A/N: Sorry for the silence everyone. September into October was not a great time for me. I'm hoping to get back onto writing, but I will probably be posting 1 chapter/week through November due to NaNoWriMo and burning myself out on writing lmfao. I'll post a second chapter Friday to make up for the radio silence, but after that, once a week. *fingerguns*


Trista, followed by Atton, Bao-Dur, Visas, and HK, stepped out onto the platform and started toward the plaza, tucking her repaired coat tight around her. Her lightsaber rested in a pocket on the inside, replaced by the more familiar weight of a blaster on her hip.

"All right, give me the grand tour," she said as they headed onto the main walkway.

"So we'll open up into the plaza," Atton said. "It's pretty self-explanatory. We've got connections to a set of docks, these being run by the illustrious Vogga the Hutt, and a nice little cantina and pazaak den. We probably want the refugee quarters, though."

"Where's that?"

"There's a route down, but all the talk says it's locked down tight by the Exchange."

"Why would the Exchange care about the refugees?"

Bao-Dur shook his head. "Not altruism, I'm sure."

"Likely not," Atton agreed. "Extortion of some sort, probably."

"I can't imagine what they'd get from people with nothing."

"Don't forget that both the Exchange and the Hutts trade in slaves."

Trista frowned as they rounded the corner, just beginning to open her mouth, stopping when Atton grabbed her arm. An older human man stood cowering against a wall ahead of them. Two mercenaries, one an imposing Trandoshan, stood in front of him with their weapons drawn. Atton's fingers dug deeper into her arm.

"Tris—"

She shoved his hand away and marched forward.

"Break legs, you won't wander so far." The Trandoshan took a step forward, brandishing a vibrostaff. The man pressed himself closer to the wall as if he hoped it would swallow him.

"No, you—you can't keep us trapped there!" the man protested. "We can't survive. You've got us locked in!"

"Know your place," the other mercenary threatened. "Your place is there, not here."

The Trandoshan spotted her as she drew to a stop to his side. "Another human? What are you looking at?"

"Nothing much," Trista said sharply, biting back against the anger settled in her chest. "Why are you threatening my friend here?"

"None of your business," the other said. "You got a problem with us?"

"Yes, I do." Atton groaned audibly behind her. "So I recommend leaving before it becomes your problem."

The other chuckled. "One human, not an amusing fight. More than one—" His eyes glanced over her companions. "A little better, spill more blood."

Trista looked back, straight at HK. "They're all yours, big guy."

HK-47 clicked something on his rifle, the noise echoing in the narrow metal hall. "Statement: Master, perhaps I underestimated you. Assessment: This is a lovely place."

The non-Trandoshan looked at the other, perhaps concerned that they were making a mistake, but the Trandoshan was already moving toward her and hefting his ax. A blaster bolt whipped past her head, almost singeing her ear, drilling straight into the alien's throat. With intense precision, before he'd even staggered, another sung past her into his eye. He was likely dead before hitting the ground.

The other mercenary glanced at his companion, then back at them. Trista held up her hand, earning a disgruntled whir from the droid. "Be smart about this."

He scowled, and he whipped out his blaster. Just as his hand was going for his shield, another bolt struck his chest.

"Must be some low-level mercs," Atton mused, kicking one in the leg. "Or new. Only an idiot lets his shields expire around here."

"Either way." She nodded to HK. "Good work."

"Assessment: It was not, Master. I should have gone for the Trandoshan's eyes first."

"Still effective." Trista stepped over a body and helped the man back to his feet. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, straightening his shirt with shaking hands. "Th-thank you. They would have crippled me for sure."

"For sure? That's common around here?"

"Regular, even. I knew I was takin' a risk coming out here but, well, someone had to."

She helped him over to a stack of platsteel crates, and he sank down gratefully. "Who were they? Why were they threatening you?"

"Well, uh, they work for the Exchange, for a Quarren named Visquis. He's lookin' to step up in the Exchange, or so we heard."

Trista glanced at Atton. "The Exchange?"

"Yeah. The only language they listen to is money, so Visquis is increasing his profits by using the refugees as a cheap labor force. We're only good to him as merchandise, and he wants to keep us in one place so he can control us. That's always been the way – well, until lately."

"What changed?"

"I don't know. They've been clamping down on us hard, and I don't know why. They've started kidnapping people, hurting others, but there's no reason for it. Or, at least, they haven't given us one."

