A/N: Hello again! It's been a long hiatus. I encountered the most dreaded thing on this planet: WRITER'S BLOCK! Duh duh duh! Nothing I was writing was right to me so I took a little time off. In the last week, though, a creative spurt struck me and now I intend to regularly update this, riding a fresh tidal wave of creativity!

So thank you all for your patience and I hope you enjoy the progression of this story. Don't forget to leave your reviews because I take all of them to heart. Many of you have given me some good constructive criticism that I've been applying.

Also, don't forget to PM me if you ever want to have a talk! I love conversing with other writers! Send me your stuff! I'd love to read it!

Cheers!

-LCB

Nic plopped down on the swoop driver's chair sandwiched between the bike's turbothrusters and took a long, hard look at the array of controls facing back at him. After his brief verbal skirmish with the Black Vulkar leader, he was more determined than ever to wipe that smug grin off his oily face and get Bastila back to the Republic.

Now, if only that task didn't involve hurtling through the air at 600 kilometers an hour in a glorified sardine can.

Nic felt Mission's hand fall gently on his shoulder.

"Hey, you OK in there?" Mission asked, the usual juvenile inflection in her voice replaced by genuine concern.

"Yeah, I'll be good," Nic said. He couldn't tell who he was trying to fool: Mission or himself. The reality was he was terrified.

"I just have to remember what control does what. Let's see here..."

Every control checked out in his mind from the simulation he stayed up late studying, with a few major differences.

By major, Nic meant cataclysmic differences.

"Um...where are the brakes?" Nic asked.

"No brakes," Mission stated matter-of-factly. "Too much weight."

"So then...how do I stop?" Nic practically blurted.

"The finish line's energy field will automatically disable your repulsorlifts," Mission explained, arching a thin eyebrow. "I thought you saw the simulation."

"Those swoops had brakes."

"Not in this circuit."

"Then how am I supposed to stop before I hit obstacles?" Nic asked, his voice beginning to rise in pitch.

"You don't stop, Nic, you swerve. Swerve quickly." Mission explained.

Nic felt around him. "Where's the seatbelt?"

"Maybe I should explain about weight again."

"You have got to be kriffing me."

"There's a reason racing isn't for everyone, Nic," Mission placated, trying to assuage her friend's fears with humor. It wasn't working.

"So now combine the...package...I'm carrying with no brakes and no seatbelt and you've got yourself a bonafide death trap!" Nic blurted. "Anything else I should..."

Nic paused to wriggle in his seat a bit.

"More leg room?" He asked.

"My slender, womanly legs heard your belly-aching." Mission shot him a wink.

Nic cracked a smile. "You're a downright peach, Mission. When I get back from this alive and with the winnings, I'll buy you a soda."

Mission crossed her arms. "Just a soda?"

"You're still a minor," Nic said.

"Well, this minor's gonna be bailing your ass out on that track, so it'd better be a kriffing good soda!" Mission tapped her earpiece. "I'll be in your ear the whole time. If something doesn't look or sound right, just say the word."

"Got it," Nic nodded resolutely. Mission shot him one more smile before walking away while Nic fired up the swoop's engine, taxiing into the air toward the starting grid.

Nic slowly reached out, gripping the handlebars connected to the bike that he would use for steering. He took in another deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts. These could very well be his final minutes alive if everything went wrong on this track.

If that happened, Nic hoped that Carth and the others would somehow sneak Bastila off the track. If she was won by any of the Vulkars, it was likely the Republic would never see her again.

A loud roar from his engines snapped Nic's eyes back open. The three colored lights above the starting grid had lit up, with the red light being the first to glare back at Nic.

His grip on the steering bars tightened as he stared ahead at the lights without a blink. The red went out and the yellow came to life. Nic knew what came next. Steadily, every roar of the track dropped away into silence as he concentrated with everything he had on the final light.

When it finally seemed as though time had slown down, the green glare burst into existence. Nic threw the bars forward and the swoop rocketed off the grid and down the track.

