A/N: Just to be clear, my OC clone, Traxis, is gay, and he will have a romantic arc in this story. If you're squeamish about such things...well, I can't help you. Frankly it's overly-kriffing-nice of me to even "warn" you a M/M romance is on the horizon.
Additionally, be aware that flames, rants and nasty comments on the subject will only encourage me to write more M/M romance. (Not a hardship for me, I assure you.) So if you're "opposed," please spare me your indignation and keep that negative osik to yourself.
Lyrics: "All The Little Lights," by Passenger, from same.
Chapter Thirteen
We're born with millions of little lights shining in the dark,
And they show us the way.
One lights up
Every time you feel love in your heart.
One dies when it moves away.
On Coruscant...
Lekku, while giving their owner many advantages, could be something of a burden at times. Now, for example, Ares Tabora knew that, despite his frustration, it was terribly important that he appear calm and in control. He would have managed, too, but for his coral-colored lekku that would. Not. Stop. Twitching.
Yet another hazard for a Twi'lek in his line of work. He added it to the mental tally and regarded the Duros male with his best, bland smile. "That is, ah, unfortunate news."
Perhaps it was a trick of the apartment's dim light, but Cad Bane's crimson eyes glowed beneath the sheltering awning of his wide-brimmed hat. Either way, the effect was suitably menacing, made doubly so by the flare of a lit cigarra in Bane's fingertips.
"Unfortunate for you, Tabora. That goes double since you promised me the final payment four rotations ago." The Duros took a long drag of his cigarra and blew the smoke in Ares' face.
Ares inhaled deeply without seeming to, a trick he'd perfected long ago. Save for his damn lekku, he was remarkably adept at maintaining the semblance of cool. Generally. "Work has been...difficult to come by," he admitted at last.
"No one else seems to have any trouble." Bane gave a low, throaty chuckle. "Maybe you should change careers. There's always work for a willing tailhead. Or not willing. You've got the resume for both."
Ignoring the dig at his past, Ares straightened and leaned forward, keeping his eyes on Bane. "Halevi understood the, ah, hills and valleys of the economy," he said calmly. "She was always willing to be flexible with my payments when bounties were scarce."
Bane smirked. "In case you didn't notice, I ain't Halevi. I just took over her liens when I killed her."
So the rumors were true. Ares' stomach sank; he'd known his money-lender was dead, but he hadn't realized Bane had done the deed. It took every effort to keep his voice light. "How very responsible of you."
In response, the Duros tilted his head and blew another puff of cigarra smoke into Ares' eyes, making them water even as he savored the acrid scent. "I'll make it simple for you, Tabora. Give me my credits, and you can keep your precious ship. Otherwise..."
He trailed off and shifted further in his seat, all easy nonchalance, as if he'd asked Ares over for caf and juja cake. They may as well have been in a cantina somewhere, but of course there was no one else here. Ares' skin crawled at being inside one of Cad Bane's hideouts; every time he came to Taung Heights, he had the niggling feeling he'd never leave.
"Well?" Bane said.
Ares' left lek, tchun in his native Ryl, twitched at the warning in Bane's voice, and again when the Duros took another drag of his cigarra. Ares resisted the urge to run his hands down the lek, a gesture that was always soothing, and met Bane's crimson glare. Now was not the time to show weakness, for there was far too much at stake. The gorgeous hull of the Stark Raven gleamed in his mind's eye, and Ares found another measure of durasteel within himself.
"I need more time," he said after a beat.
The tip of the cigarra flared brightest in the moments before Bane extinguished it on the caf-table between them, and Ares dearly tried to ignore any potential metaphors. The growl of Cad Bane's voice trailed after the smoke, and tchun twitched again.
"No can do, Tabora."
"Just a little–"
But Bane shook his head, his crimson eyes lidding as he skimmed a hand over the brim of his hat. "Ship like that Maka-Eekai of yours'll make a nice pile of creds at auction, and I got a few more mods to the Sleight that I'm lookin' into–"
No. Not the Raven. Ignoring his twitching lek, Ares' jaw tightened like he'd tasted something sour. "I have a job," he broke in. "A big one."
"Well, now." Bane rested one slender ankle on his knee and regarded the Twi'lek with renewed interest. "What sorta job?"
An intriguing one, by all accounts. The moment he'd ended the transmission with the Jedi, Ares had comm'd his old mentor to learn a bit more about this "Kalinda." Elek hadn't been quite as informative as Ares had hoped, but he had learned that Kalinda Halcyon was probably not going to double-cross him, which was always good to hear. More than that, however, only time would tell.
"Trade-secret, I'm afraid," Ares replied in a genial voice; he was not above taking a tiny measure of satisfaction in the way Bane's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "I'm sure you understand. The point is, I'm meeting the client today, so I will have the final payment soon."
