A/N: sorry I meant to have this update loaded yesterday as intended, but my fibromyalgia has been in a huge flare since last Saturday and I have known nothing but pain and suffering. anyway. here it is.
As Atton rounded the hallway corner at a jog, the sight of Visas, the old witch, and the Disciple standing outside the ship made him roll his eyes. Typical. "Stay on the ship," his ass. Blondie paced on the other side of the platform, nervously looking toward the docks every few seconds, while the other two stood, Visas staring — or whatever she did — into traffic.
"—why a Jedi would come here." Visas was quiet enough that he could only hear her closer to the ship. "There is so much noise on this moon."
"It makes detecting a Jedi difficult," Kreia said.
"But to be in a place where one drowns in the Force. Why would they wish that?"
"A simple question, to which I ask another. Why should a Jedi want to hide?"
"Great question," Atton interrupted. The Disciple's head shot up, and he started toward them. "Where're the others?"
"On the ship," he said, "why?"
"Because we're about to be in a lot of trouble," he replied. Bao-Dur stuck his head out of the ramp, called back into the ship, and he, the Murderbot, and the Handmaiden joined them on the platform. T3 chirped to a stop at the top of the ramp. "So for those of you just joining us, the truce between the bounty hunters is off, so this sector is about to be a war zone." He frowned, despite himself. "Tris walking into a trap in the Jekk'Jekk Tarr is bad enough, but having a hundred bounty hunters on your back's a lot worse."
Kreia frowned at him, and he frowned back. "She was told to meet alone. We cannot disrupt the meeting until the alien reveals the information he has."
"I didn't mean her, I meant us. They can't get to her either."
"But they will be tracking her," Visas said. "We must warn her."
"I mean, yeah. I already tried. Comms are jammed." He held up his commlink. "Tried warning the ship too, but that didn't go through. Obviously. And I'm betting we're in a lot more trouble than she is."
"Bounty hunters?" the Disciple interrupted. Atton opened his mouth to tell him yes, now get on the ship so us adults can talk before he continued. "Like those, I presume?"
"Oh." Atton looked back at the walkway, where a pack of weapon-bristled Duros were making their way toward them, and took a step back towards the ramp. "Yeah, looks about right."
"Oh, look," one said, "refugees, here, on the landing pad. Are you lost?"
Bao-Dur shrugged, resting his hand on his blaster with the motion. "We live here now."
"Oh? Or perhaps you have lost your criminal Jedi Exile leader."
"'Criminal' is a strong word," the Disciple replied. "That doesn't sound like anyone we know."
"It is more likely, yes. Very. I am Azanti Zhug, leader of Zhugs, very powerful, very skilled hunters."
"Do they always monologue like this, pilot?"
Atton rolled his eyes as he glanced at the Handmaiden. "No, this is new."
"It would be very smart of you to tell me where the criminal Jedi has gone. And do speak very quick, my patience is very low."
"Anyone catch that?" Atton asked. "All I got was 'very.'"
"I think he wants us to give up Trista to his poorly trained collection of bounty hunters," Bao-Dur said.
"All right, that's what I figured. Which one do you want?"
"I'll take the stupid one that threatened us instead of shooting us."
The Handmaiden didn't wait for another cue, snapping her electrostaff out and sprinting for the leader. He had a second to raise his gun before she'd taken out his knees. Across the platform, Visas' lightsaber hummed to life, but this time, another echoed it. The Disciple blocked several blaster bolts from their side of the platform as the Zhugs opened fire.
Atton rolled his eyes and took cover behind the ramp as he traded shots with one of the scattering bounty hunters. Murderbot was on the other side, firing with terrifying effectiveness, as the others took care of them in close range. Eventually, the Zhugs were scattered across the platform, dead, dying, or crawling back toward the entrance, and he came out from under the ramp.
"So, uh, yeah, like I was saying." He motioned to the bodies. "Truce is off."
"Clearly," Kreia replied, and Atton glared at her.
"Should we go after her?" the Disciple asked.
"I don't know. As we all know, I'm just an idiot."
"Atton," he said, placating. "You have the most experience with this place. That expertise is valuable."
Atton crossed his arms as they stared at him. "Yeah?"
The Handmaiden rolled her eyes. "Yes, I agree, if that is what you wish to hear. You could anticipate the bounty hunters' next moves where we could not."
"And you want me to make the calls 'cause of that?"
They both nodded. He looked at Bao-Dur, who shrugged. He didn't bother looking at Kreia, because he could feel her frowning at him.
"All right, then. Well, I'm going after her. We're going to need to split up. Half of us go, half of us watch the ship."
