11.

(Interlude – Mission)

"Watch the ship, Mission. It's important." The young Twi'lek rolls her eyes, her voice a mocking, nasal falsetto. She's reclined on the Ebon Hawk's bridge, sprawled in the pilot's seat with her feet resting beside the controls. It's been four days since most the crew agreed to take some sort of shady-ass job that has them exploring Tatooine's vast Dune Sea. Before they left, they managed to convince Mission to stay behind in Anchorhead with the Hawk. Which means that everyone else is out having fun while she's bored out of her mind in the galaxy's hottest and most miserable port.

Of course she asked, and then begged, to come along with V-Man and Bastila. But the adults decided to act like her parents or something and were suddenly concerned for her wellbeing. Whatever. At least Vann had the decency to make it sound like staying with the ship was important. He told the Twi'lek that she had to stay on the Hawk, since Czerka was probably going to try and snoop around to find some dirt to extort them with. "I can't believe V-Mann had the nerve to try and compliment me! Saying stuff like, 'Oh Mission, you're fast, and you're smart, and they're going to underestimate you.'" She scoffs again. "At least I knew that a was a load and a half. I saw right through that bunch of bantha shit!"

Technically it took her over a standard hour to realize that staying on the ship was not a reward, and by then the others had vanished into the desert. But as soon as they get back, she is going to tell them the hells off for sticking her with this lousy, boring-ass job. Oh, you better believe she is going to tell them exactly what she thinks about being left here to rot…

From his position awkwardly squeezed into the copilot's seat, Zaalbar lets out a low-pitched trill that's equal parts sympathetic and weary. "I still believe that Vann is just trying to keep you safe."

"Of course he is! Because he thinks I'm just some dumb kid," Mission turns to look at her friend, nose wrinkling in distaste. "Like I can't handle myself! He saw me on Taris, he knows I'm not afraid to pump someone full of blaster holes." The mention of her destroyed home world sends a jolt of sadness through her, and she quickly she shakes her head to dismiss the thought.

"I know you can handle yourself, Mission." Zaalbar gives the teen a pointed look, his expression a good approximation of a frown. "And I'm sure Vann does too. But Tatooine is a dangerous place…"

"So was Taris! You telling me that rakghouls ain't dangerous?" Scoffing, the Twi'lek turns to stare out of the transparisteel window, the dull browns of Anchorhead spread out before her. "And besides, me and you together can handle anything."

Sighing, Zaalbar shakes his head. "There are things out there that scare even me." Growling thoughtfully, he adds, "Vann respects you, and he does treat you with honor. But there's also honor in trying to protect those younger than yourself…"

"Just 'cause you pledged a life debt to the guy doesn't mean that you have to agree with everything he says." Sighing in irritation, Mission lets her arms dangle lifelessly off the seat. "I mean, you can at least pretend that you think V-Man is a giant asshole for leaving me here. You were my friend first…"

"I'm still your friend…"

"I know, Big Z." Swinging her legs down from the Hawk's console, Mission lets out an exaggerated sigh. "It's just so boring watching this stupid ship!"

By now realizing that there's nothing he can say to alleviate his friend's ennui, Zaalbar offers a noncommittal trill. When this only earns him an irate glare, he suggests, "Maybe Juhani has found something to do?"

The mention of the Cathar perks Mission up, and she stretches lazily before leaping out of the pilot's seat. "Geeze, I sure hope she's thought of something fun. Lately, all she does is sit there and meditate. Boring!"

"Well, she did let you watch while she practiced with her lightsaber." Zaalbar takes the opportunity to unfold himself from the copilot's chair. "You seemed to enjoy that."

"Yeah, that was pretty cool," Mission draws. "At least she let me watch. Bastila's got a stick up her ass about that sort of thing. Always saying stuff like 'Lightsabers are not toys' and 'Of course I never use the Force for frivolous reasons.'" She's once again using her nasal falsetto, the tone that she's assigned to any adult who tries to tell her what to do.

Zaalbar offers a noncommittal shrug. "I don't know anything about the ways of the Force." His voice is hopeful as he adds, "But perhaps Juhani might be able to explain in better?"

Jabbing her elbow into the Wookiee's side, Mission grins. "That anxious for someone else to listen to me complain, huh?" She rolls her eyes. "Come on, Big Z. Let's go see if we can find some fun."

Running on ahead, the Twi'lek is almost to the doorway of the bridge when the ship's comm panel starts flashing and beeping. Zaalbar lets out a nervous trill, gesturing to the buttons. "I believe we have an incoming message," he warns.

"Maybe? I don't know!" Rushing over to the panel, Mission stares at the blinking lights for several moments all the while cursing in a mixture of Ryl and Basic. "Dammit, Carth! Why didn't you explain how to use this kriffing thing?!"

"I think he did," Zaalbar mutters, one large hand moving to rub the back of his head.

Glaring at her friend from the corner of her eye, Mission scowls. "Well, he should have done a better job!" Studying the panel for another moment, she finally pressed a series of buttons that seem right, at least in theory. There's a faint hiss of static, the crackle filling the small bridge for an instant before a faintly accent voice breaks through.

"Mission, are you there?" Juhani's voice is hushed and slightly muffled by what sounds like wind.

Frowning, the Twi'lek nods for a moment before remembering that this isn't a video comm. "Yeah, me and Big Z are here. Something wrong?"