Bane chuckled and reached in his coat-pocket for another cigarra. "'Soon.' Seems like I've heard that little melody before." He withdrew a stick, lit the tip, and inhaled deeply. "Assuming I humor you, tailhead, I want a cut of your 'big job.' And don't get any funny ideas," he added, blowing out another stream of smoke at Ares. "That ain't a euphemism for your blaster."
"The thought never entered my mind." As if I'd want anything to do with you.
"Glad to hear it." Bane took a few drags, considering, then nodded once. "Ten percent off the top, in addition to the final payment. Otherwise the Raven's mine, and we both know I will collect. "
Kriff. Both of his lekku twitched at the words, and Ares almost regretted that he'd quit the cigarra habit some years ago. He certainly could use one now. "Ten percent is a rather deep cut."
Another trail of smoke was aimed directly at Ares' nose, and he hated that he inhaled, but not as much as the fact that Cad Bane seemed to understand how much he wanted that kriffing stick. "You wanna succeed in this galaxy, Tabora? You gotta be willin' to bleed."
"Six percent."
Cad Bane flicked the half-toked cigarra at Ares, laughing outright as the Twi'lek fumbled to grab the unlit end before it hit his leg. "Ten."
"Seven."
"Ten." Bane sighed. "Take it or leave it, Tabora. I ain't got all day."
The Duros' words were distant, almost bored, and Bane was already withdrawing another stick. Ares studied the cigarra that rested easily between his fingertips. He well-remembered the sensation of inhaling deeply, the smoke filling his lungs, coaxing his restless thoughts into submission. It'd taken him years to quit the stuff for good. Even now, there was a familiar itch at the base of both lekku at the memories. It would be so easy to go back.
But the Stark Raven. His ship. His pride and joy, and his freedom.
Once she was his, he could put his tangled past behind him and focus on the future. Once she was his, life would be better.
Thinking of the Raven always reminded Ares what was important, so he stubbed the cigarra out on Bane's table. "Eight and a half, and you'll have it within the week."
"Well, well; look who got some balls. They're your own this time, though." Bane chuckled again at his own joke, but Ares only rolled his eyes as he glanced at his chrono. If he left now and hurried, he'd only be a little late when he finally rolled into CoCo Town to meet the Jedi.
"Surely you can do better than that," he said, getting to his feet. "But, unfortunately, I have an appointment to keep, so you'll have to save the jokes for another time."
He showed himself to the door without hearing Bane's reply. In all likelihood, he didn't want to.
Meanwhile...
The apartment door closed behind the guys and Honi, and Kalinda took a deep breath to gather her nerves.
They will be fine, she told herself as she glanced at Traxis, who wore a similar expression of forced calm. He glanced back, and she was relieved when he did not immediately look away. Neither spoke for a moment, though, and she thought of the previous night's encounter. Kriff...she'd not cried like that in a long time, but it had been necessary. She'd needed to break down, just a little.
She was lucky Trax had been there to help pick her back up.
That thought gave her another measure of assurance; he was a good man, as were all the guys, and they could handle themselves. She trusted her former Padawan as well.
In the meantime, she and Trax had an appointment to keep, and there were still some preparations to be made.
Several minutes later, Kali was seated at the dining table, with both of her lightsabers laid out before her. She studied them for a moment, always a little nostalgic at the sight of her "official" saber, the one she'd constructed as a Padawan, many, many moons ago. It was similar to Jonas' in design, though she'd added a tiny bit of ornamentation in the form of an engraved silver spiral at the pommel cap on the bottom. This weapon fit in her hands perfectly, while her father's had always been a bit too bulky to wield comfortably, but she'd been unable to not use Jonas' old saber. That one, more so than the one she'd built herself, felt right.
This saber, the one she'd crafted with her own hands, she'd given to Stonewall.
The familiar ache bloomed in her chest at the thought of her husband, but she pushed through the feeling and began to disassemble the hilt, setting each piece carefully to one side as she worked. Most Jedi manipulated their sabers with the Force as an exercise in control, but there was no time for that now. Kali simply wanted to finish this task as quickly as possible.
"What are you doing?" Trax sat opposite her, watching the lightsaber deconstruction with no small amount of interest.
Kali detached the mounting chamber from the power cell, and, after carefully prying the Adegan crystal loose, held it up between her thumb and forefinger. "Getting our payment ready."
His face darkened into a scowl. "Your lightsaber? Are you fragging kidding me?"
"Lightsabers," Kali said, stressing the plural. "And no." She set the tiny blue crystal to one side and began to reassemble the hilt.
"You can't do that," Traxis replied, shaking his head rapidly. "They're...I mean, they're yours. They're important."
"There are more important things." Kali slid the handgrip over the lower portion of the hilt and hefted it in her palm, assessing its balance. Perfect. Good job, thirteen-year-old Kali. She cast a wry smile at the clone. "Besides, I have you watching my six."
Traxis made a noise of frustration, though she thought she caught a hint of a smile tugging his lips. "Aren't those shabla things supposed to be your life?"
