Only the original story is mine, the games and the movies are not. Sigh. No money made, so don't expect to get any if you sue. I'm poor.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

She couldn't hear anything beyond that. Rushing blood pounding in her eardrums. Trying to get out? But… she needed that blood. Why would it want to leave?

It took a moment, but beyond the deafening thudding in her ears, she couldn't see. There was blackness all around her, lending to a sense of total isolation. She was without feeling, without senses, save the thudding.

And she couldn't breathe. She suddenly remembered that she should, but when she tried, it wasn't the stale-but-clean recycled air of the Hawk. It was smoky, dusty and choking. She coughed—she thought. She could feel the scratching in her throat and the heaving of her chest, but she couldn't hear the sound she knew should go with it.

Then she felt her skin, like she'd just woken up and the world around her became real. She was cold and hot at the same time, her skin—wasn't she wearing her robes?—was super-sensitized, her exposed arms tingled and hurt but there was a cool breeze.

She breathed deeply, standing motionless in the cockpit of the Ebon Hawk

"You can't save everyone, Tien," she heard. "I wish you'd stop feeling so guilty. It's really starting to irritate me, and I'm sure I'm not the only one." She looked down at Atton, then out at the starlines of hyperspace out the front viewer.

"I'm sorry, Atton," Tien heard herself say, as though from a great distance.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

She pushed herself gently away from his seat and saw him turn his head. "But," she continued, "I don't think I feel guilty for the reasons you think I do."

She tried to open her eyes, get her bearings, but her eyelids felt glued shut. She moved, scraping her fingers through the loose dirt on the ground. It stung the raw skin of her hands and she recoiled, deciding instead to just stay put. Better to just stay here… Stay.

The Hawk shifted slightly… the lighting, her orientation, her clothes—changed. Like in a dream.

"Why do you stay with me, Atton? You could have left a thousand times…" she whispered. She'd probably asked him that a thousand times. His answers were always thinly veiled lies, but he didn't really need to tell her the truth. She didn't think she could have heard it anyway. What had she told Mira? Something about it not being the right time… She couldn't remember.

"Why do you think?" he said finally. "I love you."

Without thinking, she rolled with a loud groan, turning her face toward the ground, retching. She felt—Atton felt sick. His feelings overwhelmed her—regret, fear, love, anger.

Then faded, making her heart drop into her stomach.

As if the world suddenly decided to switch from slow-motion to real-time, sound came flooding back to her so fast she thought she would drown. Voices went from jumbled murmurs to distinct shouts and screams, people talking, yelling, pounding, things falling, grinding.

Tien had to move. The noise made this all too real and she knew she had to move.

Something warm curled around her wrist, and Tien hissed at the burning sensation it caused her. She forced her eyes open and focused, pulling away slightly from Visas' silhouette. Tien calmed slightly, allowing her friend to pull her through the cloud of smoke surrounding them to her feet.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" she heard dimly. She felt Visas grab her around the waist. Tien flinched, weakly trying to push her away, but the Miraluka only tightened her grip, leading her through the smoke.

"What happened?" Tien coughed. She stumbled, losing her meager footing on a loose rock. Visas kept her upright, her breathing raspy in Tien's ear.

"We do not yet know. There was an explosion—"

Tien coughed again. "No kidding," she murmured. Her knees dropped out from under her. "Visas?" She tasted blood in her mouth and felt nauseated again. She shivered. "I don't feel well," she whispered.

She felt Visas tug at her after closing her eyes. Could imagine her breath hitching as she looked around for help, not really knowing what to say or do.

"Help me!" she heard faintly. For an instant, she was quite pleased—she knew how hard it was for the Miraluka to ask for help. "Please, I don't—"

The loud sounds of chaos disappeared, like she'd fallen into deep water and just kept sinking. The muffled noise got further and further away.

The Last Handmaiden strode from the detention block of the Firestorm, pointedly ignoring the pair of Sith guards that passed her as she moved from one block to another. She squelched a wave of disgust. Their presence made her ill.

Or was it her presence on their ship that bothered her so? Her mistress' dealings with the devil that had brought them here?