There's a brief pause, and then, "There are two men headed towards the ship, both wearing Czerka uniforms." An irate hiss slips into Juhani's voice. "I do not have a good feeling about them."

"Wait, where are you?" Mission leans her hands against the comm panel, pressing her face closer to where she thinks the microphone is located. "Are you off the ship?!"

"Yes." There's an exasperated note to Juhani's words, possible because she's also spent the last four days listening to the Twi'lek rant about being stuck on the Hawk. "I needed to acquire some supplies. A brief errand, at most."

"And you couldn't take me with you?" Despite knowing how petulant she sounds, Mission can't help but whine.

Tone terse Juhani growls, "Now is not the time, child!"

"Child? I ain't no kid, Juhani!" Small palms slamming against the panel, Mission grits her teeth. "I'll have you know…"

"Mission, please!" Zaalbar's roar fills the bridge, echoing off the durasteel walls. "This seems like it's important."

"Focus!" Voice rising above a whisper, Juhani sounds like she's becoming genuinely angry. "These men, I believe they are what Vann was worried about. See to it that you send them away. Do not let them access our records or anything else on the ship."

Scoffing at the simple orders, Mission waves her hand dismissively. "Aright, alright! I got it. No problem at all."

"Good." For a moment, the comm crackles with more static, suggesting that the transmission has ended. However, it quickly clicks back to life as Juhani adds, "Be careful. These Czerka employees… they have no morals or honor. They are dangerous."

"Don't worry, Big Z's got my back." Glancing back at her friend, Mission is glad to see the Wookiee nod in agreement. "We can handle this."

"Fine, then. Good luck to you," Juhani is tentative as she mutters a quick, "And may the Force be with you."

Sighing heavily at the traditional Jedi farewell, Mission waits until the other end of the comm is nothing but static. The various lights on the panel blink once more, many of the greens now replaced with red. She assumes that this means the Cathar has terminated communication and quickly closes the line on the Hawk's end.

The panel has just returned to its previous silence when there's a loud rapping on the Ebon Hawk's entry door, followed by a scraping sound. The bridge is too far away to determine exactly what's happening, but it only takes a few moments for Mission to access the various cameras that are scattered throughout the ship. Switching between views, she's able to get a decent angle on the pair of men who currently appear to be trying to slice the door open. "Bantha shitbags!" she sneers. "Can't even wait a minute for someone to answer?"

"I don't think they want an answer," Zaalbar growls, sounding equally frustrated.

"Probably not," Mission reaches down to tap the blaster at her hip. "But I'm gonna give 'em one anyway!" Dashing towards the bridge's exit, she glances over her shoulder to shout, "Keep an eye on those cameras, okay? If I look like I'm in trouble, you know what to do!"

Zaalbar shifts uncomfortably gaze torn between the view screens and his friend. "The entrance is on the other side of the ship…"

"Yeah, and you run fast!" Pausing at the doorway between the bridge and the corridor, Mission grins. "I can take care of myself for a minute, you know."

"Be careful Mission." Still frowning, Zaalbar growls worriedly.

Patting the stealth field generation around her waist, the Twi'lek giggles. "Hey! Nobody's gonna catch me if I don't want them too." Before she can be given any more unsolicited advice, she turns and bolts down the corridor, footsteps rattling off the durasteel floor.

It's a few quick twists and turns down the narrow passages of the Ebon Hawk before Mission is standing a meter or so away from the ship's entrance. Drawing her blaster pistol, she carefully aims it at the door as she slams her palm against the latching mechanism. There's a pneumonic whoosh of air as the seal releases, the door swinging up and letting in a blast of hot desert air. The heat is oppressive, though less incapacitating than the blinding light of the twin suns. It's only by virtue of her Twi'lek biology, evolved to tolerate the extremes of Ryloth, that Mission is able to remain focused on the pair of Human men who are standing at the ship's entrance, poised to slice the door open.

"Excuse me!" the teen snaps, blaster now pointed at the men. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

The first man, a light-skinned individual with the rougher accent of an Outer Rim native, doesn't bother to look ashamed. "We knocked, but nobody answered."

"Well, you didn't give me time!" Mission's eyes narrow. "But I'm here now. And I'm only gonna ask this once. What do you want?"

Straightening his uniform, the second man glares at the Twi'lek. His skin is much darker than his companion, and when he speaks his voice has the refined qualities of a Core denizen. "It has come to our attention that your ship, and its cargo, have not been inspected by Czerka authorities." He seems unfazed by the blaster pointed at his torso.

Lowering the blaster ever-so-slightly so that it's aimed at crotch level, Mission cants her head to the side. She has to stop herself from grinning because clearly, these two idiots have no idea who they're dealing with. "Well, your records are wrong. We were inspected when we paid our docking fee." She even manages to make her voice sound hurt, as though the lack of trust legitimately wounds her pride.

The second Czerka employee checks the datapad in his hands, tapping in a few things before shaking his head. "No, I don't see any record of an inspection."

"Oh well, I have the information right here." Casting one last glance towards the two Czerka creeps, Mission takes a step to her left and grabs the malfunctioning datapad that she stashed near the ship's entrance just for this purpose. Vann did say that she's good at giving people the runaround about stuff like this, though she thought he was just appealing to her ego. Powering up the pad, she taps in a few codes that ought to make its glitchy software that much worse. "I mean, the guy we paid signed-off and everything. Just look here!"