Kali reached for Jonas' saber, running her hands over the polished trichrome of the hilt. In all the years of use, all the dozens – okay, hundreds – of times she'd dropped it, the metal was without scratch or scuff. Untouchable. Just like her father had always seemed.
She met Trax's eyes and shrugged again. "They're tools, Traxis. All weapons are. They have a purpose, but are ultimately a means to an end. And the end I need now is a form of payment. Unless you've got a secret inheritance from Jango Fett, this is our best option."
Traxis startled her with a chuckle. "How pragmatic of you."
"You're probably the only one who would say that about me. Especially now."
His expression shifted to one of...embarrassment? A light touch with the Force confirmed her assessment, and Kali set down the still-intact saber to regard the scarred clone. "I'm sorry for keeping so much from you," she said at last. "I think Stonewall would say the same thing if he were here. We never meant to cause this much trouble for everyone. We just got swept away by one another...often, and to a great degree."
And they'd paid dearly for it already. Grief and fear coursed through her, and this time she allowed them passage, welcomed them as penance and as motivation. Things looked pretty kriffing bleak right now, but she could make them better. If she needed to barter her lightsabers to accomplish that end, so be it. There were more important things in the galaxy than these bits of metal and crystal.
Traxis sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, it happens."
"It does at that."
He was quiet a moment longer. "Look, about last night..."
"Trax–"
"I said a lot of stupid osik–"
"You don't have to–"
But his pitch dropped, deepened, and his words came out as a growl. "Yes, I fekking do, Kali. This is serious, okay? I was a galaxy-class asshole to you, and I shouldn't have been. So let me fekking apologize, for kriff's sake. Fek."
Oddly, she had to bite back a chuckle at his insistence, but she kept her features calm. She knew he'd said what he'd said last night out of anger, and only some of it had really been meant for her. "Alright," she said.
He exhaled sharply and said, with great care, "I'm sorry."
She waited a beat, wondering if he'd add anything else. He didn't, but waves of remorse and frustration – with himself, with the situation – emanated from him, so she nodded once. "Apology accepted, Traxis."
"Thanks." He sighed again, but there was a relieved edge to the sound.
Kali smiled at him before turning her attention back to her saber – Jonas' saber. Even though she preferred it, it'd never quite been hers, not like the other one. This saber had always felt more like a companion than a possession. But it, too, had to go.
As she began to twist off the handgrip, she caught a flare of unabashed fascination from the man sitting across from her, so she paused and glanced his way. "Would you like to give it a try?"
Traxis blinked at her in surprise, then, after a split-second of deliberation, nodded once. They both rose and she handed him the saber, careful to keep the emitter pointed away from each of them as she showed him how to activate the blade. The scarred clone studied the hilt for a moment before he flicked the button on the side.
No matter how often Kali saw the bright yellow blade, the color always startled her, just a little, just for a heartbeat. There was something incongruous about it, as if it didn't quite belong where it was supposed to be. She remembered disliking the color when she was much younger, preferring a blue blade like so many others, including Obi-Wan's. The yellow had always suited her father, but then, he'd been suited to most Jedi-related things.
Now, though, the vibrant yellow sent a bittersweet pang through her heart as she thought of Jonas, and of Obi-Wan. Both gone. Save her memories, she had only this little piece left of one and nothing of the other.
Oblivious to her thoughts, Traxis grinned and swung the saber one-handed a few times, well out of the way of them both. After a moment, he gripped it with both hands and dropped into a ready-stance that would have rivaled that of any Jedi Initiate. He lifted the saber parallel to his face, where the bright yellow cast him in a warm, youthful glow even as it illuminated every scar and made his eyes glitter like broken shards of glass.
In that moment – only in that moment – he looked so much like Stonewall, and Kali had a vague flashback to a dream last night, where she'd felt her husband's gentle touch against her hair.
But it'd been a dream, and nothing more.
Stonewall was gone, but not for good, and she was going to get him back. She'd meant what she'd told him. Wherever you go, whatever happens, I will find you.
Traxis turned his grin her way. It was a rare expression; wide and filled with only joy. "This. Is. Kriffing. Awesome. I feel like a badass."
"You certainly look the part," Kali told him, laughing. "Just try not to cut off your arm."
Later...
"No, Trax."
The scarred clone ground his teeth. No fragging way was he going into this shabla ordeal without at least one blaster in each hand and two more within easy reach. "Yes, Kali."
She gave him one of those exasperated looks she did so well, dark eyes narrowed and jaw set. "One weapon is understandable. But this," she waved at the array of equipment he'd strapped to his kit, "is karking overkill."
"Says the woman with two lightsabers," he pointed out, nodding to the twin cylinders hanging from her belt. "Plus your pistol."