She stopped at a door identical to all of the others on the Sith destroyer and entered her access code. She took a step into the darkened room when the door slid open, finding her mistress in the same position she had left her. The prisoner stood within the confines of his force cage, having long since moved past the initial resistance he'd shown. He was motionless, having realized that no amount of head-holding or squirming would be able to shield him from her mistress' probes. His eyes were closed, his lips moving slightly every once in a while.

The Handmaiden walked softly toward the computer terminal and logged in, checking the prisoner's vital signs. Atris made it clear to her that the prisoner was not to be permanently damaged, though checking his life signs, she doubted that the prisoner's health was as important to her mistress as she had professed.

Her mistress taunted the prisoner, her lips curled into a shape she had never seen on Atris before. The grin was sadistic, obscene. The Handmaiden could feel the pleasure radiating from her.

"Do not worry, murderer. You do not have to say a word. I know you. I know who you are, who you were, and that they are one in the same," Atris sang, the soft, inviting tone of her voice standing in stark contrast to the perverse expression on her face.

"Don't know what you're talking about," the prisoner replied, weakly. The Handmaiden felt sorry for him. Atris was formidable. She was surprised he had lasted as long as he had.

Her mistress laughed. "No more witty retorts?"

The prisoner did not respond, but his eyes were narrowed with anger. Atris appeared pleased. She turned away from him and directed her attention toward the Handmaiden, poised beside the computer terminal controlling the force cage. "Turn it off," she said.

"Mistress?" the Handmaiden replied, puzzled. Atris nodded. The Handmaiden wondered if perhaps her mistress had regained what humanity she had seen disappear during the prisoner's lengthy interrogation. But was this mercy or just the precursor to another indignity?

She deactivated the force field and the prisoner, despite his obvious fatigue, dropped immediately into an Echani defensive stance, stepping off of the cage platform and backing away from Atris cautiously. He glanced at the Handmaiden appraisingly. She averted her eyes.

Her mistress pulled a lightsaber from her belt. It was the one she never used, but always kept with her. The double-hilt with silver blades. She activated it and the prisoner visibly tensed. The small room was bathed in a white, metallic light. The shadows it cast were long and surreal, and the Handmaiden wished her mistress would shut it off. She had an uncomfortable feeling about her intentions.

Atris approached him, the weapon drawn. "Do you recognize this?" she asked him, gently loping the blades, leaving latent black streaks in the air behind it. The Handmaiden squinted. Her fingers twitched, aching to pull her force pike from the sheath across her back.

"No," the prisoner answered warily. He did not move. Atris smiled.

"This was hers."

Atris deactivated the weapon and threw it to the prisoner. He caught it, pulling it toward him with the Force, and activated it the moment his fingers touched the hilt. It was obvious the man was trained, but certainly unused to the more difficult double-blade. The Handmaiden did not give him a chance to acclimate himself to it. She pulled her pike from its sheath and drew it before her, closing the distance to the now-armed prisoner in three long steps. She was upon him before he could formulate a plan.

The Handmaiden moved to strike, but stopped short, her stomach filling with a dark, inexplicable dread. Her weapon slipped impotently from her lax fingers and clanged to the ground. Darkness filled her vision and she wanted nothing more than to scream, frightened in a way she had not felt since childhood. What was happening to her? She felt like she was dying. She dropped to her knees, cowering in fear.

"Do not be so hasty, my handmaiden," she heard through the fog of her darkness. Her mistress' voice sounded so far away and only added to her terror. The prisoner moved in front of her, closing down the lightsaber and looking down at her with a compassion that belayed his desire to help her…

The horror she felt at… what, she did not know… began to fade. She reached for her brand only to have it slide away, untouched, from her hand. She looked at the prisoner who ignored her, his focus solely directed toward his captor. She followed his line of sight. Atris' hand was extended, her fingers directing the movement of her weapon. The Handmaiden stood slowly, confused. Was not her place the protection of her mistress? Why had she stopped her?

"I assure you, I am in no danger, Brianna. Our guest would never strike me. He walks the path of the light," Atris said, her voice cold and contemptuous.

"You call that an insult?" the prisoner said.

"I call it denial," she answered frankly. The Handmaiden felt like she was not even in the room. The light… the silver blades. She knew nothing of the Jedi, but here two were. Enemies. Surely one was wrong while the other right. It disturbed her that she did not feel the player in the right was her mistress. "Your Exile has weakened you. Sapped your very strength of will. Where she would surely use a weapon in her hands to strike me down, to escape, you will not."

