I cracked my knuckles in a very un-ladylike manner. Not that anyone I know has ever accused me of being a lady. The command line blinked at me in readiness, and I glanced up at Roble.

"I am now taking requests."

"First, I want you to route our usual 'available for business' message to Teletron." Death leaned forward over my shoulder, his eyes focused past the screen on the rapidly approaching future. "Then, I want you to hit the usual retailers for shipment estimates, and the pigpen for news on street crime. You know the ones I mean, hijackings, shipment piracy, that sort of thing."

"Got it, Boss." My fingers danced across the keyboard and my system jumped to fulfill my every wish. Many people are surprised that I use a command line and keyboard for my slicing, but I've always found that I have much better control over the routines that way. For slicers, control is everything.

Roble waited only until the message to Teletron whisked away over electronic byways, then he prowled off to his office, no doubt to start planning escort details. Shael moved up and took his place behind my right shoulder. Mason was seated just behind me and to my left. Now he leaned forward, eyes intent on the monitor.

I'd been in and out of the systems of most of Teletron's retailers so often that I had just sliced myself a backdoor to save time. I brought up the macros and let them run. Data flashed across my screen as they pulled up the files I wanted and just dumped them to memory for later scanning. It was routine enough to be almost boring, but slicing never bored me. Bored slicers got themselves caught.

The sector Police mainframe, on the other hand, was a job I was looking forward to. If my equipment had been a little better, I would have looked forward to it more, 'cuz then there would have been more I could have done while inside. At the gateway I paused momentarily, my fingers ceasing to clatter across the keyboard for a few fractions of a second. I shut down my other macros and called up new ones.

"I've got the timer, Crash," Shael told me, and produced a hand chrono.

"Timer?"

Shael was impatient with Mason's question, but I considered it progress that he didn't take another swing at the Jedi. "Cop Central's got tight security. We've got just two and a half minutes before they can lock onto us, trace us, and shut us down."

"A hundred and fifty seconds? That's not very long. Crash, are you sure you can get what you need that quickly?"

"She's done it before," Shael snapped back at him, pride ringing in his voice. Mason asked no more questions, though I know he wanted to. The line of his neck and the set of his shoulders let me know clearly that he was intrigued in spite of himself. After all, how many times did a Jedi get the opportunity to see a great slicer at work?

"Timer," I said, fingers poised. "Start ... now!" The countdown started with a faint beep and my fingers dashed across the keys. A very precious fifty-five seconds were spent slipping past the front line security into the main system. After that my activity became a fast and furious search and dump, my eyes flicking over the data screens, scanning for key words. Beside me Shael offered a mild oath. He's asked me in the past how I could identify the screen contents so quickly. My only answer was that it's a gift. A talent. I only know that it's something I can do. The how of it doesn't matter to me, just that I can.

"Forty-five," Shael whispered.

I discarded two domestic disturbances and a breaking and entering before pulling down a minor piracy. Four drug busts, a DUI, another B&E ...

"Thirty."

... a blackmail, a murder, an indecent exposure, a ...

"Pull that one," Mason urged quietly, and my fingers tapped out the command before I'd had a chance to even identify it. Without missing a beat I moved on.

... a domestic, a missing persons ...

"Fifteen."

I snagged and dumped another hijacking and added a drive-by that caught my attention. The data streamed past my gaze and I didn't dare blink for fear of missing something.

"Ten."

Five more files of garbage, another dump, two more don't cares ...

"Five." Shael's voice was tight with a tension that hadn't yet touched me. In there I was as confident and controlled as he was on his swoop. That was my world. But my time was up and I dashed for the exit, sweeping up my tracks behind me. I could practically feel the electronic hunters nipping at my heels. Then, I was out of the system, almost slamming the door in the very faces of my pursuers.

"Out!" I crowed, beaming at my monitor.