Shortly after she'd disassembled her sabers, she'd changed into some of the threads Tallis had brought, though not everything had been suitable for someone as short as his Jedi. Kalinda looked a bit odd wearing a pale-blue tunic, charcoal jacket and her Jedi-boots...all over the lower-half of a clone's body-glove, which she'd said were the only pant-type things that could be rolled up to comfortably fit her frame. Barring the lightsabers, she didn't look anything like a Jedi, which was the idea. Too bad he couldn't pull a similar stunt with his kit.
Regardless of what she wore, she was still Kalinda, more so when she arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm asking you to only bring one blaster, Trax. How is that unreasonable?"
"He's a shabla bounty hunter. You can't trust their kind."
"What about Jango?"
Traxis crossed his arms before his chest. "Even Jango had bad days."
"Look, I trust my old friend. Elek wouldn't have steered me toward Tabora if he thought we'd get double-crossed."
"Fine," he growled, and began to shuck the extra deeces. He'd sent Crest and Weave off with their own gear, of course, but he'd taken it upon himself to suit up with Mi and Stonewall's weapons, in addition to those he'd had when he'd been arrested. "But you're still bringing your LL-30, right?"
The familiar, slim hilt of her pistol was presented to him. "I thought maybe you could carry it for me. Just for now. If either of us is going to look threatening, it should probably be the one in full body armor."
Kriffing hell, this woman was going to drive him barvy. "But you just said–"
"I meant you should only bring one deece," she broke in, sighing like she had the right to be exasperated. "You were about to leave here looking like a walking armory. One deece, plus the LL, should be sufficient. Now let's go before we're late. You have the crystal?"
Once the LL was slid into its holster, Traxis patted his belt, where he'd stowed the tiny blue Adegan crystal she'd pulled from Stonewall's lightsaber. He knew she had the yellow crystal tucked somewhere within that mishmash of clothes. He hadn't seen where she'd stuck it and didn't feel like asking.
He checked his weapons' power-levels one more time. Whatever she said, he was not even the least bit comfortable with meeting a fragging bounty hunter – for any reason. "Alright. Let's move out."
Traxis hadn't thought to ask how they were going to get to CoCo Town, so it was something of a surprise when Kalinda hailed an airtaxi once they'd walked a few blocks. The Weequay driver gave the pair an odd look, but a few extra credits from the dark-haired woman turned that look another way.
It was strange to ride in a civilian sort of transport, and Traxis forgot some of his apprehension as he watched Coruscant zoom past his window. Once the taxi reached the upper levels, he could see landing platforms dotted with people and shops, and he couldn't help but wonder at the civvies below. Did they have any idea of the lives that were being lost beyond the shelter of their atmosphere? Of the good soldiers – good men – who died each day in their service?
Of-kriffing-course not, he thought darkly, scowling at the tiny figures. They're fekking oblivious.
"Trax."
Kali's voice was soft, but it startled him out of his thoughts. He glanced over and watched her watching him. "What?"
"I don't have to tell you time is of the essence. This," her eyes flickered to the cab driver, and she continued in the less well-known language of Mando'a, "bounty hunter might be our best, if not only chance, to rescue Stone and Milo. So I need you to keep your temper under control and let me do the talking, okay?"
He couldn't suppress an eye-roll of his own. "I'll be on my best behavior. Unless the tailhead," she frowned and he backtracked, "unless Tabora threatens you. Then all bets are off."
Something about what he said – not the slur, obviously – amused her. He watched her fight a smile, and lose the battle. "What?" he asked again, sighing.
"Do you remember what I said to you when we first met?"
Traxis cast his mind back about two years ago. So many things were different now, it was mind-boggling. "Not really," he admitted.
"I'm really lucky you're on my side, Trax." Her smile widened. "It bears repeating."
With that, she faced forward, lidding her eyes and taking those deep breaths that meant she was doing her Jedi-thing, and Trax was again left to his own thoughts.
They reached the diner with minutes to spare. While Kalinda spoke with the Besalisk owner, Traxis surveyed the space, searching for any unfriendlies. With the mods Weave had made to his kit, he wasn't terribly worried about being scanned and identified as an AWOL clone, but he didn't want to take any chances as far as his vod's wife was concerned.
No, he realized, not his vod's wife. Mando'a did not distinguish between family members – or gender – in the way that Basic did. His brother's wife, his sister-in-law, was his sister. His vod.
Lunchtime had passed a few hours ago and it was too early for dinner, so the diner was fairly empty, giving them their choice of tables. Traxis selected a booth toward the back of the place, figuring he'd place Kalinda's back against the wall, while he either stood at her shoulder – which he would prefer – or sit beside her – which he figured she'd prefer – so they could keep their eyes on the door. Having the wall behind them would also cut down on potential rear ambushes.
When she came out of the back, she was carrying several cups and a pitcher of water, and Traxis glared at the serving droid who was busing one of the empty tables. "Let me get that," he said, grabbing the pitcher out of his Jedi's hands and nodding to the table he'd selected. "Karking tinnies aren't good for a fekking thing sometimes."