"Do you think it's wise to split up?" the Handmaiden asked.
"You wanna do the plan? Or do you want me to?"
"... My apologies."
"So, uh... Echani, Murderbot, and... ugh, you. We'll go. Marr, Bao, Kreia, trash can, stay. Hey, trash can? Get on the Hawk's gun and give 'em backup."
T3 responded with a rude chirp and zipped up the ramp.
"Us four, head out."
Atton jogged down the walkway, looking back only once to make sure that the three were following them — the Disciple clutching his lightsaber, the Handmaiden checking over her staff, and HK tapping his gun in anticipation. And with a groan — why the hell am I doing this? — he started back toward the docks.
#
Trista slammed her hand into the next door, closing the other behind her as fresh — relatively — air blasted away the remnants of the last room's gas. She drew a deep breath, then readjusted the control she was maintaining of it. Then... waited a moment, re-steeling herself.
Visquis, she assumed, had announced her arrival and offered the bar's patrons one and a half times her bounty to get rid of her. She'd only gotten this far by cutting a path through the bar's patrons, no doubt lowering any chance for future profit. Overall, though, this made this the third worst appointment of her life, behind the day she was exiled and that one time on Kaledon that she and Revan agreed to never speak of again.
As the doors opened and she stepped through, she raised her lightsaber for the inevitable hail of blasterfire and rush of blades. Instead, however, she picked out flashes of movement as several (female) Twi'leks in minimal dress ducked behind the central bar, freestanding walls, or tables. She shut off her weapon and approached the bar.
"Hey, uh—"
The bartender remained half-crouched behind the bar, shaking. "Please... I beg you, don't hurt us."
"Oh, uh, it's okay. I won't hurt you." The Twi'lek stared at her, still trembling. "I had an appointment with Visquis, but I presume he's left for the day?"
She nodded, standing and straightening, though her hands were still shaking. "Our master has chambers beneath the Jekk'Jekk Tarr. He goes there for privacy. That is where you'll find him."
Trista looked back toward where she was pointing. "Okay, great, thank you. Anything else I should know about them?"
She nodded emphatically. "There is a maze of tunnels that lead to his chambers, old ventilation ducts connected to the docks. They are toxic to travel through for your kind. If you do not hurry, you will die."
"Great, anything else?"
"He has an entire clan of bodyguards. Ubese, I think. You must be careful."
"Oh." Trista's nose crinkled. Only the Sith, she suspected, held a grudge against Jedi stronger than that of the Ubese — and she doubted they'd distinguish between a Jedi and an Exile either.
"And they're expecting you. I think they've been setting this trap for a long time."
"Even better. Uh, another question — have you seen a red-haired woman, about this tall, leather, lots of attitude?"
She nodded emphatically. "Mira, yes. She came here, but she didn't know about Visquis' traps in this chamber and was caught by surprise."
"Did he take her down there?"
"I believe so, yes. He was here with a Wookiee, Hanharr. He also went down with Visquis."
Hanharr. It took a second to place. The Trandoshan bounty hunter had been clear about Hanharr and Mira's animosity toward one another, and she frowned. Well, if Ell was going after Mira, and Mira was in danger... she'd need to follow.
"Thank you for your help. Get to safety."
The Twi'lek nodded again, still staring, hands still trembling. Trista responded with a sharp nod of her own and headed for the door. As the door opened the Twi'lek servants sprinted out behind her into the bar proper, and she stepped into another airlock.
She took a last few swallows of fresh-ish air and punched the next door's lock. Even without breathing the sharp bite of ship exhaust struck her, and she swore and covered her nose and mouth with her sleeve.
All right. If this is a maze... She pressed her free hand to the wall. Then I keep my hand on this wall, keep turning left, and I'll make it there. Just gotta... believe the Force will let me hold my breath until then. Haha, 'believe in the Force,' good one, Trista.
She made her way through the maze, stumbling past mines and dancing over the remains of previous tunnel-delvers who were (hopefully) less fortunate than her. The silence, save for the hiss of the vents shunting in the deadly exhaust, almost bore painfully down on her. And she took her time, trying to keep a running map in her mind in case she had to double back — or wandered too far away from where she thought Visquis' base must be.
Halfway through, Trista reached out on the Force. Life blazed further to her right, and she kept following the wall with her hand.
After maybe fifteen minutes of focusing hard on holding her breath, and trying to sense life near her like a guiding beacon, she reached a large airlock door. Trista took a deep breath and pressed the lock.
It opened into a well-decorated room, unlike the rough tunnels she'd just come through. It was absolutely the nicest place she'd seen on Nar Shaddaa so far, comfortably furnished, with finished floors and walls and ceiling. But as the airlock opened, several figures in envirosuits reached for their weapons, obviously waiting for the person who'd open that door. Her, most likely.