Wordlessly Shael displayed the timer. It had stopped with just over a second left on the countdown. "You were cutting it pretty close, there, Crash."

"I have them and their response timed down to a tenth of a second." I placed a smug little kiss on his cheek and then leaned back in my chair and laced my fingers together behind my head. "You may now compliment me on my skill and daring."

Shael's response was a derisive snort and a playful tug on my hair. I swatted at his hand, but he evaded me easily. "Too much humility was never a problem for you, was it, Crash?"

"Humility is for those who don't know how truly great they are," I told him in smug tones. "I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a champion swoop rider. However, I am the best slicer you are ever likely to see," I pointed out as he stood up from his chair.

Shael leaned down to steal a deep kiss. The way his eyes very carefully never turned in Mason's direction made it quite clear that the sheer joy and pleasure of kissing me wasn't his only reason for doing it. "Then it's a mighty a good thing that you're on our side." That said, he took his beautiful, jealous brown eyes and crooked smile off to confer with Death about shifting border patrols, or rotating the duty roster, or some other such leadership type thingy. I stared after him a while, and when Roble's office door closed between us, I smiled to myself. When I was in my element, Shael had nothing but pride for me, and he defended my skill and ability without the least doubt. I just had to find a way to get him to carry that over into the rest of our lives and our problems would be solved.

"So now what?" Mason's way of talking was getting more gang-like all the time. He hadn't said 'So now what do we do?' or 'What will be our next move?' The Jedi hadn't used any unnecessary words. He had pared it down to the essentials, using only what was important. I was impressed, despite my knowledge of what he was. Some people just couldn't ever manage to get over their early training.

"Now, we get some breakfast while the machine chews on the retail estimates." I tapped out a couple of commands and was rewarded with a cheerful beep as my computer started its task. "And then I come back and check the estimates over as a precaution against machine error and then I read through all of the cop reports myself."

Mason's blue eyes were focused somewhere in the distance as he thought. "The police reports are to help plan how many members might be needed for extra security on the shipments?"

"Yeah. It gives us a better idea of who's doing what and where. The types of cargoes taken, and a few other factors are important, too." I raised one hand to push a pitch black tangle away from my face and stood, but Mason remained seated, his head cocked to one side, thinking. "You hungry, or have you already eaten?"

He waved a dismissive hand at me, his gaze still staring past the little animated swoop rider that zoomed back and forth across the bottom of the screen. "I ate when I got up."

"And when was that?"

He shrugged. I rolled my eyes, sighed, then gathered my blanket back around me and shuffled off to find a table and some warm food. The triplets were only too happy to oblige me.

A hot meal and a shower later, I returned to my machines. They were humming away happily, their job done, the resulting files ready and waiting for me. I rolled my head a bit on my shoulders, giving my freshly combed hair a swing, before I sat down in front of the main monitor. Mason was off in the maintenance area, no doubt recruited by Bulldog or Trapper or one of the other guys to come let them brag about their rides.

I knew that the shipment projections could wait just a bit, and my curiosity about that file my Jedi had asked me to pull was starting to eat me alive. Glancing over my shoulder once more to be certain that Mason was elsewhere, I opened my stolen cop report files and began browsing through them. They were just what I had expected; reports about shipment highjackings, attempted highjackings, random drive-bys, and outright acts of piracy.

Except the one Mason had asked for.

It was junk.

I puzzled over it, and still couldn't figure it out. It was a routine report of a disturbance call in one of the smaller business districts. The incident had been investigated, no problems had been found, end of report. There had to be a reason for him to have wanted that file. He was Jedi, but there was no way he could have identified it before he'd asked me to download it. I hadn't even identified it by the time it cleared the screen. He must have been prompted by the Force, but why? It was a junk report generated by what was most likely a nosy or paranoid neighbor, or a prank call. There was nothing in it that I could see that might call it to the attention of a Jedi Knight, no matter what mission he might be on.

