Strange Company

"I am warning you, Namenlos; this is very important, you will have to keep your passions under control or I will be forced to do it for you, and you know I have no wish to do so."

Namenlos could hear Bastila talking, but he wasn't really paying attention. He felt like he'd heard her say this exact same thing many times over, so he didn't assign any special significance to it this time either.

"Are we clear?" she pressed.

Responding to her with a sour grunt, Namenlos turned to shoot a glare back at Carth. Neither man had forgotten their confrontation earlier, and wouldn't soon. Namenlos intended never to forget that abhorrent display of judgmentalism. And once he was free, he would make Carth pay.

Getting free, however, was a thing still far out of reach. As little as he trusted Bastila, he was now more aware of the kind of trouble he was in on Taris. His first exposures to the Sith seemed to confirm what Bastila initially told him. As much as he hated having been ripped from the life he'd known, pitiful though it was, it was done now and there was no going back, not now that the Sith were aware of him.

He didn't have to be an expert in such things to be able to see the stunned recognition in the eyes of the Sith governor just before Bastila had killed him. He had been on the verge of revealing something Bastila didn't want him to know, something Namenlos instinctively knew had marked him. By virtue of something beyond his comprehension, he was now as much a target as Bastila claimed she was.

This knowledge only made him hunger all the more for the life he knew had once been his, that knowledge to safeguard his own liberty.

Once more the garish lights and sounds of the cantina filled his field of view. Finished with their errand into the Sith base, they were bringing Ordo the transponder codes that would allow their as-yet-unacquired ship to slip by the Sith blockade he testified was hanging in orbit above the planet, imposing a strict lockdown.

He hated trusting this much in strangers. He hated even more that he had to trust a butcher of his people with his life.

Ordo was smirking confidently when he saw them approach, sipping leisurely at a foaming glass of some exotic beer. Before he even spoke a word, Namenlos felt his blood heat with anger.

"The triumphant return, is it? I trust you have what we're after?"

"Yes," Bastila replied. "Now it is your turn to live up to our bargain."

Ordo gestured amiably with his brawny hands. "Don't sweat it, sister, I want off Taris as much as you do." His gaze played over the three of them. He frowned. "There were more of you before."

"We're holding some options in reserve, if you don't mind," Carth responded crossly.

Ordo shrugged. "Whatever. Doesn't really matter, I can only take one of you anyway."

"What!" Bastila exclaimed, her temper rising. "You gave your word!"

"Into Davik's place, cool it," Ordo clarified. "That's how he works; one eager prospect at a time. He'll know something's up if I try to bring you all in at the same time, and I'm sure after your little field trip you're not looking forward to trying to storm another whole complex by your lonesome." The Mandalorian shook his head. "No, I'll take you of you in, make up some story he'll buy, bypass most of the security until we get to the hangar. I'll get the ship, come back and pick you up."

Bastila crossed her arms. "What's to stop you from simply taking the ship and leaving on your own, now that you have everything you need?"

"There would be no honor in such a cowardly act," Ordo replied simply.

Namenlos opened his mouth to respond to the Mandalorian's statement, but to his surprise found no words coming out. He glared anew at Bastila. She wouldn't even trust him far enough to let him speak.

He wanted the accursed collar off.

"What are you talking about honor?" Carth scoffed. "You're working for Davik, what does that say about your honor?"

"Fine; you can keep the transponder codes as insurance if you want," Ordo offered. "I guarantee I'm not going anywhere without them. I don't fancy five minutes of freedom just to get blown up."

Namenlos could see Bastila visibly relax. "I--suppose you have a point. Very well, then. I will go."

Ordo waggled a finger at her. "Ah-ah-ah, not so fast, little missy. We have to talk about this first. Davik has, shall we say, very specific uses for women on his estate, if you know what I mean. It's fine with me if you want to show a little ass - might do your attitude some good - and half the people here would be willing to make you up like the finest whore this side of--"

"Enough, Mandalorian!" Bastila snapped, her cheeks reddening. "I see your point."

"Plus, I have to say you're a bit recognizable, don't you think? The entire point of this is stealth, and things are going to go south real quick once someone recognizes Dantooine's proudest little daughter." Ordo folded his arms as he sat back, pondering. "Sorry, flyboy, same deal. I don't know how much you get out these days, but I see your face on the vids every now and then when you Republic people manage to get something done on the battlefield. No offense, but you're not coming either."