She didn't comment until she sat – in the wrong seat – and he frowned. "No, other side," he told her.
"Does it really matter?"
"For kriff's sake, vod, at least give me this!" he exclaimed, throwing up his hands.
Her eyes widened. "What did you call me?"
"You heard me." He glanced around, assuring himself that no one was listening, then bent to speak in her ear. "You're my effing sister now, Kali."
If possible, her eyes got even larger, and he swore they brightened with tears. Kriffing hell...he'd made her cry twice in one day-cycle. Stonewall would never forgive him.
He took a deep breath, preparing to say something, anything to stop the oncoming tears, but she seemed to collect herself and stood up, swiping her eyes with her jacket-sleeve and smiling up at him.
"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," she said as she moved to the other seat
Traxis sighed. "Yeah...well. Don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to keep up."
She opened her mouth to reply, though in the next moment her eyes slid to the front of the diner. In the instant before the door chimed, her demeanor changed completely. Mismatched clothes aside, Kali became Knight Halcyon, sitting straight in her seat, expression cool and collected as Traxis straightened as well, watching the Twi'lek bounty hunter slip into the diner.
Ares Tabora scanned the room warily before his gaze landed on the Jedi, though his eyes narrowed when he caught sight of the clone trooper. In response, Traxis lifted his chin and gave his best blank stare, the kind that rivaled even the emotionless gaze of the helmet's T-visor, because he'd be fekked if he let this di'kut think he could pull anything funny.
By contrast, the Jedi gave Tabora a polite nod even as both of her hands rested calmly on the table. The bounty hunter nodded as well, and began to approach.
Like Trax, Tabora wore a pistol at his hip, though there was a bump at his shin that suggested he had a vibro, or another smaller blaster, stuck there. He was about a clone's height, though the curve of his mottled, coral-colored lekku made him seem slightly taller. A dark-brown nerf leather jacket dusted the tops of his boots; the rest of his clothing looked practical and clean, though it was clear most items had been mended more than once.
As he drew closer, Traxis couldn't help but notice the way the Twi'lek moved. Smooth, confident, assured, despite the fact that he was not overly muscular, at least from what Traxis could make out. The thought struck the clone that Tabora gave the appearance of grace without sacrificing strength.
Fekking hell, what's wrong with me? Trax thought as the bounty hunter reached their table. Mind on the effing mission, soldier. He held Tabora's gaze and tried to ignore how the Twi'lek's eyes were a warm, rich brown flecked with gold.
Kalinda stood up and offered her hand. "Thank you for meeting us on such short notice, Mr. Tabora. Please, have a seat."
"'Ares' will do," the Twi'lek replied as he shook Kali's hand, though his eyes slid to Traxis and he did not sit down. "Forgive me, but I feel rather like I am about to be handcuffed and dragged off to a military prison."
Despite the pleasant lilt of the Ryl accent, Traxis scowled, but Kalinda gave a light, easy chuckle. "I know Traxis looks very menacing. But all three of us are on the same side of the law," she added, dropping her voice. "He doesn't have the ability to arrest you, any more than I do."
At this, Tabora regarded her. "Now that you mention it, you do not seem quite as, ah, official as the last time we spoke. Something tells me there is a story behind your attire."
Kali indicated the booths again, and all three of them slid into their respective places. "I don't have time for innuendo or double talk," she said as she poured the three of them some water. "The situation is simple: I want fast, reliable transportation for myself and three clone troopers to the Rishi sector, then to a planet in the Mid Rim where we'll part ways. I want it all to be quietly done. If you can do this, you will be well-paid. Some now, but the bulk of the fee once the job is complete."
Again, the Twi'lek's eyes flickered to Traxis, who sat straight and still. By contrast, the bounty hunter leaned back in his seat, one hand toying with his glass while the other arm was flung over the booth's back. "And what is so important in the Rishi sector?"
"None of your vaping business," Traxis replied, gritting his teeth at Tabora's overly-casual mannerisms. At his invective, the Twi'lek's eyes slid up and down his armored form, though there was a different slant to his gaze than before, one that, Trax thought, held no small amount of appreciation.
Kali put a hand on his arm, a silent plea for him to shut the fek up. "It's a delicate matter," she said quietly. "But I can tell you that if we are successful when we leave Kamino, we'll have two more clones with us."
There was only certainty in her voice, and it made Traxis relax a little bit. Internally, at least. Outwardly, he kept his eyes on Tabora's hands, ensuring that the Twi'lek wasn't about to reach for his weapon, though he could not help but notice that even Tabora's slender fingers, encased in leather gloves with the tips cut off, seemed strong.
Fek. Cool your effing jets, man.
Tabora's gaze remained calm, but Traxis did not miss the way his left lek twitched, just a bit. "Kamino." He said the name as if tasting it; his accent elongated each syllable and sent a shiver down Trax's spine. "You are aware that there is a Republic blockade around the storm-world, yes?"