My finger hovered over the 'Delete' key. //It's a useless file,// I told myself. //It won't matter at all.// A little paranoia of my own tried to argue with that. //Mason thought it was important. Maybe it is. He's a Jedi after all. But even Jedi are not perfect. He could have made a mistake. Shael almost breaks into a sweat every time I slice into Cop Central and he's seen me do it dozens of times. Why wouldn't even a Jedi, seeing it for the first time, feel a little of the tension and react to it? He sounded awfully sure at the time, though.// I shrugged mentally. //Maybe his radar glitched. Yeah, right.//

Habit, ingrained respect, cultural conditioning, whatever you want to call it, it kept me from actually hitting that key. Instead, I moved it to a 'miscellaneous' folder and got back to my real work. I ran through the rest of the reports, making notes about when, where, and what and began writing a report of my own for Roble. The sooner I got it and the shipment estimates to him, the sooner he could polish up those assignment rosters and start letting people know to be ready.

That prospect cheered me considerably. Even after a successful slice, I was still feeling the effects of cabin fever. Mason had taken me aside and told me that he wouldn't drive me for another ride unless something terribly important came up. Too much was riding on his acceptance into the gang. And I knew none of the others would dare Death's wrath. The schedules, and the lack of any hostilities, would most likely lift the lock-down. And that meant that I could get out and stretch my legs again.

*******

"How's it look, Crash?"

I didn't so much as glance at Mason as he walked up behind me. I was polishing up my report. Normally the Horsemen were pretty informal about things like that, but Death liked having things like the cop reports written down where he could look at them or check back on them. I don't blame him if that's what works best for him, but I'm a visual person myself, and I prefer to store my important facts in my head rather than on a data card any passing cop could pick up and walk away with.

"Not too bad," I answered. "My data shows that I sifted through eighty-seven percent of the reports for the last three month. I can make some pretty accurate assumptions from that. There hasn't been much highjacking or pirating, all things considered."

"What things do you consider?" Mason pulled up a chair, turned it around, and straddled it, leaning his forearms on the back. He must have picked that up from Trapper. The actions were smooth, but not as smooth or thoughtless as his bows had been.

"If you swing your leg over the chair, like you would your ride, it'll look more natural," I advised. Continuing before he could do more than nod in reply, I answered his question. "First, I consider the fact that a third of the highjackings were gang related."

"Other swoop gangs?"

"Some, but not all. There are packs of homeless folks who'll attack almost any freight hauler that is slow enough, or sits still long enough. Doesn't happen often, but it's certainly not unheard of." I tapped out a command and brought up a map of the sector. "Then I take into account where they happened." Another couple of taps filled in the map with large blocks of lazy color indicating different gang territories and speckled it here and there with small red dots.

I indicated a point just inside our northern border. "That's Telecom's main distribution point. As you can see, the area around it is pretty clear of incidents. Any retailer outside this immediate sector or the northern half of the sector south of us will get their shipments from atmospheric craft or long haulers. Anyone who can take down a long hauler would chew right through us, so we don't guard those."

His eyes flicked here and there over the map, no doubt committing the various territories to memory. There were no labels, I didn't need them, and I waited for him to ask, but he didn't. "So you only have to worry about security for the immediate area?"

"Yup."

"What about the area south of Horsemen territory?"

I shrugged. "Would you believe that there's no gang activity there? At least no swoop gangs. The only reason why it's not Horsemen territory is because we don't want to mess around with two different sets of cops."

"So there won't be any problems there?"

"Not likely, but we make those escorts heavier anyway, as a precaution."

Mason nodded again, his eyes intent on the screen, and asked no more. I left the map up for him and moved my report to an auxiliary monitor and finished it there. Mason never moved. If he'd been a droid I'd have claimed I could hear him thinking, he was concentrating so hard.

