere swoop race prize. Perhaps the Sith should be informed of her presence."

Red alerts were blaring inside Nic's head. This was literally the last thing any of them wanted. They had been afraid of this. They had been too careless inside the Vulkar base and now they were paying for it. Nic had to right the ship now or all of their plans and all of their efforts would go up in smoke.

So Nic managed the most derisive snort he could muster. "Really? Pandering to the occupation force, Brejik? You know as well as I do that the Sith would sooner see you and your lot dead in an Undercity ditch. What's to stop them from taking this woman by force? You have a chance to garner a substantial profit off of her in this race and you're throwing that away?"

Nic ended his speech with a condescending cross of his arms. "And to think, Gadon actually told me you were smart."

As dirty as Nic felt talking about Bastila like she was some piece of meat, his diatribe did the job. Brejik's face grew darker with rage. He looked like he was about to reach for his blaster but instead opted to spit his anger right into Nic's face.

"You speak arrogantly for someone who's hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned on this platform! Go ahead and get in your little speeder and see if you can save yourself from blowing up!"

The vein near Brejik's forehead was pulsing with every word. "Even if you win...you and your friends will find an unexpected surprise before the day is done! Remember that!"

Huffing, Brejik stormed past Nic, knocking into his shoulder as he left. Nic turned to watch Brejik go, thankful that he was at least successsful in steering the gang leader off the path of selling Bastila to the Sith.

But what had Brejik meant when he said an unexpected surprise? Was Gadon right? Could Brejik be planning an ambush? Now it seemed there was a lot more than a simple race happening on this track.

Whatever it was, it had to wait. It was time for him to hit the track...and try to avoid the fiery death featured in his nightmares.