That was just unacceptable. "All right. How do I get to talk to Visquis?"

"Ha. You don't." He shook his head. "He comes to you, if he's got a reason – you can help him out, or you piss him off. Either way, it's not a good thing."

"What were you out here for?"

"I was tryin' to find some supplies. We've got some sick people."

Trista dug into one of her pockets. "How many?"

"Ten or so. One of them's real bad. We need a doctor down there, but no one can get in."

"All right." Trista handed him about twenty credits. "Get some supplies. I'll try to make things better, but I don't know when I'll get there. Keep the guy who's worst off comfortable."

He took them with a headshake. "I don't know what you can do, miss, but we'll all appreciate the help."

"We'll see." She helped him up. "You should hurry before anyone else tries to stop you."

"I will, thanks." He hobbled back around the corner, giving the bodies a wide berth, and Trista looked back at the others and motioned them in.

"Why do you think the Exchange is harping on the refugees that harshly?" she asked, specifically looking at Atton. He shrugged.

"Who knows? Visquis' ambition could be enough. I'm sure we'll find out, though."

Trista nodded. "Yeah. Let's keep going. Uh..." She looked back down at the bodies. "Just, uh, tuck those behind these crates or something."

"Could throw 'em over the edge."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's a better idea."

With the mercenaries properly disposed of, they continued down the path. Around the corner sat another old refugee, a dark-skinned human man with a cruelly twisted leg that looked up as they approached.

"Hobbs told me what you did," he said, his voice hoarse. "Spare a few credits, friend?"

"We're gonna go broke if this keeps up," Atton whispered. Trista glared at him and crouched down to the refugee's eye level.

"For some information."

He nodded. "Don't know much, but I'll tell you what I do."

"What's the sector like?"

"Well, it's filled with refugees from the Jedi Civil War, even a few back from the Mandalorian Wars. Refugees and veterans both... and anyone else who was made homeless. The Jedi destroyed planets across the galaxy, and here's where the wreckage ended up."

Trista almost interrupted, almost clarified the difference, that it'd been Sith — but held her tongue at the last minute. "Why here?"

"Lotta space lanes cross here, and once you're here, you're stuck. Even fighter pilots can't get dock work — the freighter crews are full up. There's no work here and no way out, unless you wanna be hired muscle for the Exchange, or work in a Hutt slave camp."

"Neither are great options. Have you ever heard of someone named Zez-Kai Ell?"

He thought for a moment, finally shaking his head. "No, should I? He doesn't sound like a Hutt. What is he, a bounty hunter? Exchange boss?"

"Neither, just an old friend, but he may not be using that name. Human male, about this tall, brown hair and eyes? Might have an impressive mustache?" The refugee kept shaking his head, and she frowned. "I'd expect him to be up to his neck in this. Are you sure? He probably dresses plainly, walks with confidence even when in danger. He would stand out from the others, even if you didn't know why. Nothing?" Trista looked back at the others. "I don't like the sound of that. I can't imagine him sitting by if the refugees are truly this oppressed."

"We are, miss, I—"

"No, sorry." She smiled back at him comfortingly. "I believe you — that is me passing a judgment on him. And I'll do what I can to make the Exchange shove off. If he won't, I will."

As Trista stood, he held out his hand. "You promised some credits, friend."

"Oh, right." She pulled out another few credits. "I hope this helps."

He tucked them away inside his shirt. "Every li'l bit does. Listen, you're new around here. I can tell just by looking at you."

Trista looked at Atton, who nodded. "It's obvious, yeah."

"Thanks, flyboy," she grumbled.

"Nar Shaddaa's a rough place, and easy to get lost in. I can keep an ear out, let you know if I hear anything."

Trista nodded. "I'd appreciate it — and there'd be more credits in it for you. We're docked at this platform. If you can't find me, let any of them know, okay?"

"I will."

She straightened and headed toward the plaza. Only a few steps away, Kreia's voice slipped into her mind again.

::Such kindnesses mean nothing — his path is set. Giving him what he has not earned is like pouring sand into his hands.::

She frowned as they entered onto a large platform, with a central pit that fell an indescribable distance below. The pictures she'd seen of Nar Shaddaa had featured bright, flashing neon every five feet, glimmering casinos and cantinas just begging passersby for all their hard-earned credits, a place one goes to lose — and to be lost.