Practically snatching the pad from the Twi'lek's hand, the first Czerka goon glances it over, only to scowl after a few moments. "This doesn't say anything! I can't even read this damn thing."

"Well, it's not my fault if you're not literate in Basic." Mission scoffs, blaster still at the ready. "Do I gotta point to where the info is?" She walks up to the man, rolling her eyes as she leans in close enough to look at the datapad's screen. Letting her face fall in an expression of shock, she gasps theatrically, "Oh hells, what did you do to my pad?"

There's a note of panic in the Human's voice as he quickly assures the teen, "I didn't do anything! It was like this when you handed it to me."

By now having a little too much fun at these goons' expense, Mission rapidly shakes her head. "Uh-uh! No way! It was working just fine until a moment ago." Placing her free hand on her hip, she pouts angrily at the men. "First you try to break into my ship, and then you accuse me of not having my cargo inspected when I totally did, and now you're calling me a liar? I think I'm gonna march right down to the Czerka office and…"

"Oh give it a rest, kid!" The second creep is glaring at the teen as he shoulders his associate out of the way. "I know this isn't your ship. So why don't you go get an adult who we can talk to?"

"I ain't some random kid, you know!" Mission has to bite back her anger at the implication. "I'm a member of this crew, and if you've got something to say you can say it to…"

A strong hand closes on the Twi'lek's bicep, yanking her towards the ship's entrance. The dark-skinned Czerka employee has her arm firmly in his grasp, fingers tight enough to bruise. "That's enough out of you," he snarls. "Now either you can comm whoever's actually in charge, or I can just hold you right here while my partner examines your cargo for himself."

"Hey!" When her arm refuses to wrench free from the man's grasp, Mission points her blaster at his head. Her tone is icy as she states, "I ain't afraid to shoot you right between the eyes, you slimy son-of-a…"

The first Czerka creep moves faster than expected, both hands grabbing the Twi'lek's wrist and twisting hard until she yelps in pain, finger tapping the blaster's hair trigger twice before it slips from her grip. Unfortunately, the bolts fly wide of their mark and soar harmlessly into the air as the pistol clatters to the floor, leaving her defenseless. With a grim smirk of satisfaction, the lighter skinned human continues to pin the teen's wrist in place. "Calm down," he scolds. "If you hold still and let us do our jobs, we won't have to hurt you."

Drawing in a deep breath, Mission arches her neck as she hocks up a wad of saliva and spits it directly in the face of the first Czerka employee. "Krif you!" she shouts, grinning triumphantly when the spittle lands directly on his cheek in a wet, glistening glob. Without thinking twice, the darker skinned man backhands the teen with all his might. The hit is hard enough to jerk her head to the side, the rest of her lean form shuddering slightly from the force of the impact. She yelps at the pain, but it doesn't break her tough exterior. Rather, she turns her head to glare at the Human, a thin coating of blood painting her teeth. "Oh," she says, laughing humorlessly. "You just made a huge mistake. Big Z, why don't you come out here and…"

Mission expects the hairy form of a Wookiee to come barreling through the Hawk's entrance, roar shaking the durasteel walls and causing these slime-balls to piss themselves in terror. So, she's appropriately shocked when she's rescued by the hum of a lightsaber, its brilliant crimson blade cutting a swath of pain as it arcs gracefully through the air. There's a sharp sizzle, followed by the rank odor of burnt flesh, and one of the Czerka creeps restraining the teen lets out a howl of pain as his arm drops to the ground beside his feet. The saber hums again as it plunges through his chest, and he falls silent.

Mouth agape in horror, the other Human's eyes are almost comically wide as he watches his partner slump across the entrance ramp. His head swivels from side to side, feet shuffling for a moment as he tries to decide which direction to flee in. He never gets the chance to make that decision as the deadly red blade of the lightsaber hisses once more before slicing across his abdomen, burning a deep gouge into his gut. A keening moan escapes him as he clutches the wound, sinking to his knees in the process. The next moment the 'saber blade stabs directly through his heart, and he collapses beside his partner.

Expression cold, Juhani is still crouched in an offensive position as she powers down her lightsaber. Quickly clipping the hilt to her belt, she adjusts her cloak to cover it as she straightens to her impressive full height. Her golden eyes study Mission for a moment, sweeping the teen's figure in a clinical manner. "Are you alright?" she asks softly.

"What the hells was that?" Her arms still tingling from where that Czerka-slime grabbed her, the Twi'lek gapes at her companion for a moment, mouth hanging open. Her eyes dart down to the set of bodies near her feet, and she quickly takes a few steps back to distance herself from the corpses. "Geeze! A little warning next time?"

Bowing slightly, Juhani arches a brow. "I had to attack while the element of surprise was in my favor." She coughs out a harsh laugh. "But next time I save your life, I will be sure to warn you first."

"Oh please," Mission reaches down to retrieve her blaster, flipping on the safety as she tucks it back into its holster. "Those creeps weren't going to kill me. They just wanted to rough me up a little. Honestly, I'm surprised that Big Z even let that happen."

"Hmm." Juhani seems distinctly unimpressed, and she turns that expression on Zaalbar as he comes sprinting down the corridor, bellowing at the top of his lungs.

The Ebon Hawk's entrance shakes for a moment, rattled by both the Wookiee's heavy footfalls and sheer volume of his shouts. It falls still a moment later as he pulls up short, a confused expression passing over his hairy features as he studies his companions, and then the two corpses lying across the ship's ramp. "What happened here?"