"She wouldn't. She didn't. Unless I'm missing something, you're still here. Tien let you live. I think you've got the story backwards, lady," he said, his courage seemingly bolstered. Atris smiled, satisfied. Her mistress knew that would be his response.

"Prove it," Atris replied. The prisoner's eyes widened. "Atton Rand, Sith assassin or Jedi Knight? Surely you are one more than the other. Are you really Jedi, or do your deceptions lie so deep that you cannot be truthful even with yourself?"

Mira tilted her head back and downed her shot of Juma extract without flinching, flipped over the glass and dropped it on the bar. She nodded to the bartender for another. He raised his eyebrows, but poured her another shot, setting the refill on the bar next to the three glasses she'd already emptied. She lifted the full glass between her middle finger and thumb, wondering at the lovely blue tint the bar took on when seeing it through a glass of Juma, then swallowed it, dropping the empty glass next to the others.

Bao-Dur waved at the bartender, shaking his head to preempt any requests Mira might make for more. The barkeep winked at him and made his way to the other end of the bar where a couple of Twi'leks were roaring with laugher.

"Ugh," Mira groaned. "I hate this."

"What?"

Mira shuddered at the question and made a face. "This… being used. Being watched… I feel like… like I'm being hunted again. Like any minute now, Hanhaarr is going to come jumping out at me from around a corner."

"But he's dead, Mira, you know that. You killed him yourself."

Mira rolled her eyes. He was missing the point completely. She leaned on the bar and gestured not-so-discretely in the direction of the still-laughing Twi'leks. "You see them?" she asked. Bao-Dur nodded. "They work for Vogga. And that Bith over there?" She pointed at a single Bith male quietly nursing a drink at a table at the far end of the room by one of the windows. "He works for Vogga, too."

Bao-Dur grinned, deciding to humor his friend's paranoia. "And them? The three Transdoshans by the door?" he asked, knowing that not everyone on Nar Shaddaa could be keeping an eye on them. Mira shrugged.

"Bounty hunters," she replied nonchalantly before futilely trying to get the bartender's attention again. She dropped her forehead to the surface of the bar, rolling her head from side to side. Bao-Dur watched the Transdoshans he'd pointed out at random for any signs that might confirm or refute Mira's assessment of them, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He decided to trust her more trained eye.

"We can't stay here forever, you know," he said, turning away from his appraisals of the other patrons and redirecting his attention toward Mira. She groaned.

"I know," she said, her voice muffled by the bar.

"Whatever we're going to do," Bao-Dur whispered to her, "we should do it soon."

Mira giggled then lifted her head. Bao-Dur tried not to stare at the big red blotch in the middle of her forehead left by the bar-top. "We're not seriously considering going to Sleheyron, are we?" she asked. Bao-Dur looked at her blankly. The Juma juice was obviously starting to get to her. "You don't think we should?" he asked. "I thought this was the whole reason we came back here. We need that fuel." Mira shrugged.

"It's only a suicide mission, that's all," she answered lightly. Bao-Dur examined her face carefully, barely able to see the bruise from the impatient Transdoshan from before beginning to fade from her hairline. She brushed her long bangs out of her face and behind her ears.

"You didn't really think this would be as easy as popping in to see Vogga, asking him nicely to start sending Telos some fuel, and having him jump at the opportunity to be nice, did you?" He asked, somewhat irritated with her.

"Good point," she conceded. They sat in silence for a moment, Mira twirling an empty glass with her finger.

"Look," Bao-Dur said, finally. "You're more than welcome to stay here, if you like, but I've worked too hard and too long on Telos to have it all go to rot when the Citadel falls out of the sky. I'm going on whatever damn fool missions I have to to get that fuel." He stared at her and she stared back for a moment, then looked down at her hands. She sighed.

"Okay," she said softly. Bao-Dur released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Okay?"

"Well, I wouldn't be a very good Jedi if I let you go off on your suicide mission alone."

Bao-Dur smiled. "You're sure you're not just saying that because you're drunk?" he asked. Mira laughed.

"I'm not drunk," she grumbled, "unfortunately."

Bao-Dur nodded at the line of empty shot glasses. Mira rolled her eyes.