She sighed and pressed the switch on her weapon, bathing the room in a hiss of pale light. "And here we go again."
#
The Jekk'Jekk Tarr was visible from the dock entrance, and they came through it fast — not a sprint, but definitely a full jog. The Handmaiden was bleeding from a few minor cuts, patching them as they ran with a few kolto squares from Blondie, who was as-of-yet uninjured. The Murderbot had a whirring knee after taking a blaster shot to it at close range, but was otherwise fine.
Atton had begrudgingly accepted a bandage for a shot that hit him in the thigh, but was otherwise unharmed. That was the benefit of using the droid as a shield.
The docks were quiet compared to the main plaza. The bounty hunters that had clogged the plaza were gone, and the whole place expectant, like the silence before a storm. It ground at the back of his neck, prickling and tense as they made their way across the platform. Still, no one accosted them as they passed the idling freighters, until Atton finally stopped outside the open airlock.
"Did we not think this through?" the Handmaiden asked as he stared inside.
"I'm working on it." He frowned. "Anyone have a spare envirosuit?"
"Trista took our only one," Blondie said. Of course she did.
"All right, fine. Any idea where we can find one?" He looked up at the sheer wall above them, glowing in the sign's flickering neon. "Maybe there's a way to cut the gas off, might shut off the droid interference too. Murderbot, see if you can—"
As he was musing a panel beside the door opened, screeching in the stillness, and they turned with their weapons raised. Atton stepped back behind HK again, with a disgusted whir from the droid. A woman, red-haired, stuck her head out first, then jerked back inside once she spotted them.
"Who are you?" the Handmaiden demanded.
"I'd ask the same thing, but I know who you are," came the reply, followed by a couple mumbled phrases and a man's voice.
"My friend says you're traveling with Trista Morace. Is that true?"
"What of it?" Atton said, and Blondie frowned back at him. "Don't give me that."
"Then we have information you may be interested in, but we must find somewhere else to speak."
"Take a step out and we will decide," the Handmaiden responded, her electrostaff still out-held. There was a pause before a man stepped out with his hands out-held. He was tall, tan-skinned, with shoulder-length brown hair and a mustache — and Atton, at least, knew who he was immediately. Blondie was a step behind him, to his credit, lowering his unlit lightsaber and fumbling it back into his sleeve.
"Master Ell?" he said, hesitantly, and Zez-Kai shook his head.
"Not here. Mira has somewhere we can talk."
The woman stepped out behind him, her blasters in hand but not aimed. Atton adjusted his hold on his own. "I've got a safehouse back in the apartments, but we should hurry. If the other bounty hunters saw you coming this way, they won't be far behind."
The Handmaiden glanced back at him. Atton frowned and shoved his blasters into his holsters. "Fine. Lead the way."
#
"You have arrived both much sooner, yet much later, than I'd hoped."
Trista stared Visquis down as she continued across the blood-strewn room. The tendrils around his beak waved, and the surrounding air was fraught in the Force. Fear, nervousness. Something like that. She latched onto it, burying herself into it as she replied.
"You have an odd idea of hospitality." She motioned to the arena. "You invited me to your office, offered to meet with me. Then you turned your patrons on me, then poison gas, then your bodyguards. I was just coming to talk, and you tried to kill me. Needless to say, I'm very insulted, and quite disappointed."
"I... uh..." His eyes darted toward the door.
"Oh, no, please, don't bother apologizing." She motioned again. "Let's get right down to it. You've soaked up all my patience for the day."
"Yes, very well. Let us dispense with the pleasantries. You are, after all, human."
She drew her lips into a thin line. "And you are, after all, a Quarren. Look, I'm not here for a fight. If you'd bothered to ask, you'd know that."
His beak clacked. "I will not violate etiquette if you do not." Trista nodded. "Based on your actions alone, I take it you are not familiar with the organization I serve... or my responsibilities."
She eyed a body laying in the arena. Not Mira or Ell. She glanced at another one: large, furred. Wookiee. Probably Hanharr, and that was a fantastic sign when paired with their absences. Life flickered deep in it, fading, clinging to existence out of anger and spite. But he wasn't the threat right now.
"I'm familiar enough."
"I run the Refugee Sector — I decide what happens here. I control the flows and currents of this sector. You have caused a great deal of trouble for the Exchange here on Nar Shaddaa, and I wish to know why."