"Well, then who?" Bastila asked, flustered. Ordo didn't say anything.

The blood drained from Bastila's face. "Surely not..."

"Yep, sister, that's who I mean."

"But he's--"

"He's the only one of you I'm taking anywhere near Davik's base," Ordo declared. "I don't plan on getting myself killed before I even get close to the ship, and that means neither of your are coming with me. That means it's gonna be your Cathar pal, here."

Namenlos bristled. He didn't want anything more to do with the Mandalorian slime. He wished he could speak, so he could tell Ordo how much he despised him.

Bastila was about to protest further when the Mandalorian put his fist down. "This is non-negotiable, princess; you want off this planet, we're doing this my way."

She twitched, as if trying to think of any way she could back out of the agreement. Finding none, she answered tersely, "Very well."

"Good," Ordo grunted. He promptly started off. "Come on, then. We're going."

Namenlos looked to Bastila expectantly. She waved a hand surreptitiously and he felt his voice return.

"You mustn't lose this chance, Namenlos," she told him.

"Like he said; I don't fancy getting killed because I screwed up," he dismissed, going after Canderous.

Bastila caught his arm for a second, turning him back to face her. "Namenlos, I--I'm sorry."

He looked away. "Sorry?"

"I'm sorry for what I'm doing to you."

Namenlos broke her grip. "No, I don't think you are. I'm going now."

"So what's your plan?"

Canderous grunted as the first words left the mouth of the Cathar since leaving the cantina. The man wasn't talkative, neither was he, and so they'd left it at that. Now that they were getting close to Davik's estate, his forced companion was scoping out the battlefield.

"You got a name?" he asked.

The Cathar gave him a sour look. "Ich bin namenlos," he hissed.

Canderous shrugged. "Namenlos, huh, that'll do. You have a weapon?"

Namenlos held up his arm, revealing a knife strapped in a makeshift sheath to his forearm. He twisted his face. "You need something better than that," Canderous pronounced. He tossed him a medium-bore blaster pistol as he walked. The Cathar caught his underhanded throw easily.

"Just follow my lead if you want to stay alive," Canderous explained. "He trusts me; I've been his enforcer for years. But he doesn't know you, so he's going to be a lot more careful even with me around to 'vouch' for you. He's got other goons to call on if he thinks things are going to go bad. So don't do anything stupid before I do. I'll know when to light the place up--I don't want you jumping the gun and getting us both killed. Are you clear on that?"

Still fingering the gun in his hands, Namenlos turned a glare to him. "I wait to start shooting until you do."

"Look here, we can do this my way or forget about it. I don't like you and you don't like me; I get that, but we both have something to gain here. Mandalore praises flexibility and inventiveness not just in combat--"

"Don't tell me what your false god expects of you," the Cathar snarled. "You like to murder because it strokes your ego. I don't trust you farther than your wish to get off this planet. After that, you're fair game."

Canderous gritted his teeth in answer to the challenge. "We're at agreement, then. Now shut up and let's do this."

The first few sets of guards he recognized, and they recognized him, letting him pass without a second glance, his company notwithstanding--he sometimes brought prospectives in to see the man who ran it all, it wasn't that unusual a sight. Canderous cracked a broken-toothed grin at some of the green-faced rookies who still quaked whenever he passed. He was amused by their fear.

Some of his first jobs for Davik had been to root out the weak links in his personal guard; a job that earned him an unparalleled reputation as a team-killer. Men often bent over backwards not to be assigned to his units, as he was also known to go through accomplices quite frequently while on missions for Davik. His Mandalorian blood craved the heavy jobs, the ones requiring the most violence, not merely intimidation and theatrics. More often than not, this meant a due deal of bloodshed and carnage with people who ought to know a lot better than to get on the bad side of the Exchange.

But Davik had fewer and fewer of those types of problems lately, and he was stuck toting around his guns simply for show, finding less opportunities to awaken his battle rage. If the jobs required violence, it was usually a simple matter of pulling the trigger and counting the bodies; nothing worthy of his warrior spirit.