"The Force: not just for fighting the effects of your average gas mines, anymore. Perfect for negating mind-altering substances, too." She pushed herself away from the bar, dropping some credits and turning toward the door. She recklessly elbowed her way past the three Transdoshans still congregated near the entrance. "Gentlemen…" she murmured. They let her pass without making a scene.

Bao-Dur breathed a sigh of relief before cautiously following her out of the cantina and back toward the refugee landing pad and the Blue Moon.

It had been two days since their arrival on Nar Shaddaa and their meeting with Vogga and during that time, Bao-Dur had seen little of Mira. This morning, he'd woken up on the ship to find her missing again and had found her after some searching in her little hideaway at the flophouse. She had been rummaging through a couple of footlockers she'd had hidden behind some discarded equipment. He'd startled her, and nearly gotten a blaster shot between the eyes for his trouble.

"So this is where you keep disappearing to?" he'd asked.

Mira lowered her blaster and took a deep breath. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," she said. Bao-Dur stepped deeper into the small, smelly room, gesturing toward the wide open door.

"You shouldn't have let me."

Mira ignored him and went back to searching through her supplies, surprised to find that nothing had been stolen since she'd left Nar Shaddaa the first time with Tien. She banged on the secret compartment at the bottom of her strongbox and a panel popped open with a satisfying hiss. She felt Bao-Dur come stand behind her as she pulled a small stack of datapads from the compartment. She handed them to him before digging deeper into the strongbox. He sifted through them while she felt around for the spare rockets and darts she kept down there for emergencies.

"What are these?" he mumbled. She flipped her hair up as she emerged with a handful of tranquilizer darts and incendiary projectiles for her wrist launcher.

"Work," she replied succinctly. He examined one of the pads; a picture of a little girl with dark hair, some vital statistics, last known location, parents, acquaintances. Another was a dark-skinned human male, middle-aged. His wife was in the picture—it was probably the last thing she had left of him, the last thing she had with his image on it that might help her locate him.

All of these pads were bounties, he realized. People looking for lost people and willing to pay to get them back. Without even thinking about it, his heart went out to them. Pointless, of course, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse for taking their would-be rescuer-searcher away from them.

"I'm good at finding people," Mira had shrugged. And she took it seriously, he saw.

Noting his silence, Mira stood up, pulling the drawstring on a duffle she'd found and filled with the sundry remnants of her life on Nar Shaddaa.

"I won't be coming back here," she said simply. Bao-Dur merely nodded. What more was there to say?

She swung the bag over her shoulder and strode out of the small hovel, leaving everything she'd known since escaping Mandalorian slavery behind. It wasn't much, but it was hers. And she was saying goodbye. Bao-Dur recognized it for what it was.

He'd had a home once, before Malachor, before the wars. He remembered thinking he wouldn't be going back, either, as he'd packed his bag. He'd been right.

Bao-Dur followed Mira now, back to the Blue Moon and life after the smuggler's moon. He wondered if maybe Mira knew something he didn't; something about the future that might give them an inkling of what to expect on whatever journeys they faced. He reflected for a moment on the irony of what he was doing—still moving from place to place. But he wasn't running away anymore. At least now, he was running toward something. Saw a purpose, finally, beyond escaping his past. That was some comfort, at least.

He watched Mira, her walk steady, but her mind troubled. She wasn't sure about this, and neither was he, if he was really honest. He wished there was some way for him to contact the General. It would be easy, he thought. Just rig up a long range communication device and hone in on the Ebon Hawk's ID signature. He could do it, he knew, but thought better of it.

For the first time since talking it over briefly with Tien, he thought about what she had said about her connections, asking him why he stayed with her, why he continued to fight for her, questioning the independence of his actions.

I'm still fighting for you, General. And it is my own choice. If anything is proof of that, let it be this.

Mira activated the Moon's ramp and stepped up into the ship before its bottom hit the landing pad. He followed her up, relishing the thought of being back in space if even for the short trip to Sleheyron. He could find endless things to fix on a little clunker like theirs.

"What does she want?" Mical asked the Echani. She had given up on trying to appear industrious and had taken instead to sitting on the floor against a wall, alternating between meditation and observation, mirroring his own pose. He didn't expect her to answer.