But that was not this Nar Shaddaa, and she suspected it was far closer to the city-world's reality. Here, the neon flashed, but not brightly; and only one sign sang out, advertising a single cantina and gambling den. More flashed around another corner, the sign's meaning unknown, but little of the Nar Shaddaa in the brochures existed in this sector.

::I gave him five credits for information, and now he lives another day,:: she grumbled. ::Call it what you will.::

::And would that be a kindness? What if, by surviving another day, he brings a greater darkness upon another?::

Trista scowled as Atton rattled on about their location. ::Does your pessimism truly run so deep?::

::The Force binds all things. The slightest push, the smallest touch, sends echoes through life. Even an act of kindness may have more severe repercussions than you know, or can see. By giving him something he has not earned, perhaps you have simply made him a target. Seeing another elevated often brings the eyes of others who suffer. And perhaps, all you have wrought is more pain.

::And that is my lesson to you. Be careful of charity and kindness, lest you do more harm with open hands than a clenched fist.::

Her scowl deepened. ::I'll keep it in mind,:: she said, intending to do no such thing.

::Good. Mind what I have said. Use your power, but in its proper place.::

Atton finally shook her. "You back in the land of the present?"

Trista scrubbed her eye with a sigh. "Sorry, I was getting lectured."

"For what?"

"Being nice, if you can imagine it. What were you saying?"

"Cantina and gambling over there, the route down to the refugees is over there, and the docks are over there."

"Simple enough to remember. Let's keep going."

#

"Why would they be barring us from the refugees?" Trista asked as the bartender handed them a stack of boxes.

"Hard to say. Thanks." The bartender nodded, and they split the food between one another as they headed back toward the ship, entering the plaza.

"If it did only start a few weeks ago... do you think they're just trying to force someone out?" Trista adjusted her grip on the boxes. "If they knew he was here, you know? I can't imagine any J—anyone I knew standing for something like this, even in hiding."

Atton shrugged. "Again, hard to say. If they suspected he was here, I could see the Exchange trodding the downtrodden."

"You think all their efforts are simply to draw Ell out?"

"Yeah," Trista said. "Think about it, Bao-Dur. If you were trying to draw one of us out, what would you do?"

"'One of us?'"

She frowned, and he frowned back at her. "Don't get pedantic, you know what I mean."

"It's what I'd do," Atton mumbled to himself. Trista narrowed her eyes at him. "What? I'm agreeing with you!"

"It is not an unsound strategy," Visas mumbled, almost lost in the ship noise above them. "If these were the Jedi of old, who could not resist challenging abuses such as those."

Trista frowned. Not just the Jedi of old. It would have drawn us out too. But she kept the thought to herself as they finished crossing the plaza, entering into the narrow corridor leading back to their docking bay. At the corner, the injured refugee waved to her as they approached.

"Hold on." She stopped. "What's up?"

"Take this one for free," he said, waving her closer. "A bunch of Red Eclipse just headed toward your ship, maybe fifteen minutes ago."

"Red Eclipse?" She glanced at Atton.

"Nasty band of slavers. Trandoshan and Weequay, I think."

"Great. Think they're the ship the Toydarian mentioned?"

"Probably."

"Great." She looked back at the refugee. "You'll be safe here?"

"I'm all but useless to them."

"Okay. Just keep your head down. Actually." She set the stack of takeout down. "One of these is yours if you'll watch them while we take care of this."

"Done."

They ditched the food and made their way to the walkway. Trista drew a deep breath and leaned out, scanning the area and passing on details to her companions.

The ramp was down — that itself was a bad sign. Scattered across the walkway were several clumps of slavers, talking or patrolling — about ten, if she had to guess, with an unknown number on board the ship. It'd be easiest to sneak their way through, but there was no way to—

"HK." She turned back. "You up for some sniping?"

"Statement: I am always 'up for some sniping.' However, you squander my extensive talents on mercenaries."

"I'll find you better prey, eventually. See what you can do. We'll be ready to ambush anyone who comes around the corner."

HK-47 glanced around the area and, before she could stop him, activated a stealth field.

"Oh, great," Atton said, "the murder droid can go invisible."

Bao-Dur shook his head. "He's an assassin, Atton, what did you expect?"

"I was just hoping he couldn't, okay? Now I really gotta start locking the door at night."