Kriff. Trax hadn't considered that. He hoped his Jedi-vod had, but when he risked a glance at her, he couldn't tell either way. "There are ways around a blockade," she said, shrugging. A familiar, devious gleam appeared in her eyes. "Especially when one has access to the Force."
To Traxis' surprise, the Twi'lek gave a wry chuckle. "You are the first Jedi I have encountered, and I must say, you are not at all what I expected."
Kalinda smiled as well, though the expression held no mirth. "I find myself feeling much the same way, lately." She sipped her water before she continued. "Will you agree to my terms?"
The Twi'lek lifted one of his hairless brow ridges. "We have not discussed the, ah, specifics of my payment..." He frowned. "'Master Jedi,' feels a bit too formal. What shall I call you?"
"Kali's fine," she said, reaching for her belt. Both lightsabers were placed on the table, and she looked at Tabora again. "I don't have much in the way of credits, but these are worth a great deal to the right buyer. Certainly more than the cost of fuel and, I'd wager, the usual rate for your time."
Tabora stared at her. "You're joking."
"Does she kriffing look like she's joking, chakaar?"
At Trax's harsh words, the Twi'lek glanced his way, and was it his imagination, or did those brown eyes run across his body with appreciation – again? But Tabora's words were cool. "Cash or credit chips are the only forms of payment I will accept."
Kalinda glanced around the diner; it was still fairly empty, and apparently Dex had ways of keeping folks from sitting near their section, but she still pitched her voice low. "I know it's unconventional, but this is what I have. They're quite valuable."
"I'm certain they are," Tabora said smoothly. "Unfortunately, I don't deal in, ah, exotic weaponry."
Traxis felt Kali's body tense beside him, and he risked tearing his eyes off of the bounty hunter to make sure she was okay. She withdrew the tiny crystal from her belt and held it up so that it caught in a shaft of light, casting miniature rainbows across the three of them. "Do you know what this is?"
"I can guess. Though," Tabora's brow furrowed as he studied the crystal, "I've never seen one in that color."
"Most lightsaber crystals are blue or green. Yellow is quite rare, and far more valuable." Kali indicated the sabers again. "These are yours now, and I'll give you this crystal, plus another, once both my men are safe. I know of a few fences on Corrie who would happily buy all of this."
"And you didn't go to them because...?"
Kali sighed. "There's that 'time is of the essence' theme again, rearing its ugly head."
The bounty hunter made a noise of disbelief and leaned back in his booth, glancing around as if searching for a hidden cam or some other fardling thing. Both his lekku were twitching now, belying his casual mien.
At last, he looked back at the Jedi and the clone, no small amount of wariness in his gaze despite his relaxed posture. His eyes, Trax thought suddenly. They're what give him away. They were expressive, more so than even the lekku.
As if reading the clone's thoughts, Tabora's gaze fell on Traxis, lingering a beat longer than was normal before sliding to Kali. "It is an interesting offer, but without actual credits, I cannot help you."
"Please." Kali's voice cracked over the word. "There must be something–"
"Credits," Tabora broke in, shaking his head. "By necessity, that is the language I speak. You do not. Therefore, we cannot talk any longer. You were right, Kali. The situation is quite simple."
Anger swept through Traxis, but before he could react, Tabora got to his feet and slid easily out of the booth. Traxis watched him walk out the door before he looked back at Kali, whose eyes were closed, chin drooping as if in defeat.
"It's okay," she murmured, shaking her head. "I can comm Elek again, maybe get another recommendation..."
Traxis scowled even as an idea occurred to him. "No, it's not effing okay. Wait here. I''ll be right back."
Without another word, he jumped up and hurried through the diner, heading for the door. Thanks to the orbital mirrors that controlled the weather, it was a bright, sunny day on Corrie – as most of them were – and Trax's charge into direct sunlight blinded him at first. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted, then caught sight of a pair of coral-colored lekku hurrying down the walkway.
Traxis broke into a jog, though he kept his hands up and away from his weapons, as he didn't want to give the wrong impression. Plus it was karking stupid to run up behind an armed person, shouting obscenities – no matter how justified.
Once he was a few paces away, he called out, "Tabora."
The Twi'lek turned, caught sight of the armored and armed clone trooper in pursuit, then took off running down the nearest alley. Traxis rolled his eyes. Now he had to chase the moron. Fragging bounty hunters; I'll bet my blasters this one's always up to no good.
There was no time for debate. Traxis ducked after him, and realized at once that Tabora had made an error; the alley he'd chosen was a dead-end. The Twi'lek's back was to a wall, and by now he'd drawn his blaster.
"I have no quarrel with you or your Jedi," Tabora said once Trax approached. "We can peacefully part ways, and each live to see another day."
Traxis glared at him as he stopped about five paces from the Twi'lek. "I don't want to effing part ways with you, chakaar. At least not now." Hands still raised, he thumbed in the direction of the diner. "Kali needs you. So do the rest of my vode, trapped on Kamino."