"You took too damned long to get out here is what happened!" Mission retorts, turning to glare at her friend. "Juhani took care of those goons, though."

"I am so sorry, Mission!" Zaalbar's trills are pleading. "I received a transmission from Vann just as those men arrived, and I was finishing my conversation with him when they grabbed you." He hangs his head. "It is because of me that you were injured."

Using the back of her hand to wipe away a drop of blood, Mission shrugs. "Hey, this ain't the worst I've ever felt." She grins, a bit of blood still smeared across her teeth, and gives the larger figure a friendly slap on the arm. "Chin-up, Big Z, I'm fine. And anyway, you should have seen Juhani. It was awesome, she had her lightsaber out and everything!"

A look of concern crosses Zaalbar's face. "Her lightsaber?" His eyes dart to the corpses once more, and then peer out at the otherwise deserted port.

"Big Z's worried about you chopping these guys up," Mission explains to the Cathar. "Oh, and apparently he took so long rescuing me because he was busy chatting with V-Man."

"The death of this scum will not be a problem," Juhani reassures the others. "And, more importantly, you heard from Vann? Is everything alright?"

Tossing his head back thoughtfully, Zaalbar shrugs his massive shoulders. "I suppose so. He said they're heading back to us, and should be here by nightfall. He wants us to make sure the ship is fueled and supplied by the time they get here."

Sighing at having to play translator, Mission mutters, "Apparently, we're supposed to get the ship loaded and fueled before he's back here tonight."

"Was there a… problem?" Brows furrowing in worry, Juhani watches the Wookiee's body language.

"That," Zaalbar admits, "He did not say."

Shrugging, Mission paraphrases, "Big Z's not sure. But, knowing V-Man and Carth, there was probably a lot of shooting." Poking one of the corpses with the toe of her boot, she sighs. "Probably a lot of death, too."

Zaalbar also looks at the bodies, dark gaze shifting to glare at Juhani. "Did you have to kill them? This is only going to cause more problems."

Snorting at even having to translate this, Mission offers the Cathar an apologetic half-smile. "Big Z wants to know why you sliced these guys up. I mean, I get it, but he thinks this is going to be big trouble later."

"I was doing my job," Juhani purrs. "Mission, you were ordered to guard the ship and to talk any interested parties out of searching it for information. I, however, had different orders."

"And those would be?" Mission quirks a brow.

Smirking with pride, Juhani explains, "I was told to cut down anyone who managed to get past you. A job I did with pleasure."

"I could tell," Mission is once again staring at the bodies, trying not to think too hard about the vacant way their eyes stare up at the cloudless sky. "But enjoyed it or not, I think Zaalbar's right. We gotta do something about these guys before someone catches on." She frowns as she adds, "Or before Bastila gets back. 'Cause she's going to be pissed if she sees this."

Nodding, Juhani moves towards the two corpses. "If Zaalbar is willing to help, we can move them somewhere else. Perhaps onto the ship for now. There we can disguise them as cargo and hide them away from the dock. An alleyway perhaps, or out in the Dune Sea."

"Yes, I will assist you," Zaalbar trills, nodding his head to ensure that Juhani understands his agreement.

"Great!" Mission's tone is sarcastic as she quips, "Let's go! Before these slime-balls start to really stink."

Having a Wookiee around always has its benefits, and it only takes a few moments before both bodies are carried into the ship and dumped unceremoniously onto the floor of the workshop. This, of course, includes the severed arm, which Mission is tasked with transporting. It's as gross as it sounds. By the time she drops the limb back atop its body with a grimace of revulsion, Juhani is already dragging over an empty plastisteel footlocker that previously held a collection of spare parts for future repairs. It's a fairly large container, and can definitely fit a single body if said corpse is creatively manhandled.

Away from the door and no longer being blasted by oppressive heat, Mission feels like she can think more clearly. And realization quickly dawns on her as she stares at the dead men. "As much as I hate to say this, and as much as I really don't want to do it, we should strip these guys."

Juhani pauses, dropping the footlocker with a loud clang. "What do you mean? How will them being naked help?"

"Oh ew, I don't want them naked." Mission wrinkles her nose at the thought. "I just mean we should take their uniforms off. And anything else that identifies them as Czerka. That way, if anybody finds 'em before we're off-planet, it'll be that much harder to figure out what happened."

"Hmm," Nodding thoughtfully, the Cathar examines the bodies. "That would probably be best. A wise idea."

"Yeah," Mission shrugs in a show of faux modesty. "I'm a lot smarter than people give me credit for."

Looking down at his large, clawed hands, Zaalbar sighs. "I don't know how much help I'll be with that. My people don't have much experience with clothing."

"Yeah, yeah," Mission crouches down next to the darker-skinned goon and begins to unfasten the shirt of his uniform, roughly tugging the hem from his pants. "I'll let you slide this time big guy. But you gotta carry these slimes out of here!"

Taking a step back to watch the proceedings, Zaalbar nods. "That is fair."

Stripping the other body with quick efficiency, Juhani doesn't seem to be paying attention to her companions' banter. Instead, she's busy separating the Czerka employee's meager possessions, placing his blaster and credit chips to one side and the bits of his uniform to another. She gives his datapad a cursory glance, only checking the main screen for any information of note.