Rushing torrents of wind smashed into Nic's face, throwing his head back into the seat. Thankfully, the swoop jockey goggles Mission had included in the bike made the surging air flow across his eyes like water on a rock, leaving his vision ahead prfectly clear, clear enough to spot the first boost pad coming up fast.

Here goes nothing.

Nic charged right over the pad and felt the thud of its energy syncing into the bike's. The dingy brown walls of the track tunnel turned into nothing more than brown blurs.

Nic's eyes made a quick dart to the long, black screen in front of him. The white outline of single arrow blinked on, signifying the first wave of energy being absorbed for the swoop's super boost.

A long way to go.

Mission sat on a bench-high metal box in the starting grid, hunched over a datapad braodcasting a live feed of Nic's run. She would be his eyes for what was up ahead.

The Twi'lek teen nervously ran a hand over her blue lekku. She just hoped she didn't end up leading him to his very fiery, very explosive death.

Carth leaned down over the girl's shoulder, studying the datapad's feed.

"How's our boy doing?" he asked.

"He should be coming up on his first round of obstacles," Mission said. "Right...about...now."

::Heads-up, Nic! Things are about to get hairy!:: Mission's voice crackled over Nic's earpiece.

Nic's eyes swiveled back up in time to see his first obstacle. A small column of metal with a red light on top.

Aw, kriff.

Nic shoved his left hand forward while wrenching his right back causing the swoop to zoom to the left, narrowly avoiding the obstacle.

He had no time to celebrate that narrow escape, though, as another column was barreling toward him and a line of boost pads on the opposite side of the track appeared.

Nic reversed the left bar and flew to the right, avoiding the second obstacle and bearing down on those boost pads.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Nic looked down at the black display. This time it was full of arrows and a blue light on his control pad started blinking.

::That should be enough energy, Nic! Punch it!::

Showtime.

Nic twisted both bars forward, resulting in two blasts of heat firing from his turbothrusters. The back of Nic's head buried itself in the seat as the swoop bike bolted dangerously down the track, gathering more and more speed. For a moment, Nic thought the gushing winds would tear the features right off his face.

He kept his hands on the bars, trying desperately to hold the bike steady. Then, as quickly as the boost had arrived, it faded and the bike returned to its former speed.

Nic worked the bars, dodging the next several obstacles. If this race was a game of survival, he might have been relieved. In this race, though, his survival wouldn't be worth anything if he didn't have the best time.

Nic's eyes flitted to the other display on his control panel, showing a rapidly progressing clock.

00:15:89

Seriously? Longest 15 seconds of my life.

Nic spurred the bike on, unable to tell if 15 seconds was a good time or a bad time at this point. A thud on his right signaled a boost pad Nic had overlooked.

Winging the pad's energy proved to be too much for his bike's stabilization. The swoop careened across the track, dipping to the left. Nic felt the blood in his face shift to one side as one of the bike's fins came dangerously close to scraping on the track.

::Compensate for the drift, Nic! Correct yourself!::

Nic slammed the right bar forward as hard as he could, gritting his teeth for the inevitable force of impact with the track.

Instead, Mission's advice proved sound and the swoop rotated to the right until it was stable again.

Another quick veer to the right avoided another obstacle and flew right over another pad. Nic squinted ahead to see five pads coming up in a serpentine formation. A push on the left brought him right over the first few and a quick push on the right finished the formation but missed the final pad.

It didn't matter. Nic was fully juiced up again and he cued the boost, rocketing forward again down the track and right across the finish line.

00:28:12

But he still kept going.

Nic's eyes bulged open in surprise as the finish line zoomed by under him.

"Um, Mission?" He shouted over the din of the rushing air. "Where's that stop I was promised?"

::Sorry. I convinced the race manager to let you go another round. Redros with the Vulkars just beat your time at 27:59. If that time holds, the Vulkars keep Bastila.::

Nic's stomach fell through to his feet. He could not believe his time had just been beaten. He had just crossed the finish line for kriff's sake!