"Oh, Force, where do I start?" Trista held up her hand and began ticking off reasons on her fingers. "Let's see... oh, well, there's the bounty your boss put on my head, then the one you added. And then — uh-uh, I'm speaking, Visquis — there's the fact that said bounties have nearly gotten me killed at least eighteen times. There's the fact you and your deceased underling have both said to my face that I am a sack of useless shit just because I'm human, when I suspect I'm superior to both of you in any metric that matters. Which does not include species, by the way. But, ah, let's stick with the principal reason I'm here.
"Since you 'run' the Refugee sector, I want to know why you've been squeezing the life out of them." Her eyes narrowed. "And, if you know what's good for you, you'll start talking."
His black eyes echoed hers, narrowing almost to slits. "We put pressure on the Refugee Sector for a simple reason — whenever seeming-innocents are in danger, there the Jedi are with lightsabers blazing."
"So it was an elaborate trap, like I suspected."
"Like you..." His tentacles waved. "It is curious, though. We have been applying pressure on the humans in this sector for a while, yet only now do you show yourself."
"I only just got here. Though, if I'd known that you were behaving like this, I would have come earlier."
"Ha! The Jedi have always been slow to act when danger threatens, more so now than in the past, and you are no different." Anger welled from that spot inside her chest. "Still, if you are a recent arrival... that would lend validity to the rumors of other Jedi here on Nar Shaddaa." His tentacles drew back in a smile. "Fortunately, I need just the one."
"Yeah, yeah, hilarious. So that's why you put a bounty out on me? Your trap wasn't working fast enough?"
"You mistake me. I did not put the original bounty on your kind. We all have our masters, you know."
Her lip curled. "I am well aware it was Goto who made the original bounty. It was a general 'you.'"
"Indeed. And the price on your head is now so high that any claiming it could buy their own planet. You must have angered my soon-to-be deceased boss for him to hunt you so."
"Never met him, actually."
"And that anger is why you are the perfect bait... and why I will bring you to Goto, then kill him."
Trista sniffed, assaulted by the odor of the same noxious gasses from before. Different, though, as if he'd adapted them to the knowledge that she'd powered through both the Jekk'Jekk Tarr and his tunnels. Instinctively, her throat closed on itself as she held her breath.
"You are an ambitious little squidhead, aren't you?"
"The gas..." Visquis took a step back. "It's not... heh."
"Look, all this posturing, or whatever you're trying to do, is both pointless and ridiculous. You want Goto dead, I want this bounty gone. If I can make a counterproposal—"
"All of you, attack the Jedi!" Trista glanced back at the remaining Ubese bodyguards as they gathered and sighed, pulling her lightsaber off her belt. This was getting old, and she was very tired.
But instead of attacking her, they marched forward around her and levered their weapons... toward Visquis? She took her eyes off them and glanced back at the Quarren, whose tentacle-adorned expression bounced from anger to shock... to intense fear.
"Attack the... Jedi... oh... you all... never actually worked for me..."
"Okay, uh." Trista raised a finger. "Can I go? I don't think I need to be here for this."
"'While the Jedi remains on Nar Shaddaa, my eyes shall watch her.'" Trista's head jerked up to the ceiling. Visquis wrung his hands in front of her.
"Goto... I didn't... I wasn't—!"
Oh, so this was Goto. Cool. She opened her mouth again.
"Please, take the Jedi. I offer the human as a gift, freely, as I would my own life—"
"Oh, for Force's sake," she muttered halfway through his statement, before raising her voice over his. "So, Goto, I've been—"
"Enough." Goto interrupted them both. One of the Ubese raised his sword.
"Hey!" Her tone must have been sharp enough to cut flesh — a few of them winced, glancing back at her. "He's a piece of shit, but there's been way too much death today."
It didn't stop the Ubese with his weapon raised, as he swung it hard onto Visquis' back. The Quarren cried out in a mixture of shock and pain, and collapsed to the floor. Blood trickled from the incision, and Trista didn't need to look closer to know he was dead. The envirosuited Ubese turned back to her, and she raised and ignited her weapon.
"I didn't want to fight your friends, and I don't want to fight you," she said, holding out her other hand. She drew the Force into her words as much as she dared, hoping it'd have the desired effect without overdoing it."I'm sorry for what happened, but it was long before my time. I'm already trying to get to Goto. There's no need for further bloodshed."
The voice above her chuckled. "What an amusing Jedi specimen you are."
Pain coursed through her, out of nowhere, and she screamed. She scratched for the Force, trying to shove away the pain — but like a riptide or quicksand, the more she struggled, the more entangled in it she became.
The last thing she knew was the weight of her lightsaber slipping from her fingers, the clattering echoing through the arena as her knees hit the ground.