"Speaking of stealth." Trista nudged him. "Go over to the corner and try to keep us updated."

"What?" Atton protested. "Why me?"

"Because you're sneaky."

"Ugh. Fine. Fine." Atton activated a switch on the generator around his belt, and his presence disappeared from her side. She motioned to the others.

"Be ready. Use the normal swords unless it gets ugly. We can swap on the ship if we have to. Whenever you're read—"

As soon as rea- had left her mouth, a shot rang out above them. Someone shouted from the walkway ahead. "Got 'em stirred up," Atton hissed over the comm. Another shot echoed through the hallway. "Oh, yeah, he's kicking a mynock's nest."

"The more you can take out, the better, HK," Trista whispered.

"Improbable boast." Another shot. "This is like shooting fish in a platsteel drum, Master."

"As long as he's enjoying himself, I guess," she muttered.

They waited another minute, wincing at every shot. "Tris, he is... brutally efficient," Atton said, in a tone somewhere between awe and fear.

"Do the slavers have access to our comms?" Bao-Dur whispered.

Trista nodded. "Only the ones on the ship, and they're probably expecting us."

"Fair enough."

They waited another few terror-inducing seconds as HK's rifle rang out above them, and Trista contemplated why the hell she'd thought repairing and waking up an assassin droid was a good idea with each shot. Finally something clunked next to them, and HK shimmered back into existence.

"Assessment," he began, "my accuracy rating has decreased from its last recorded diagnostic by 58.8 percent. Boast: However, you will find the results satisfactory."

"Satisfactory?" Atton lowered his own stealth field as he rejoined them. "Sithspit."

"Good work, HK. The lower ratio is probably from damage, so we'll keep making repairs as we need them." Trista stepped around the corner, onto the walkway that stretched toward the Hawk. Bodies were now strewn about it, a few still groaning and twitching. "It will be harder on the ship, so just be ready." She tapped her chin, weighing their options. "They've got us bottlenecked — we've only got the one way on, and I don't think we've got the time or tools to do otherwise. I don't think we'll be able to sneak on. We could try diplomacy, but I doubt—"

She snapped her fingers as she turned back. "All right, here's what we'll do. They've probably gotten the crew out of the way, one way or another, so we're going to take a mixed approach. Bao-Dur, you and I are the worst at sneaking in." He nodded. "We'll try to talk our way to the leader. You three follow us on once they're distracted and find the crew. Release and arm them, then fight your way to us. We'll start working on the leader as soon as we hear blasterfire."

Trista tucked her lightsaber into her sleeve and motioned for Bao-Dur to do the same. "Hope you're ready to use that," she muttered, and he replied with a short, silent nod.

"Questions?"

HK held up a finger, and she nodded. "Query: Are we allowed to begin extermination before locating the other meatbags?"

"If you can do it quietly enough, I don't care, HK."

The droid nodded and clicked something on his blaster. "Boastful Statement: Already done, Master."

"You're sure you want to try talking?" Atton asked. Trista nodded.

"We don't know how many there are. We could walk into a massacre. This gives us a chance to avoid getting mowed down as soon as we step on board." She took a deep breath and turned back. "Ready, Bao-Dur?"

"Ready."

"Give us a few to get on board before moving in." She squared her shoulders and started forward, already unbuckling her belt and drawing her hold-out blaster out of her shirt. "Get ready to hand our visible weapons over. We want to make sure they trust us."

"Are we going to attempt negotiations?"

"They're slavers, Bao-Dur. They boarded our ship and probably incapacitated our crew just because we landed on this landing pad. Does that strike you as negotiable?"

"No."

"Yeah. It's not."

Trista stopped at the end of the ramp, resisting the urge to look back at the archway leading to the plaza. She cleared her throat. "Hello. I'm the owner of this ship, and I would like to negotiate."

A Weequay stuck his head out, a blaster trained at them.

"I see at least five from here," Bao-Dur murmured. Trista nodded.

"You're the owner of this ship?" the Weequay asked.

"That is what I said."

"And you want... to talk?"

"That is also what I said."

"Hmph. Stay here." He turned back and said something to someone out of view. "Get up here, nice and easy. Give me your weapons."

Trista stepped into the ship and handed over her sword and blaster, and Bao-Dur handed over his. From here, it was much clearer — at least five scattered down the hallways, six in the garage, and it was hard to tell further than that. She waited, resisting the urge to fiddle with the lightsaber up her sleeve. Finally, another Weequay trotted through the garage and began muttering to the other, who motioned back to them.