In contrast to the Cathar, Mission is happily rooting through every pocket she can find, taking the time to examine each item she uncovers like it's a new treasure. The datapad is particularly interesting, at least until most of the information proves to be locked behind passwords and security clearances. Pursing her lips, the teen considers putting it aside until the bodies are moved. But the hidden information is practically an affront to the nosey side of her personality. She wants to know what else the pad contains, and she wants to know now.

Slipping a few spikes from her pocket, Mission immediately jams one into the datapad's port, flooding the device with a barrage of garbage data and making it easier to slice into the operating system. It still takes a few tries, and more than a few spikes, before she has complete access to the system. However, the wealth of information is immediately worth it. Tapping the screen, she quickly pushes aside the files that display the names and titles of the dead men, a nagging sense of guilt gnawing at her gut. They were slime-balls and deserved to die, but… she doesn't need to know their names. Probably better for plausible deniability anyway.

"Mission!" Juhani's sharp tone cuts through the Twi'lek's concentration. "Are you almost done? Stop playing with that datapad and…"

"Oh please, it's not like this guy is going anyway!" From her placed seated on the floor, Mission gives the half-clothed body shove with her boot. "Besides, the information in this pad could be important. I might be able to, you know, find the route these two were taking."

"Hmm," snorting in audible disbelief, Juhani shakes her head. "Fine. Try to find something we can use. But Zaalbar and I must move these bodies before someone else from Czerka comes looking for them."

"Uh-huh. Right." Only half paying attention, Mission continues to flick through information on the pad. Most of it is pretty pointless, though she'll probably have T3-M4 analyze it later just to be sure. However, one message catches her eye. The eight-spoked wheel of the Republic crest stands out among the more mundane Czerka Corporation logo, foreboding against the title 'WANTED – For Questioning.' Hand shaking, the teen nervously opens the message, her heart thudding in her chest and echoing between her ears. The included text is fairly mundane, thanking the reader for their loyalty to the Republic and asking them to report any sightings of the three individuals pictured below. It goes on to warn that the individuals are wanted alive for questioning in regards to an incident on Taris and that they should be considered armed and dangerous.

Breath catching in her throat, Mission scrolls past the text to check the image files included in the message, praying to the Force that this isn't what she thinks it is. Unfortunately, she's just too damn smart, and the pictures are exactly what she was afraid of. "Uh-oh," she mutters. "This isn't good."

"Mission, what's wrong?" Zaalbar's growl is low and worried, and he quickly rushes to his friend's side.

"I think," the Twi'lek groans, still scrolling through the images, "That Vann, Carth, and Canderous are a bunch of idiots!" She angrily jabs at the datapad, gritting her teeth. "What type of kriffing morons forget to turn off all the security cameras when they're storming a Republic military base, huh?"

"A… Republic base?" Juhani looks up from where she's just finished stripping the second corpse, tossing a pair of pants into the clothing pile she's already accumulated.

Nodding in exasperation, Mission doesn't look up from the pad. "Yeah, long story. I'll fill you in later. Right now the important thing is that our boys got caught on camera, and they're in some serious trouble."

Most of the pictures are grainy black-and-white stills taken from the Republic base security feed. They've been enhanced as much as possible, but they're still not completely clear. Which would be a relief, except for the fact that the Republic is smart enough to realize that a couple of blurry photos isn't enough to go by. Someone, somewhere, has apparently taken the time to match the faces from the videos to the Republic database. The only piece of good news is that, as a Mandalorian, Canderous doesn't have an official Republic picture. There's a rough description of him, including his facial scars and the suspicion that he may have been involved in another 'incident' about a year back, but nothing definitive. Good.

Carth, however, wasn't so lucky. Included in the message is an older portrait of the pilot that must have been taken as part of his service in the Republic Navy. He's several years younger, and his eyes lack the haunted look that seems to constantly shadow them now. It's the same weariness Mission's begun to see on her own face every time she looks in a mirror. There's something so earnest and determined about the image that the teen chokes out a giggle despite her tension. It's a horrible picture, and she's going to tease Carth endlessly once they're all safe.

There is one final image attached, which Mission almost ignores out of sheer frustration at the situation. However, she forces herself to look at it, cursing irritably the entire time. It's older than anything else included and seems to be from someone's personal collection. The man in the image is hard to place at first, and the Twi'lek actually squints for a moment before realization hits her like a swoop bike going full speed. It's Vann. A much younger version of him, not much older than Mission is now. He's smiling, which seems absolutely alien, his high cheekbones and sharp chin rounded with youth and lacking his current dark stubble. His right arm is draped around someone who's been cropped from the picture, only adding to the surreal effect. Oddest of all are the tan tunic and brown robe clothing Vann's lithe frame, barely hiding the glint of a metal hilt clipped at his waist. There's no name attached to the photo, just the words 'unknown rogue Jedi.'

"Juhani, get over here. Now!" Clutching the pad in her quivering hand, Mission's eyes are wide as she stares at the Cathar.

Tossing aside the pile of Czerka uniforms that she was preparing to move, Juhani rushes over to the teen. "What's wrong?" she demands.

"You… you were a Jedi, right?"

Nodding, Juhani drops into an easy crouch. She scowls as she replies, "For a time, yes. But only an Initiate. They did not see me as worthy of further training."

Ignoring the bitter edge to the woman's voice, Mission thrusts the datapad at her. "Yeah, that's not what I was asking about. I just… Would you be able to tell if someone in a picture is a Jedi? Like, if they're wearing Jedi robes and stuff?"