She sat with him often, now, always starting off with some pretense or another, but ending up sitting against the wall like she was now, as though seeking refuge from some oppressive problem. He'd gotten used to her presence over the last couple of days, even the brief visits where their only contact was the exchange of her full packet of rations for his empty one through his confines. This one, was proving to be more substantive, though.

"I don't know," she sighed.

"Why were we captured?" he asked, encouraged by her response. "How did Atris gain access to a Sith destroyer?"

The Handmaiden opened her mouth, then closed it again, shaking her head. He sighed, maintaining his calm despite a near overriding frustration. He knew this woman was—ideologically—on the side of the light, but he also knew something of loyalty and could see how much it governed her.

"You know what's going on here, don't you? You've seen what's happened to your mistress. You asked me before if I was a Jedi—I can tell you she is not. Not anymore."

"She still controls the Force. She is stronger than she has ever been."

"Just because Atris can use the Force, does not mean she is a Jedi. Surely she has told you of the dark side? The Sith?" he said. She pursed her lips.

"Of course. The dark side of the Force—she has told us that is what your kind wield."

"My kind?"

"The Exile. She fell in the Mandalorian Wars, succumbing to her thirst for bloodshed," she answered, as though she was saying the most obvious thing in the world.

Mical couldn't help it. He snorted. The Echani's brow furrowed in confusion.

"You mock me," she said indignantly.

Mical shook his head, still smiling. "No, I don't mock you. I merely find it difficult to believe that anyone would think of Tien Parren as bloodthirsty. That description could not be further from the truth. You are being lied to, and probably not just about Jedi Parren's light or dark side leanings."

"I have no reason to trust you, Jedi."

"And I have no reason to trust you," he lied. He could see her motives, the truth or deception in her words. She truly believed what Atris told her, if only because it was Atris who told her. And somehow, he did trust her.
Okay, so this was a longer chapter, and I think I like this length a little better than the 3000 words I've been shooting for in previous chapters. This one was kind of a check-in-with-everybody before things start speeding up. I hope you guys liked it. :) It's finals week, so bring on summer! You know, until my 12 credits start up in 2 weeks. I've got a lot of ideas and hope to update again real soon. Thanks for all the support.

Red Mage- Yes, I plan on keeping the Handmaiden around. I hated not having her as a female PC and always wondered how it would play out. I'm having a lot of fun especially experimenting with the dynamic between her and Mical. I'm glad you're still enjoying the story.

Wook- Aww… thanks. You know, I'm never too sure about doing romance stuff, but I just can't ignore it here. Thanks for the encouragement… I know it's not my forte, and it helps when somebody tells me I'm getting it right. Thanks!

Nat- Muchas gracias, hon. Thanks to you, as well, for the kind words on the romance front. It's a struggle. :) And your right… cheesy as it was, KotOR 1 at least had a resolved romance plot, something I really missed in the sequel. It feels so good to put a little more depth to the whole thing. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Kristin- You're welcome. :) I'm gonna try and sort out the Darth Traya thing in some upcoming chapters, so thanks a bunch for your input on it. So many theories… wish it had been a little clearer in the game. Aw, hell… maybe I'll just make something up. Hehehehe. Thanks.

Foxfire- :wince: sorry for skipping the beta on this chapter, hon. Know you're out of town and just couldn't wait. I know this chapter is at a detriment for my lack of patience, but I promise I'll be good later. g> Thanks for all of your great input. God knows, I need it.

Snackfiend- I know what you mean with the inner Sith Lord. I love Atris as a villain because she's initially so non-villain-y. Very sinister and deceptive. Please let me know if you think my portrayal of her ever goes awry. You're now my official spotter on the evil-dude front. Thanks.

Maxie- Thanks for the kind words, hon. Actually having a great deal of fun exploring the game on the PC. Especially playing around with all the cheats out there on the net. Woo hoo! My brother can keep the damned x-box for all I care now. Until another game comes out that strikes my fancy. Like KotOR 3? Ahh… to dream…

Btw, I forgot in my a/n's for chapter nine to credit Darkgirl with the "wallowing in her own insanity" line regarding Atris. She used this enchanting turn of phrase in a review, and I said I was going to use it! So thanks, Darkgirl. :)

Adios, for now. Thanks, everybody!