He would have to do it all over again, even faster this time. Hope began to dwindle inside him, like the flame of a candle flickering in the rushing winds of the swoop track.

"That's a full 13 seconds faster than me, Mission," Nic admitted. "I don't think I can do it."

There were a few seconds of silence over his earpiece before the young Twi'lek girl's voice appeared again.

::Racing's not about thinking, Nic, it's about doing! Just let go and go with your gut! You have to!::

Go with my gut.

Nic took a deep breath in the midst of the torrents of wiind all around him, trying to calm his mind in the storm of all that was around him.

There was only one choice. Either beat the time and get Bastila back, or let everything he, Carth, Mission, Zaalbar and Gadon had tried to accomplish be for nothing.

Escaping a crashing ship, surviving fight after fight and overcoming the rakghoul plague would not be undone here, not on this kriffing swoop track.

Nic concentrated on the track in front of him, reaching out to the instinct inside of him. He felt foolish for doing so, though. The instinct was part of him, not a separate entity.

Still, it was almost like a prayer said to whatever energy lied within him that helped him do all these things on Taris so far. If it could help him now, he would need it.

Please, help me do this.

Let me get to Bastila.

Let me save her.

Nic threw both bars forward, shooting the swoop down the track. His arms pumped back and forth in methodical motion, dodging the first obstacle and then the next, hitting the boost pads along the way.

He activated the super boost but kept his face and eyes forward as its impossible force slammed into his body. He would not be denied what he wanted, not now nor ever again.

Here they came, the serpentine pattern of boost pads and the one he had missed before. He would need to hit every single one of them if he had any hope of beating Redros' time.

Please.

Help me.

In the next moment, time seemed to slow down. It was almost like the world of the swoop track, the world of Taris, dropped away until all Nic could see was the boost pads. His eyes never left them as he navigated the bars and moved the bike. His concentration on the pads was so deep that the movements of his arms felt almost like feathers, as if he could hardly feel them at all.

It was just instinct.

As the rest of the world snapped back into careening, terrifying motion, Nic's display lit up with arrows.

He had gotten every last one of them.

Nic laughed and threw the super boost open and let it ride. The world and the track became a blur as he surged forward, right over the finish line.

Nic's eyes looked to the time gauge.

00:27:58

Nic had never in his life received what felt like a hero's welcome, but this had to be as close to it as it got.

The whole starting grid had roared to life as Nic crossed the finish line. As he parked his swoop bike, Nic tore off his goggles and jumped onto one of the bike's fins, punching both his fists in the air and yelling like a mad Gamorrean.

Mission was jumping up and down, yelling as loud as she could. She couldn't believe he had done it. Nic was one of the most incredible humans she'd ever met.

She then found herself being hoisted onto Zaalbar's shoulder. The Wookiee raised his free arm and roared victoriously.

Carth caught himself in a rare moment of lost self-control, pumping his own fists in the air, yelling the same statement over and over: "That's our boy! That's our boy!"

Even most of the independent racers were cheering as well for the Hidden Bek rider. It seemed there wasn't a whole lot of love for the Black Vulkars outside of their own kind.

The screech of a microphone cut across the din of the crowd, quieting them as the Duros race manager began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the alien's sonorous, machine-like voice rang out. "I present to you the winner of this year's swoop race! Put your hands together and show your appreciation for one of the most daring riders this swoop track has ever seen: The Mysterious Stranger!"

Another roar from the crowd accompanied his announcement. Nic was grinning from ear to ear on his swoop, beaming down on everyone.

The Duros waited until the crowd died down again to continue. "Through your skill and courage, you have proven yourself the premiere swoop rider on Taris and brought great glory to the Hidden Bek gang!"

This time it was a smaller side of the crowd's turn to cheer, the Hidden Bek side. Nic spotted Gadon in the crowd and tossed him a salute. The gang leader was grinning widely.

The Duros looked off to the side and gestured with his hand. "Now to present the champion's prize..."