I loaded my report and the raw data I'd drawn it from onto a datacard and strode to Death's office. I walked right in, knocking only as an afterthought as I stepped through the doorway. Roble was sitting behind his desk, Shael leaned with one hip hitched up on a corner, the desk's surface covered with lists and a sector map. Death was gesturing to the map, one calloused finger tracing the route they were currently discussing.

"This is the usual course they take for delivery to Bernard's. We've never had any problems on that run," Roble was saying.

"Yes, but that cuts right between Angel and Demon territory, then heads right into the Imperium, and with the way things are going right now ..." Shael trailed off and both men looked up at me.

"Done with that report, Crash?" Death asked.

"Yeah." A lazy flick of my wrist and the datacard was airborne. More than half expecting that, Roble casually raised a hand and deftly snatched the card out of the air. "Everything looks pretty good. Numbers aren't down, but they aren't up, either. And most of our routes seem to be pretty clear."

"Good. If I have any questions I'll let you know." It was clearly a dismissal, since he turned his attention right back to the map and lists, but I ignored that for the moment.

"So, when do you expect to be done with my man?"

"Soon."

"How soon is soon?"

Roble sighed and glanced at his chrono while Shael stifled a chuckle. "Give me another hour with him and then you can haul him off to do whatever you like with him."

I tilted my head and leveled a steady stare at the man. "One hour, promise?"

"Hour and a half at the very most."

I rolled my eyes with an exaggerated slump of my shoulders and relented. //That means the meeting might end some time before dinner.// I moved to the door and was halfway out when Roble called after me.

"Oh, and Crash, could you send Plague and Famine in here?"

//Forget dinner. Make that midnight.//

*******

My messenger service finished and the men in question sent on their way, I passed by the table where Sloan and a few others were playing cards. "You gonna try and sit in on the meeting?" I asked him, jerking my head at the closed door to Death's office.

"Nah," he shrugged. "Shael got all the bossy genes, I got all the lazy ones," he replied with an impudent grin.

" 'Nuf said," I agreed. I wasn't big on that being in charge stuff myself and couldn't blame him in the least for not wanting to follow in his big brother's shoes.

Shaking my head, I ruffled his hair and began to amble slowly back toward my computers, but a hint of motion caught my eye. Mason was still sitting in front of the main monitor and was now tapping out short commands every so often. My first reaction was outrage. //How dare he use my computer without asking me first!// I don't mean to say that I'm jealous of my computers and don't want anyone but me to use them ... but I'm jealous of my computers. And I don't want anyone other than me to use them. There's no telling what some silly, wannabe slicer might do to my babies when I'm not around to protect them. It just hadn't occurred to me that a polite, well-trained Jedi like Mason might do more than look over my shoulder. If it had occurred to me, I still may not have turned the keylock on, but I would have been prepared for the trill of fear and worry that rippled down my spine at seeing someone else, anyone else, tapping commands into my computer.

Outrage and worry trickled away and I just stood there for a moment. Now my curiosity was piqued. I just had to know what he was doing. Much as I trusted him, I didn't want to let him know that I was watching. He might just stop whatever it was he was doing. So instead of going right back, I turned from my original course and angled across the main floor, heading toward the maintenance bay. Conveniently enough, Shael's ride was parked closest to the computer bank, so I plopped down on the permacrete and began slowly extracting the micro-computer that controlled the air/fuel mix. From that spot I had a near perfect vantage point from which to watch the Jedi at work. I was even at enough of an angle that I could make some pretty good guesses at what commands he was typing in.

The map was still up on the screen, still blocked off into the various colored territories, and still speckled with the red dots of the crime report locations. Mason had added several blue dots. He worked deliberately and with confidence, but slowly, like he was familiar enough with computers, but not with this particular configuration. His thick brown hair fell forward, obscuring his face as he worked, so I read the muscles of his back, the set of his shoulders, the tension in his arms, and the slight hesitations in the movements of his fingers.