The apprehension in the teen's voice catches Juhani off-guard, and her expression softens. Taking the pad almost delicately, she nods. "Yes, I should be able to do that. But, why do you ask?"

Shaking her head, Mission's lips press into a thin line. "Don't ask. Just… just look."

"Alright. I…" Eyes shifting to study the image on the datapad screen, Juhani gasps softly as she recognizes what she's seeing. "This is Vann, yes?"

"That's what I was thinking." Mission swallows hard.

Peering closer at the image, Juhani's finger traces the strange-yet-familiar face for a moment before she quickly nods. "He is most certainly wearing the robes of a Jedi. A Padawan, from the looks of it." Her voice is slightly awed, though her brow is pinched with worry. "Though, more than that I cannot say."

"That's all I really needed to know." Mission glances over at Zaalbar. The Wookiee is watching carefully, peering at the photo from over Juhani's head. "What do you think this means?"

Rising from her crouched position, Juhani hands the datapad back. "I do not know. Though I will admit that Vann, well, he moves like a Jedi when he fights. And his command of the Force… it is more than a mere novice should be able to accomplish."

Staring down at the picture in disbelief, Mission frowns. "So, you think that before all of this, before V-Man went and got his brains scrambled, he was a Jedi?"

"It would not surprise me." She waves a hand through the air as though to brush away the thought. "But to presume anything from a single picture would be unwise. No, we must not make assumptions about things we know nothing about."

"Oh come on!" Leaping to her feet, Mission jabs a finger towards the image. "We have a picture right here! And a guy with no memory! At the very least we should tell him about this. Who knows, maybe it'll knock something loose in that head of his."

Eyes narrowing, Juhani studies the teen for a moment before hissing, "We must be very careful. Revealing a truth that he is not ready to remember could do more harm than good." She pauses, sighing softly. "We must be cautious about how we share this information."

"Aw, what's the point of finding out something so fun if I've gotta sit on it?" Closing out of the image, Mission quickly adds it to the file that she plans on transferring to T3-M4 for further analysis. "At the very least, we should tell those idiots that they're wanted men."

"Yes," Juhani murmurs. "That information we should share. As for the rest of it…"

Humming thoughtfully, Mission asks, "Hey, why don't we just wait and see how Vann is feeling when he comes back from this job? If he's in a good mood, we tell him everything. If not, well… I can be patient. Really!"

Arching her eyebrow doubtfully, Juhani finally offers a nod of agreement. "We shall wait and see what the future brings." She glances over at Zaalbar, who's shuffling uncomfortably at the tense conversation. "For now, we keep this information between us, yes?"

"Of course," Zaalbar growls, low and deep. "My life debt to Vann has nothing to do with his past. I have no concerns over who he was before we met."

"Big Z agrees," Mission explains. "And I guess I do too."

"You guess?"

"Alright, alright!" Sighing dramatically, Mission places one hand over her heart. "I swear that I'll keep this our secret for now. I ain't gonna blab, okay? Geeze!"

"Good. I am glad we could come to an understanding." Walking over to the pair of corpses, Juhani nods in approval as she picks one up. "Now, I need you to do your job and watch the ship while Zaalbar and I hide these bodies."

Narrowing her eyes, Mission pouts. "Really? I still have to stay with the ship?"

"Yes!" Dropping the corpse into the footlocker with a harsh clatter, Juhani glares at the teen. "Stay here, and make sure that no more Czerka employees come in looking for their friends. Use the droid to keep the door locked, if you must."

Zaalbar frowns, trill laced with worried as he adds, "And please stay safe this time."

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard it all before." Mission waves a dismissive hand at her companions as she moves to exit the workshop, datapad still clutched in her hand. "Stay with the ship, Mission," she mimics, voice nasal. "Hells, at this rate I'm going to be stuck on this ship forever!"

And the intervening hours really do feel like forever. Once they manage to safely disguise the bodies as cargo, Juhani and Zaalbar depart the ship with a datapad that Mission managed to whip-up. It's loaded with false information about their supposed freight, some of it 'verified' with additional files gleaned from T3-M4's analysis of the Czerka documents. It won't hold up to close scrutiny, but it's apparently enough for them to pass through Anchorhead without any incriminating questions.

The suns are low in the sky by the time the pair returns to find Mission half asleep on the bridge, once again sprawled in the pilot's seat and looking rather content. She spent the entire time watching the damned controls, just like they asked her to, but there's been no word from Vann or the rest of the crew. Juhani is, of course, worried about this, but Mission doesn't share the Cathar's concern. She tells the woman as much before stalking off the bridge and leaving someone else to 'watch the ship' for once during this Force-damned trip.

That was over an hour ago. Currently lounging across three of the seats in the ship's main hold, Mission picks at some sort of weird dried meat stick that Zaalbar brought her back from Anchorhead. It's nothing more than a consolation prize for being stuck inside for so long, but she appreciates the gesture. Popping a bite-sized piece into her mouth, she chews thoughtfully. It's a bit spicy, though not altogether unpleasant.