All that was about to change. Canderous clutched the grip of his heavy automatic rifle in cold anticipation, awaiting the rush of exhilaration when he locked wills with a worthy adversary. He wouldn't half mind facing off against his Cathar companion; a man whom he had little doubt was more than a competent warrior in his own right. But that could come later, after Taris and Davik were history and he again had the galaxy before him.

Maybe then he could find someone to fight.

Entering the estate, Canderous was greeted by the ungainly sight of the vertically-challenged Calo Nord, Davik's new golden boy. The laughable excuse for a bounty hunter who went about dressed like a pilot for some comic novelty promotion that ran aerial stunt shows with antique transports, touting his 'elite' skills, had been getting the jobs that had once gone to Canderous; the difficult, the challenging, the worthy tasks.

With the bright blue overcoat, puffy white hat, and rotund nose sticking out from underneath a comical pair of opaque goggles, Calo Nord looked more like a midget taxi driver than the right hand man of Davik Kang himself.

Canderous had to remind himself that despite his appearances, the man had an impressive record to his name, and deserved a more realistic assessment, unbiased by his own personal opinion of the man. After all, to underestimate the opponent gave him the advantage; a tactic Calo obviously exploited. But still, there was no doubt in Canderous' mind that he could crush the whelp's throat with relative ease.

"What's this trash you're carrying, Canderous?" Calo asked snarkily. He sniffed with exaggerated gesticulation. "Whoo! Smells like rakghoul to me. Have you been mucking around in the sewers, Candy? Davik finally give you some real work?"

"Watch your mouth, Calo," Canderous retorted. "You know how Davik likes to stay connected with the lowers."

"So it's camouflage for the slummies," Calo answered thoughtfully. "I should have thought he'd have you scouting around for new garbage. What, especially after you iced our last few compentents. You have a problematic trigger finger, Ordo," he taunted. "If you like I can remove it for you."

Canderous grinned despite himself. He was really going to enjoy wringing this weasel's neck. "Keep talking like that and Davik's gonna have to find himself a new favorite pet."

Calo Nord grimaced. "So, taking the new crop to see the man?"

"You know procedure, Calo."

"Tell you what, I'll come with you, make sure everything goes smoothly. Who knows--you might even need someone to put a hole in his head for you, since I doubt you'd be quick enough." The squat little man mimed a quick draw of his lethal composite blasters, weapons that had been known to scorch clean through military-grade armor. Canderous envisioned Calo's head exploding like a ripe melon.

As the garishly-dressed bounty hunter joined the small group, Canderous could almost feel the tension building in Namenlos. He could tell he wasn't taking the "trash" talk lying down; he was furious, and getting angrier all the time.

Bad idea taking the Cathar.

But all he had to do was follow the plan. Either way, Canderous knew things were going to get interesting.

Calo put one of his composite blasters to the Cathar's head, sneering. "So, you think you're good enough to work for the Exchange? With a face like that? What are you, some kind of how-not-to commercial for a personal hygiene product?"

"You should know," Namenlos growled without turning his head as he walked, "I am going to kill you."

"Well, don't they all say that," Calo scoffed.

"He's in close with a number of swoop gangs, Calo," Canderous lied. "He'll be useful enough to Davik."

"Hmph," Calo mumbled, putting his blaster away. "Maybe once he's properly trained. It's your ass, you know, Canderous. I'll watch this one not holding my breath."

"Just shut up, Calo. Let's find Davik."

As per usual, the crime lord in question could be found by the trail of increasingly-voluptuous, decreasingly-clothed slave girls. Perched on his lordly seat amid the gaggle of barely-dressed prostitutes, Davik Kang awaited them.

"What's this you've got there, Canderous? Scouting for new partners already?"

"You know me, Davik; rookies don't tend to last. He's a new acquisition," Canderous said, presenting the dirty, shrouded, nameless Cathar scowling from behind dark dreadlocks.

Davik leaned forward apprehensively. "An alien," he pronounced suspiciously.

Namenlos visibly tensed. Canderous had expected at least this much. "He's got good connections with the gangs in the Lower City. He's my number one pick, I'd strongly urge you to at least consider him for a position as confidential informant. I know how the Exchange feels about aliens, but in this instance, I believe it's a good investment."

"Hmm," Davik brooded. He turned his expectant stare to the Cathar. "What is your name?"