"This way."

Trista nodded to Bao-Dur and followed the Weequay into the garage. The mix of other Weequay and Trandoshans at the ramp stayed the same, but several moved in to follow them. Bao-Dur tensed at her side, and she brushed his arm with her fingers.

"Easy does it."

The Iridonian released a slow breath next to her as they crossed through the main hold, full of another six, and into the cockpit hallway. The tension holding her shoulders stiff relaxed. This was still a dangerous situation, but the cockpit hallway was barely big enough for two people to walk abreast. The two of them could hold this position if needed.

When they arrived at the comm room, the Weequay leading them motioned, exaggeratedly, to the archway. Trista nodded and stepped inside, letting Bao-Dur stay a step behind her.

Standing with his back to them was a tall Trandoshan, around 2-ish meters tall, with an enormous two-bladed sword lazily resting in one hand. A couple other Trandoshans, both with large blasters that seemed almost normal-sized compared to their bulk, flanked him. He turned back with a face marred by scars and a sick, toothy smile.

"You are the owner of this ship?"

Her eyes flicked down to a human body to the side, then back up before she could assess if the man was breathing or not. Not one of her crew. Not a priority.

"I am the owner of this vessel, yes. I intend to—"

"You will intend to do nothing." He pointed the sword at her, the tip coming within inches of her nose, and she just caught herself before flinching. "You have trespassed on the territory of the Red Eclipse, and we shall not surrender it without blood."

Trista responded with a quiet huff and eased the sword to the side. "Should you wish to keep this territory to yourselves, might I recommend a sign?"

His scowl twisted further. "How dare—"

"As I was saying, I am here to negotiate the peaceful return of my ship and crew. I assume they are unharmed?"

"I will not say." He bared his teeth. "Our only interest is your death, for trespassing on our territory. After that, we will do what we will with your crew."

"Now, now," Trista said, still calm despite a wavering feeling in her chest. "I was hoping we could come to an agreement, like civilized beings." A lightsaber hissed somewhere in the ship. The Trandoshan's head jerked up, and she smiled. "Don't worry, the ship makes that noise occasionally. What's your name?"

For a moment it looked like he was debating whether he'd answer, before he growled, "Cahhmakt."

"Great name. All right, Cahhmakt. I am sorry that we landed on your unmarked, unlabeled, and in no way designated non-public landing pad. It was, in no way, our intention to trespass on your territory. But—" She bled the Force into her words, drawing on it harder than she had since getting it back. "—all I want to do is come to an equitable solution for both of us. That's all you want, right? I think we can all get what we want out of this, don't you?"

Cahhmakt blinked slowly, then nodded. "An equitable solution," he drawled. "Such as what?"

"I can pay the landing fee at whatever second-rate pad we forced you to use, and a sizable ransom for my ship and crew. If that isn't favorable, then the straightforward solution is to switch landing pads. You seem a reasonable sort." Bao-Dur inhaled sharply behind her, and she stepped back on his foot. She continued, still smiling and speaking slowly, waiting for the sound of blasterfire. The sword still hovered a little away from her face, and she nudged it down a little further. "If the first is more favorable, what sum would you prefer?"

"This ship is large, and worth much to the right people," he said, and she frowned. "The crew... most could draw a high price on the local market. It would not be a small amount."

"Forgive me for being unfamiliar with Nar Shaddaa's markets."

"A hundred thousand credits."

"Well, you're right. That is quite a lot of money." Oh, for Force's sake, what was taking those three so damn long? "Maybe we'll let you keep someone."

"Tri—"

She stepped on Bao-Dur's foot again, more forcefully this time. "Maybe, um... you know, we don't—" Someone opened fire in the main hold, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Finally!"

Trista grabbed the sword by the hilt and pulled, planting her hand against Cahhmakt's chest and slamming the Force forward into him. He jerked backwards, flying into the bank of computers and fracturing a screen. She pulled the sword up, slicing across the Trandoshan's chest armor with a hail of sparks. Bao-Dur's lightsaber lit to life behind her, and she threw the sword down the hall toward the cockpit.