The entrance to the ship beeps twice, alerting her that someone with the locking codes is coming onboard. Juhani and Zaalbar should have been alerted on the bridge, so there's no need to tell them in person. Plus, Mission wants to be the first to greet their returning crewmembers, what with being the one who did all the real work in their absence. Straightening slightly, she keeps her feet propped on the seat beside her. As the door swings open she can feel the hot, dry air of Tatooine blow in, raising the ship's temperature and carrying the odor of sweat and the odd assortment of smells that comprise Anchorhead. Craning her neck, she peers towards the door, managing to catch sight of the rest of the crew as they troop onto the ship. Shows how much Juhani knows. Mission didn't need the Force to tell her that everyone would be okay.

"Hey there," the teen draws, taking another bite of her dried meat stick. "How'd it go?"

Vann stalks into the hold, brow furrowed and a scowl painted across his lips. His normally fair cheeks are reddened with sunburn, and smattered with more than a few freckles. This somehow makes him seem younger, and the picture from the datapad suddenly doesn't seem as alien. His normal stubble has grown into a short, dark beard, grains of sand visible within the coarse hairs. Actually, sand is visible on all of his clothing, blowing into the air as he drops his pack of supplies onto the floor with a resounding thud. Turning to stare at the teen, his dark eyes narrow slightly as he straightens, making a futile attempt to brush some of the sand from his jacket. "Not well," he finally grits out.

"Hey, we got what we wanted and we came out ahead!" Canderous appears to be lugging something on his back. It looks like a disassembled droid, though it's hard to tell from this angle. "We sold those speeders for a decent price. And if someone would let us sell that pearl…"

Placing her pack on the floor with a more delicate hand, Bastila turns and glares at the Mandalorian. "I've told you at least a dozen times! It's worth more than mere credits to a Jedi."

"Pearl…?" Mission glances between the adults, lips pulling into a confused frown.

"Don't. Ask." Carth just looks weary, dark circles under his eyes and a healthy dose of rapidly reddening sunburn marring his cheeks and nose. "Just… don't. Please. I've had to listen to this same damn argument for the past four hours. I can't listen to it again."

"I can't help it if that pearl is worth more than half the crap on this ship!" Canderous disappears into the workshop, and something bangs loudly as he deposits it amongst the other assorted tools and parts stored there.

Gritting her teeth in exasperation, Bastila raises her voice over the metallic din. "Credits are not everything, Canderous!" she calls. "This pearl has a connection to the Force that cannot be given a value in credits."

Glancing between the Jedi and the workshop, Vann blinks once before announcing, "I'm going out."

"Wait!" Mission tumbles out of the seat, nearly tripping over her own legs in the process. "V-Man, you just got back!"

"Yeah," Carth agrees, "Just where do you think you're going?"

Voice strained Vann snarls, "I am going to the nearest cantina to drink until I forget how much I hate this kriffing planet. And its kriffing dragons. And the sand. I kriffing hate this sand!" His voice trails off as he heads back towards the ship's entrance, boots echoing loudly across the floor.

Jogging out of the workshop, Canderous grins as he sprints to catch up with the other man. "Sounds like a good plan. Count me in!"

"No!" Bastila frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. "After everything that happened, you are not going out and getting drunk!" She turns to look at the mercenary, but he's already disappearing back outside in a rush of hot evening air. "Vann. Vann! Are you even listening to me?" Letting out a frustrated sigh, she quickly rushes after her companions with a disapproving glare.

"Oh hells, you have got to be kidding…" Carth glances towards the ship's door, then back to Mission. "I should really go after them," he mutters apologetically. "At this rate, Bastila is just going to make things worse." Forcing a thin smile, he looks the teen in the eyes. "Can you do me a big favor?"

Arching a brow, Mission swallows her excitement. She's hoping that she'll get invited to the Cantina, or at least be sent to pick up some last-minute supplies in Anchorhead. Trying to keep the anticipation out of her voice, she adopts a bored tone as she quips, "What's up, old man?"

"I'm not that old!" Drawing a slow breath, Carth laughs weakly. "And it's easy, okay? I just need you to watch the ship for a little longer. Can you do that?"

Jaw dropping, Mission stares at the Human. "I've been watching this damn ship for four and a half kriffing days!"

"Then you should be a pro at it by now! It'll just be for a few hours. I hope…" Running towards the door, Carth calls out a final, "Thanks, Mission! We owe you one," before disappearing into the growing dusk.

Still staring in disbelief, Mission glances around the now-empty hold as she shouts, "Are you kriffing kidding me?!"

"Ugh," Vann peers up from where he's slumped over the table in the main hold, a cup of caf clutched in one hand and a splitting headache pounding behind his eyes. "Why did you let me drink so much?"

"I didn't let you do anything." Carth scoffs, even as a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. "You, as a mature and consenting adult, decided to drink that much. I just didn't stop you."

Pressing his forehead against the blissfully cool durasteel surface of the table, Vann lets out an eloquent, "Uggghhh." Still clutching his mug, he debates making the effort to take a drink. Of course, his stomach chooses that moment to roil uncomfortably, implying that anything consumed is probably going to come right back up.

"By the way," looking altogether too smug for someone running on limited sleep after spending four and a half days trekking through the desert, Carth reclines in his seat. "You are a maudlin drunk."

"Really? See, from where I was sitting, he seemed less maudlin and more… Touchy? Clingy? Subtly horny?" Canderous's voice is like a siren, blasting through the hold and reverberating off the walls. "Seriously Vann, when was the last time you got laid?"

Still face down on the table, the mercenary groans again. "Please stop talking," he begs, voice partially muffled by the metal surface.