"Kurkev," Namenlos responded flawlessly, without second's pause. "Vasili Kurkev. My family immigrated here after the massacre."

Alarms started going off in Canderous' head. Making up a background story for him was not part of the plan. Things were never supposed to go that far. All they needed was for Davik to start in with his own background check to give them the time to wander about his base and spring the ship.

Namenlos was making up his own plan.

Davik waved the whole issue away. "I will, of course, do my own research into your history. That is, if I decide Canderous' recommendation is worth a follow up. For now--"

He was interrupted as suddenly the whole estate was rocked by a massive explosion from the street outside. Screams of terror rang out all throughout the room as another explosion, and another, and another, hit in successive concussion, filling the air with a terrible thunder.

"What in the bloody blazes was that?" Calo swore.

"I'll find out," Davik promised grimly. Another set of detonations shook the entire city block. "We'll have to continue this later, Canderous. I'm going to have the governor's ass for this."

Davik got to his feet, whores scattering before him, and began striding purposefully for the hall. Out of habit, Calo Nord started falling in behind the boss as Davik's personal guards started to move. For an instant, everyone's heads were turned. Canderous recognized the opening--a second too late.

Namenlos raised his blaster to the side of Davik's head and pulled the trigger, splattering the crime lord's brains all over the room.

Battle instincts taking over, Canderous dove for the Cathar and shoved him down to the floor as the security opened fire on them. As he was falling, the Mandalorian twisted his body around, freeing his massive rifle, and let loose a staccato burst from the barrel. Several of the hired Rodian guards were hit just as Canderous and Namenlos crashed to the floor. Rolling one way while the Cathar rolled in the opposite direction, they both opened fire with everything they had, scooting for cover as fast as they could.

Blaster bolts peppered the floor around Canderous. In a state of constant motion, he was staying one step ahead, firing his own weapon with intensity. His shoulder was numb from the battering recoil, his finger clamped on the trigger. Shots went everywhere; some hit, some missed, and nothing in his zone of fire was even remotely safe.

Davik's hired Rodian guards were worse than drunken cantina rats with stun guns, and they fell to his rifle fire like ninepins.

Suddenly, a razor-sharp lance of energy sliced across Canderous' shoulder. He ducked down behind an overturned table as more of the deadly bolts whizzed past his head. He didn't need to guess who it had been.

"I know you too well, Candy," came the sneeringly derisive voice of Calo Nord. "I knew you'd bring some traitorous slime in to do your dirty work eventually. You actually snared a Cathar?" He whistled in mock astonishment. "One can hardly take a Cathar out in public. How could you manage, Candy? Well, it's no matter now. Thanks to you and your pet trash, Davik's out of the way, which means I'm all set to take over the Exchange here on--"

The man's arrogant speech was interrupted by a burst of blaster fire from across the room. Probably Namenlos.

Calo took a few volleys with his composite blasters just to make sure they both stayed down. The white hot projectiles passed clean through the steel table, proving just how useless it was as cover against him.

"You can whine and complain all you want. But that don't change the fact that I am now--"

Another series of massive explosions cut off the bounty hunter. In a brief moment of quiet between blasts, Canderous heard the high-pitched squeal, smelled the ozone, and knew he had only seconds.

"Hit the deck!" he screamed.

Just an instant later, the roof of the building exploded downward. The center of the chamber, where Davik's kingly throne had been, where Calo Nord was standing, erupted in a raging fireball. The force of the shock wave threw him back against the outer wall, driving the breath from his lungs as suddenly the air turned from blistering heat to a biting cold. Still expanding, the inferno burned ever hotter, while the air around it, being sucked from the rest of the room, rushed upward at sickening speed.

For the briefest of instant, it seemed like a tornado of fire had touched down on Davik's estate.

A second later, the conflagration collapsed on itself, leaving a smoldering crater in its center, the building quickly catching fire.

Canderous coughed as he got to his feet, trying to force air back into his lungs. The cold was quickly dissipating as the radiant heat from the new fires started superheating the air. The smell of smoke replaced the strong odor of ozone. He had only minutes to escape this part of the building.

"Cathar!" he yelled. "You still here?"