A sharp screech split across the track as Brejik grabbed the microphone out of the alien's hand. The Black Vulkar leader menacingly glared ahead at Nic as he spoke.

"People! Hear me!" He yelled, making his voice that much louder combined with the microphone. "Before I present the...so-called champion...with his prize, there is something you must know!"

The crowd sobered up right quick, falling completely silent. The iciness returned to the pit of Nic's stomach as he looked at Brejik. In his revelry, he had forgotten about the Black Vulkar leader.

Brejik had not forgotten about him, though, as he dramatically pointed a finer right at him.

"The winning rider CHEATED!" Brejik bellowed.

Gasps echoed throughout the crowd. People were shaking their heads and whispering to one another. Some were now looking up at Nic in a different light, an uncertain light.

Brejik didn't lose pace. "Your bike was using a prototype accelerator, clearly an unfair advantage!"

Now the crowd's whispering turned to astonished gossip gathering speed.

"Because of this Hidden Bek treachery," Brejik surreptitiously continued. "I'm withdrawing the Vulkar's share of the victory prize!"

"You can't do that!" Gadon shouted out, making his way through the crowd in a beeline toward Brejik, with Zaerdra and other Beks closely behind.

Oddly enough, the Duros race manager chimed in. "You can't do this, Brejik! You know the rules. Nobody's allowed to withdraw a victory prize after..."

The poor alien never got a chance to finish. Brejik pounded an armored fist between its eyes and it crumpled to the ground.

"You fool!" The Black Vulkar leader shouted. "Your rules mean nothing to me! I am the wave of the future!"

Brejik cocked his blaster pistol and fired off a bolt into the air, eliciting screams from the crowd as they fearfully began to disperse in all directions.

Nic couldn't believe this. Brejik was trying to take over the entire race! This must be what he had been planning all along. Nic jumped off his swoop and ran over next to Carth, Mission and Zaalbar.

It was Gadon, though, that had the closest access to Brejik. The Hidden Bek leader drew his own blaster and aimed at Brejik.

"That's enough, Brejik!" Gadon bellowed. "Stand down or be put down!"

Brejik turned and leveled his pistol at Gadon's chest.

"Just try and stop me, old man!" He challenged. "If I want to withdraw the prize and sell the woman on the slave market myself, nobody can stop me!"

For a moment, the two gang leaders stood stock-still, weapons and eyes locked on each other. The rest of the crowd had fled for their lives, leaving the track nearly empty. Nic and the others were still a ways back by the bike.

Suddenly, a sharp female voice broke the silence. It was coming from the seven-foot cage.

"I might have something to say about that, Brejik."

The Vulkar guard in front of the cage had just enough time to turn around before the cage's door blew off its hinges, soaring straight into him and smashing him into the ground.

In one deft leap, Bastila was on top of the crumpled door, snatching up the guard's vibroblade and standing before everyone, one hand placed on her hip.

The display was so incredible, it was even enough to break up the gang leader standoff. Brejik looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"Wha-...Impossible!" He spluttered. You were restrained by a neural disruptor! You couldn't have done that!"

Bastila scoffed, ripping off the disruptors from her head and tossing them to the side like they were mere toys. She cocked a grin and shook her head condescendingly.

"You underestimate the power of a Jedi's mind, Brejik," she said. "A mistake you won't live to regret."

Brejik took a step back. "You're a Jedi?!"

The Vulkar leader's free hand balled into a fist while his grip on his blaster turned into a vice as he shook with rage.

"No matter!" He yelled. "Vulkars! To me! Kill this woman! Kill them all!"

As if he gave the cue, two dozen Black Vulkars emerged from the shadows of the track, running in from all sides with blasters drawn, surrounding everyone. Nic quickly looked left to right and couldn't believe it. Where had they been hiding all this time?

The sounds of multiple blasters being primed cracked behind him. Nic turned around to see all three of his companions with their weapons drawn and poised to fight.

Carth was looking dead ahead at him.

"Nic, protect Bastila at all costs."