Tabora's brow furrowed, presumably at the Mando'a. "Be that as it may, I need proper compensation for my time."
Traxis took another step forward, working hard to keep his posture and voice as nonthreatening as possible. Easier said than fekking done. "Yeah, I bet you do." He took a deep breath to gather his thoughts, but frowned at the sight of Tabora's raised pistol. "Put that fragging thing away before you shoot something."
"Shooting something is generally the reason one draws a blaster."
Traxis wriggled his gloved hands, still held up like a di'kut. "If I wanted to shoot you, Tabora, you'd be dead. But as it happens, I want to effing talk. Hence the reaching-for-the-sky nonsense."
A faint, crooked smile tugged at the Twi'lek's mouth, but he slowly – too kriffing slowly – stuck his pistol in its holster. "I prefer 'Ares,'" he said.
"Fine." Still keeping his hands up, Traxis took one step closer. "Look, Ares, I don't like to eff around the zureber bush, so I have another sort of compensation to offer you."
"And that is?"
"Me."
The Twi'lek frowned at him. "I'm not sure I take your meaning."
Rolling his eyes, Traxis indicated his armored form. "If you help us, if you do as the Jedi asks, I'll...help you. Any way you want, as often as you want." His mouth twisted as he gave a wry smile. "I'm pretty flexible."
By Trax's final words, Ares' mouth had fallen open and his eyes were huge as the fekking plates back at the diner. There were a couple of seconds where he didn't reply, then his eyes narrowed and he straightened his shoulders, offering a pretty impressive scowl of his own.
"You are serious...?" He made a noise of frustration. "Your name is Traxis, yes?"
Kriff, the Ryl accent did all kinds of interesting things to his name. Traxis nodded. "Yes, to both."
Both lekku twitched and Tabora met Traxis' eyes. "No."
Traxis was startled to see a measure of sadness behind the simmering anger plainly written in the bounty hunter's expression. Without another word, the Twi'lek charged past Traxis, sidestepping to avoid knocking the clone over in his haste to leave the alley.
Not about to give up, Traxis followed, placing a hand on the Twi'lek's arm to stop him. "Ares–"
"No!" The bounty hunter's reaction was swift and surprisingly strong. He wrenched his arm out of Trax's grip and glared at the soldier. "I know a dozen languages; shall I repeat my answer in each one, until you understand? Credits only. No," his face twisted in disgust and what Traxis recognized as bitterness, "other offers will be accepted."
"We don't have effing credits," Traxis shot back between clenched teeth, still trying to be polite. "Fek, all Kali has are the clothes on her back and her vaping sabers, and she's willing to give those up to save my brothers from death, or worse. All I have is me, and I'm willing to give that up, too, if it means we'll get them back. It's a means to an end, and it's too bad if I offended your delicate sensibilities, chakaar, but this is fekking important."
By the time Traxis finished his diatribe, his fists were clenched tight and his body shook with fury, for the bounty hunter before him and the entire, shabla situation that had brought him to this fekking alley in the first fekking place.
Ares' eyes had widened at some point during his speech, and much of the anger in his expression had fled. Some remained, though, and it added a dark edge to his next words. "Did your...Jedi put you up to this?"
"Are you fragging kidding me?" Traxis gave a bitter laugh. "She wouldn't hesitate to skewer me with both of those sabers if she knew what I had in mind when I came after you."
The Twi'lek grimaced and ran a hand down his left lek. "She doesn't, ah, approve of such...affairs?"
Not entirely sure what Tabora meant, Traxis leveled his best serious look at the Twi'lek. "Kali's not your average Jedi, but even she doesn't like it when my brothers and I refer to ourselves as...tools, even though that's what we are."
"Tools." The word was flat.
By now, some of his anger had cooled, so Traxis shrugged. "We're clones. We've got no rights, no citizenship. We're just cannon fodder for this kriffing war."
Forehead creasing, Tabora cast a brief glance at his boots. "I was not aware that the clones did not have citizenship."
"My brothers and I have nothing but our memories and one another. We live and fight and die in the mud with blaster-bolts through our skulls, and life here just goes on like normal, like none of that is happening. Like nothing we do fekking matters. But that woman back there," Trax indicated the diner again, "is married to my vod and carrying his kid, and if you make her a widow and a single mother, nothing in this galaxy or any other will keep you safe from me."
And now he'd moved on to threats. Fan-kriffing-tastic. Traxis may as well have shot the damn tailhead in the brain, because there was no fardling way Tabora would be willing to help now.
Ares met his eyes again. "You had to mention there was a child, didn't you?" He sighed. "That is some dirty, dirty fighting, Traxis."
"When the ones I love are at stake, you're damn right I'll fight dirty."
Neither spoke for a moment, and the sounds of the city filtered through the alley to reach them. Traxis idly wondered if Kali would come looking for him and hoped she'd trust him to handle the situation. Okay, fine. Maybe it was effing stupid to have run after the bounty hunter like this, alone and not very well equipped, but kriff it all, he had to do something.