He was answered by a familiar cough. Looking over, he saw Namenlos crawl out from behind a half-melted pile of slag that had once been a storage locker. Sparing just the briefest of looks out the gaping crater in the roof of the building, seeing the ominous black shapes of vessels in low orbit dropping their deadly payloads, Canderous strode angrily over to his companion. He pulled the Cathar to his feet with a single hand gripping his jacket at the shoulder.

"Well that was a remarkably poor move," Canderous remarked venomously, shoving Namenlos away from him.

"I don't see any problems," the Cathar replied, pleased with himself. "Not anymore, at least."

Canderous massaged the stinging wound in his shoulder. "We've got new problems now." He pointed up at the newly-carved skylight in the ceiling. "That's your buddies the Sith. For whatever reason, I think we can assume they've run out of usefulness for this rotten planet; we have to be gone yesterday."

"I'm fine with that, but I'm going to kill that slime Calo Nord first."

"Forget it, he's already dead."

Namenlos scowled. "He was mine."

Canderous glared right back. "Well, Davik was mine and look how that turned out."

He could feel his finger closing ever tighter on the trigger of his rifle; realistically, he didn't need the Cathar anymore, although it would make the Jedi princess more difficult to deal with. Still, this didn't seem to be working anymore. Namenlos was a loose cannon.

To his surprise, Namenlos' scowl lessened. "Dead is dead, I guess. The next crime lord we run across is all yours, and the next murdering bigoted slime is mine."

Canderous grunted his agreement. Either he was going to kill Namenlos or beginning to like him.

Another set of explosions rumbled through the floor. Debris dropped down from above, large chunks of plaster and crete, as well as heavy steel beams, were starting to come loose; the roof was in danger of collapsing completely.

"Let's get going," Canderous urged. "We're running out of time."

"I hate fire," Namenlos muttered as they left hurriedly. Canderous thought it an odd thing to say.

The view out the side of the hangar was terrifying. Namenlos could hardly believe the magnitude of what his eyes were showing him, the sight of the inferno before him almost too intense, too pervasive, to comprehend.

All of Taris was burning.

Like a rain of deadly, boiling red hailstones, the energy bombs were falling in wide, sweeping strike patterns miles long over the spread of the city from horizon to horizon. Long swathes of flame engulfed entire blocks at a time, liquid fire flowing along the streets, scouring all life, leaving in its wake the blackened husks of machine and man alike. High in the sky, presiding over the orgy of such death and slaughter, circling as sharks eager for blood and flesh, the enormous hulls of the silver ships hung like remorseless executioners, impassive.

For a moment Namenlos just stood and stared, oblivious to everything going on around him. He was staring at the destruction of everything that had been his life. Most of it he hated, but it was all he had to call his own, all vanishing in fiery madness and senseless hate.

A single tear squeezed itself from his eye as he wrenched himself away from the apocalypse playing out before him. He had to get away.

Canderous was yelling to him from the ramp of the space freighter Ebon Hawk that was docked inside the hangar. Painted an unattractive gray and maroon, the ship certainly didn't look like much, but it was more than a damp gutter for a bed or a cobweb-filled storage container for a home, and it was his way to escape. He no longer had anything on Taris; he had to escape.

Namenlos barely heard what Canderous was saying as he hurried aboard. Without waiting for the ramp to finish closing, the Mandalorian made for the cockpit. Namenlos followed in a daze.

"Better strap yourself in," Canderous warned. "I'm gonna take this thing up fast."

The cargo freighter lurched forward like a drunken Aqualish in response to Canderous' control, for a second causing Namenlos' stomach to turn, threatening nausea. Nose pitching forward, the ship began to plummet from the hanger toward the lower buildings beneath that had not yet been hit by the scorching fire from the ships above.

Seconds before impact, the Hawk's engines kicked in fully and the ship roared forward, gaining lift and time for its gravitational thrusters to finish their automated startup procedures. Without the inertial damping systems engaged fully, Namenlos felt every pitch and roll of the ship in his bowels, and fought mightily to keep from being violently sick as Canderous brought the ship in great swaying movements to weave through the forest-like stand of burning, crumbling buildings.

His whole world was spinning, Namenlos tasted bile in the back of his throat. His shoulder ached, the flesh of his back stung like hot coals. Every beat of his heart threatened to send him spinning into oblivion, it was all he could do just to keep breathing. The dizziness, the nausea, the shock, the horror; the sheer stress of it all was turning all his bodily impulses into weapons against him.