"You deserve every moment of discomfort you are currently experiencing." Delicately picking at some sort of local vegetable dish that smells nauseatingly spicy, Bastila glares at her companion. "Perhaps this will be a learning experience, hmm?"

Lifting his head up just enough to peer at the Jedi, Vann manages a weak smirk. "I can tell you from experience that, by midday, I will have learned absolutely nothing."

Canderous chuckles, "Attaboy!" His humor fades slightly at the venomous look the Jedi shoots him, though it doesn't die completely. "Oh, come on Bastila! Take pity on the kid and heal him already."

Eyebrows raising, and then immediately lowering when that simple movement makes his headache worse, Vann murmurs, "Wait, you can heal this?"

"Of course!" Huffing indignantly, Bastila continues to pick at her food. "Though the powers of a Jedi should not be used for frivolous things like curing a hangover."

"You just want to watch him suffer longer, don't you?" Carth slowly reaches over and snatches the untouched mug of caf from the mercenary's hand, encountering no resistance. He takes a long gulp.

Smiling demurely, Bastila shrugs with faux innocence. "Perhaps…" Upon seeing the pleading look the other Force user gives her, she sighs. "Though, he would be more than capable of purging his own system if he wasn't in such a sorry state."

"Maybe he just needs a hug from Carth?" Canderous's shit-eating grin is back, and he arches a suggestive brow at the pilot. "I mean, you were the one he was clinging to the most last night. And you didn't seem to mind…"

Blinking rapidly, Vann searches his recent memories for anything past his first few drinks of the evening. But everything between that point and waking up this morning wishing for death is an alcohol-soaked blur. "Back up," he orders, attempting to push himself into a more upright position. "I did what now?"

"And that would be my cue to go start the ship." Taking another sip of caf, Carth offers the mercenary an almost-sympathetic smile. "Try not to throw-up during takeoff."

Brain still struggling to regain its higher functions, Vann stares after the pilot's retreating form for several moments before he actually processes the other man's words. "Wait, takeoff? Where are we going?"

Sighing heavily, Bastila places her half-finished food on the table, centimeters from her companion's overly-sensitive nose. "While you were otherwise occupied last night, one of your contacts got in touch with us about a job on Kashyyyk." She smiles softly. "I took the liberty of replying back and accepting the work."

"Oh." Nodding in false comprehension, Vann slouches in his seat, flinging his forearm over his eyes. "Great. Sounds perfect. Let me know when we get there."

"Unfortunately," Canderous booms, voice altogether too loud for the enclosed space, "Bastila didn't check who we're working for before accepting the damned job. And now that we're apparently wanted, things might get a little interesting."

Arm dropping away from his face, Vann's head whips around to look at the Mandalorian. "Wait. We're wanted? When did that happen?"

"It's a bit of a long story," Bastila admits. "Mission and Juhani were lucky enough to stumble upon a message from the Republic. I can tell you the rest on the way to Kashyyyk." She arches a judgmental brow. "Perhaps when you're a bit more… cognizant."

"The details aren't important." Canderous snorts, casting a dark look at the Jedi. "The real crux of the problem is that the genius over here accepted a job working for Czerka Corporation. Who, in case anyone else forgot, is in the pocket of the Republic."

"Great." Slinging his arm back over his eyes, Vann leans his head back. There's still pain throbbing at both temples, but his mind seems to have cleared a little. "So, what's the plan? If there even is one."

Sighing gently, Bastila finally replies, "Well, Canderous and Carth will most likely have to stay on the ship, at least until we can determine how close this particular branch of Czerka is to the Republic. You, unfortunately, still need to be in the thick of things."

"Lucky for us we have the walking carpet to help make it look like you belong." Canderous sounds amused by the prospect.

Nodding as much as his headache will allow, Vann swallows down a fresh bout of nausea as the ship rumbles beneath his feet. He wouldn't be surprised if Carth makes takeoff as rough as possible, just to spite him. "Sounds like a decent plan." Drawing a slow breath through his nose, he adds, "I don't suppose you can tell me what the job is?"

There's a moment of silence, and the mercenary has the feeling that his companions are trying to decide the best way to explain whatever they've agreed to. Bastila's the first to speak.

"Something about stopping some sort of saboteur who's been interfering with Czerka's attempts to perform an ecological survey of the planet." The Jedi sounds unsure as she speaks.

"It sounds fake as all hells," Canderous summarizes. "But it's a job, and an excuse to go and find the next part of your map."

"Fantastic," Vann draws, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Can't wait. I'm sure everything will go perfectly."

Author's Notes:

Thank you readers! Comments and (constructive) criticism are always welcome. I like to know what I'm doing well, and what needs more work.

A few notes:

1. I don't know if Jedi Padawans usually take pictures of each other. But I assume that teens and young adults have an inclination for occasionally snapping photos with their friends if the technology is available. For the record, Vann is in his late teens/early 20's in the photograph described.

2. Maudlin is a word that I doubt exists in the Star Wars universe. It's derived from the French word Magdalena, referring to the Christian figure of Mary Magdalen. None of these things exist in Star Wars. But since "maudlin drunk" is the best descriptor for the situation, let's pretend that it's a term derived from Mando'a, referencing the legend of a female soldier crying over her fallen comrade.

3. I have no idea if Jedi can cure hangovers. However, the 'Heal' Force power can cure poison. Alcohol is technically a poison, so it stands to reason that they can, at least mechanically speaking.

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