Stonewall and Milo were out there, in a fek-load of trouble, and even if he had to do it from across the stars, Traxis would watch their six.
So he tried to rein in his temper and keep his voice steady. "Well?"
The Twi'lek took a deep breath and ran both hands over his lekku, eyes closed. "I will agree to your Jedi's terms. Not yours, though," he added, opening his eyes to glare at Traxis. "I have no wish to...have you in such a manner. Do you understand?"
Well, shab. Over the years, Trax had gotten pretty good at sizing up other males' sexual preferences, so it was irksome to think he'd misread Tabora. Was it stupid to be disappointed that he'd been shot down? Probably. In any case, his solitary mission had been successful, which mattered more than his effing pride, or any piece of his anatomy for that matter.
"Loud and clear," he said gruffly, nodding once.
Ares exhaled. "Good."
There was no point in dragging this out any longer, so Traxis cleared his throat, ready to get back to business. "How soon can you leave?"
"I'll need a little time to set my affairs in order," Ares replied. "But there are not many, so it won't take much. Shall we meet again, say, tomorrow morning?"
Traxis considered. Weave, Crest and Tallis should be back within a few hours, that evening at the very latest, and getting another night's sleep was probably a good thing. It felt like fekking forever since Stonewall and Mi had been captured, but the reality was that about only a day and a half had passed.
He wished he had Kali's certainty they'd pull this stunt off. "0600 hours?" he asked. When Ares frowned in confusion, Traxis rolled his eyes. "Early as fek," he clarified. "Also known as six o'clock in the morning, in civilian-speak."
The Twi'lek gave a look of exaggerated shock. "They have one of those in the morning?" Traxis glowered at him, and Ares raised his hands as if in apology. "Very well. Six it is."
"Trax?"
Both males turned as the dark-haired Jedi approached, a not-too-pleased expression on her face at the sight of Tabora's raised hands and what Traxis figured was his own threatening posture; it was sort of his natural state of being.
Before she got the wrong idea, Traxis nodded to the Twi'lek. "Good news: Ares here has agreed to take us to Kamino."
"Is that so?" Kali asked, looking at the bounty hunter.
Ares hooked his thumbs in his holster and gave the Jedi a surprisingly warm smile. "It took a bit of, ah, discussion, but your valiant soldier has convinced me."
Kalinda eyed Traxis warily. "What sort of 'discussion?'"
"Don't worry, vod, it wasn't violent," Trax replied. He wondered if Ares would mention his other offer; not his proudest moment, to be sure, but like her lightsabers, Traxis considered himself a means to an end, if the situation demanded such a thing. Perhaps he could have offered some of his weapons, but he had no way of knowing if Crest and Weave's mission would be successful, nor even how much money such things were worth.
"Trax is correct. No one was harmed." Tabora began digging through his coat-pockets, searching the outer and inner ones until he withdrew a small piece of flimsi and a stylus. Using the alley wall as a surface, he scribbled something on the flimsi and offered it to Traxis.
Eastport Docking Facility
Section 75, Bay 67
"My ship, the Stark Raven, is docked at that location," Tabora said as he put away his flimsi and stylus. "The Raven and I will both see you – and your companions – at," his mouth quirked into a crooked, half-smile, "0600 tomorrow. You have my promise."
Kalinda exhaled once, and Traxis was relieved to see that she was relieved, which meant he'd done some good after all. "Thank you, Ares," she said. "I suppose all that's left is your down payment."
The Twi'lek inclined his head in agreement. With a deep breath, Kalinda unclipped her sabers from her belt, and it was only because he was looking closely that Traxis saw how her hands trembled. She handed both hilts to Ares, who carefully slid them in one of his inner coat-pockets.
"Do you need the name of a fence?" she asked as she watched his movements.
Ares chuckled. "You mean, one that's likely being watched by the Jedi Order? No, thank you. I'll manage. I'll find my own, ah, vendors."
A flush crept to Kali's cheeks, but she nodded, all Jedi once more. She gave the bounty hunter a small bow. "Until tomorrow."
"Until then," he replied.
She turned to leave the alley, but Trax lingered for one moment. Stepping close to the bounty hunter, he met and held Tabora's gaze, ensuring his own was filled with durasteel. "If you cross her," he said quietly, "you will regret it."
Ares did not drop his eyes, nor step back. "I have many regrets," he said in his lilting accent. "I doubt one more would make a difference."
Kali called from the alley's edge. "Let's move out, Trax."
Ignoring her for a moment, Traxis narrowed his eyes. "Maybe so, but it would be your last one. That's my promise."
With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the alley, after his Jedi-vod.
A/N: So, so, SO much fun to write Trax and Ares! [rubs hands] Just wait...
Bonus points if you can find the nod to Gilmore Girls. ;)
Next time: checking in with Weave, Crest and Honi.