As she whipped her lightsaber out of her sleeve, something slammed into her and set her back into a wall. Her chest seized and for one second, she couldn't breathe. Without even thinking, she shoved a bit of the Force toward her diaphragm and spun back. Her lightsaber slashed through one of Cahhmakt's flanking Trandoshan. He looked surprised for the second he could.

Trista blocked several blasts from the other flanking Trandoshan and charged toward Cahhmakt who, with no control of the Force, couldn't recover as fast. He slipped aside, her blade swinging past him. He grabbed her arm.

"You're worth the blood price for your crew," he growled. Trista tried to pull out of his grip, but his claws dug into her wrist. "Don't struggle."

She dropped her lightsaber, caught it, and sliced upward through his arm. He roared in pain and staggered back. Trista turned and plunged it into his chest.

"Don't struggle," she replied as he slumped to the ground.

The last Trandoshan tried to grab her, and she shoved him back with the Force before driving her lightsaber through his chest.

They joined the fray in the main hold a moment later, with Bao-Dur tucking his lightsaber away in favor of borrowing Cahhmakt's sword, but it was over almost as soon as they arrived.

"Everyone okay?" Trista asked, tucking her lightsaber back into her sleeve.

"Yes," Handmaiden said, after a moment of quiet. "I am sorry I did not protect the shi—"

"It's okay. Everyone's alive, right?" She nodded. "Relatively unharmed? Then that's all that matters. I assume they gassed the ship?"

"Yes," Mical answered. "We awoke in the cargo hold, nearly unaware of what was happening."

"Good enough." Trista looked around at the bodies. "Well, uh, Mical, there's a guy in the comms room who may or may not be alive. Can you check on him for me? The rest of us." She rubbed the back of her neck. "I guess, go through their pockets and then shove the bodies off the side. Keep any gear we think we can sell."

Mical frowned. "I—"

"Look, if some other slaving gang takes over our ship, we're gonna need the money. Apparently you two are worth a lot on the local slave market." She glanced at Kreia. "No offense, but I doubt he was talking about you."

Kreia replied with a curt nod.

"Trista." She looked back at Bao-Dur, who was grinning. "Who were you going to give them to get the ship back?"

Trista threw the first thing she could grab — a datapad — at him. He caught it, grin widening. "Stuff it, you."

#

"Did you clear up the issue with our human friend?" From Mical's jump, he hadn't been paying attention. Trista leaned on the doorway. "Sorry, I should walk louder."

"It-It's fine." He finished organizing the drawer and tucked what looked like a label-maker into a pocket. "Yes. He survived, I patched up his wounds, and he's left."

"Any idea who he was?"

"He said this was his ship."

Trista frowned. "Oh, yeah, him. We ran into him outside. What'd he say?"

"He graciously allowed us to keep it. Called it a gift, said it was 'cursed.'"

"Generous of him." She sat on the edge of the cot. "How are you?"

"I am fine."

Something in his tone indicated that he was not, in fact, fine. Trista narrowed her eyes. "Don't lie to me, Mical."

He sighed before turning back to her. "They caught us unaware. It won't happen again."

"Don't beat yourself up about it."

"But... I am training again. I am supposed to—"

Trista held up her hand, stopping him mid-sentence. "Mical, I expected you to get this better than anyone here, but just because you're a Jedi again doesn't mean you're perfect. I make at least three mistakes before I eat breakfast."

"How is that—"

She counted off on her fingers. "Waking up, getting up, leaving the engine room."

"Ah."

"The commitment to perfection is the hardest thing the Jedi force on someone, and it's a load of bantha-shit. It's unachievable. And when you don't make it, it doesn't make you keep trying for it. Eventually you either get fantastic at hiding your imperfection, or you end up with enough anxiety to fuel a cruiser. So you don't have to beat yourself up about making a mistake. If I'm getting stuck trying to rebuild the Order, we'll do it better than last time. All right?"

A small smile darted across his face as he nodded. "Fair enough. Are you all right? I am sure that wasn't pleasant."

"Well." Trista shifted on the cot. "I'm glad you all opened fire when you did, or I would've had to decide if I liked you or the Handmaiden more."

"I'll consider myself fortunate to not learn where I am on the pecking order."

Trista hopped down to the floor. "Not yet, at least. That's something you find out about a week in." She grinned. "Food's in the main hold. Atton ran out and grabbed it while we were getting bodies off the ship."

"Hopefully it is still safe to eat."

"Can't be any grungier than the rest of this place."