For long minutes he just sat shaking, no longer even the slightest bit aware of what was happening around him.

Eventually the ship's movements became more gentle, the sharp turns and rolls softer, the acceleration less gut-wrenching. Gradually, his overwhelmed senses began reporting on his surroundings again. He heard Bastila's voice, then Canderous', and Carth's as well. He couldn't tell what they were saying yet, but he nevertheless latched tenaciously onto that tether to reality. His body was still nervously convulsing as he opened his eyes.

He saw the gathered swarm of the silver Sith ships buzzing about the world of Taris, and even from orbit he could see the raging fires on its surface.

"Are we in the clear, Carth?" he heard Bastila ask.

"Just picked off the last stragglers," Carth answered from somewhere Namenlos couldn't see. He realized it must have been over the ship's comm systems. "We're clear."

Bastila was pleased. "Excellent work, Carth. Mandalorian, set a course for Dantooine immediately."

"Whatever you say, sister," Canderous replied sarcastically. "I've got time."

As he leaned forward in his seat, Namenlos could still feel the nausea lurking. His head had never felt like it weighed so much. For a long time he simply sat and stared, even after the sight of the fiery perdition that had once been the city of Taris was replaced by the swirling white plasma of hyperspace.

He couldn't believe it was gone.

Still swaying dizzily, he unbuckled himself and got to his feet. Bastila looked over in alarm as he nearly crashed into the bulkhead at the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

Namenlos didn't even look back at her. He felt dead inside. "It looks like I'm going nowhere."

She found him in the darkest corner of the cargo hold, back to the wall, knees drawn up against his chest, shaking. Bastila could feel the emotions pouring off him like the white water cascading down mountain rapids. In the frantic moments after the Sith bombardment of Taris began, she'd likewise been hardly able to keep her calm about her. But whether it was the mental trauma of having just barely escaped destruction, or one of his mysterious, deeply-held motivations that was the cause of Namenlos' emotional storm she couldn't be sure.

His mind was both an open door and an impenetrable wall to her, obscuring its true framework with a torrent of incomplete fragments rushing outward and resonating in the Force.

The weight of guilt pressed down on her in the knowledge that it was her fault. She was the one who ruined his mind, even if she might have done it to save lives. It was for her sake that Malak made his decision to raze Taris. With such responsibility riding on her shoulders, it was her solemn duty not to fail in her task, and she'd done everything within her power to achieve that end.

But in spite of all she knew of him, in spite of everything she'd been taught, Bastila felt responsible for denying Revan his freedom.

However, she was still Jedi, still served the will of the Council, and their word was more important than her fickle thoughts and feelings, those obstacles to the greater wisdom of the Force. Revan's capture was in the service of the entire galaxy, and in his best interests besides. He would die if he didn't have the help of the Jedi, and if in providing such help they could learn more of the nature of Malak's power, then surely no price was too high.

His life had to be sacrificed to the greater good. There was no other way.

"Are you alright?" Bastila asked as she approached.

Namenlos said nothing.

Coming closer, she knelt down and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, turning his face out of the shadows with two fingers to his chin. She felt the streaks of his beard, coarse and stringy under her fingertips.

"I only want to help you, Namenlos," she said softly. "That is the truth."

Namenlos regarded her with a dead look on his face. He brushed long, tangled dreadlocks from his face, staring at her through glassy red eyes as he tried to turn away. The gruesome, jagged scar that ran from his forehead to his chin seemed to be doing the glaring for him.

Bastila could hardly bear to look at his face, remembering that cataclysmic battle as if it had happened only hours before.

He shrugged her hand from his shoulder, turning his weathered face back into the corner, the darkness. "I didn't want your help," came his reply. His deep voice had never before sounded so--damaged.

His refusal to accept the nobility of her intentions stung her like a slap in the face. "You know the headaches would have killed you!"

Ponderously, he turned back to face her. Bastila gulped down her own hurt in an instant, the look of fury and betrayal on his face silencing her as a harsh rebuke for her presumption.

"So would you."

Bastila opened her mouth, but no words came. It was true; she'd wanted to kill him, not on Taris, but before. If nothing else, he still remembered that.

She jumped when again his deep voice rang out, this time with a terrible authority. "Leave me!"