I glanced away for a moment to hook up an adapter from my datapad to the mix controller. Shael really did want me to check the program for bugs, since he'd been having a few problems with it recently, so it made a very convenient excuse. When I glanced back up Mason had shifted back in his seat, as if to get a better overall view of the map. I could see the scattering of blue dots better now, but I still couldn't figure out what they meant, or why he cared. Since he [i]did[/i] care, I figured it was something I might want to look into a little closer.

My attention was so fully on Mason and his actions that I missed the approach of Killek. Only when he stepped up to Mason and glanced around to check for me, did I finally notice him. I swore savagely when he laid a warning hand on the Jedi's shoulder.

"Hey man," his voice carried to me easily, despite the other noises, "you'd better not let Crash catch you fiddling with her toys. I know she's your sponsor, but she's like to take your head off before she asks any questions." His reddish mop shook ruefully. "It's never a good idea to tick off your sponsor."

"Oh?" Mason tapped out a quick sequence and the blue speckling disappeared from the screen. "I didn't know. Thanks, man."

There was no point in staying where I was any longer, so I put the pad and controller into a check and repair sequence and stood, brushing off my pants while Killek eagerly followed Mason off to give the newest Horseman his 'expert' opinion on the Jedi's swoop. I wasn't too worried about Mason wiping the little dots off the screen. Between my keystroke capture program that I always have running on my machines and what I observed, I was fairly confident that I could recreate most of them. What had me in a foul mood was that Mason hadn't finished normally. That would have told me much more about what he was doing. Had he wiped out his commands because he didn't want me to see them, or just because he thought I might be upset about him using my computers and didn't want me to worry?

I fumed there, standing beside Shael's swoop, staring off into space as if I could find the answers I sought there. I have no idea how long I stood there before Shael's arms around my waist startled me out of my thoughts.

"Deci-cred for your thoughts?"

"They're not worth that much."

He shifted behind me, to look down at my datapad. "So is there anything wrong with it?"

"Dunno." I shrugged. "I started it running a bit ago, but I haven't checked it yet. It won't finish for another hour or so." I turned in the circle of his arms and looped my own around his neck. "So, why are you out here instead of in there with the rest of them?"

"Roble gave me time off for good behavior," he smirked, his dark eyes twinkling at me.

"Oh did he?" I replied and rose on tiptoe to bestow a small kiss on his nose. "Does that mean you have time to take me topside for a little picnic dinner?"

Shael tilted his head sideways and closed his eyes, pretending to be thinking very hard. "Let's see," he drew out the syllables as if each were a deep and weighty matter, "go back into that stuffy office with three other men who only want to talk about reports and numbers, or go topside with you and eat and cuddle until the stars come out. Hmmm, decisions, decisions ..." Of course, the only stars we would be able to see were the navigating lights of transports and shuttles, and the winking of tower warning beacons, unless he was referring to the ones we always managed to see in each other's eyes.

I turned away and pushed against the barrier of his arms. "Well," my tone was playful, "if you don't want to ..." I was pulled up tight against his chest before my foot more than lifted to take a step.

"Mmm, it was a tough choice, but I'll take you and the stars," he murmured in my ear.

Our picnic was pleasant and lazy. We lay on a small blanket and fed each other finger foods and tried to ignore the sounds of traffic over our heads. The ambient light of the city, from apartments, offices, navigation beacons and the rest, produced a pervasive glowing haze across the sky that hid any hint of the stars, but we didn't mind. Running lights from passing vehicles worked just fine for us.

Shael lay on his back, fingers laced behind his head, and I was cuddled up by his side, my head pillowed on his shoulder. The night was clear and cool, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. Everything was perfect.

Unfortunately, now that we were laying quietly, just enjoying each other's company, my thoughts kept turning back to Mason and those blue dots. What did they mean? Now I know he wasn't obligated to tell me everything, he was supposed to be undercover after all, but still ... how could I be reasonably expected to help him figure all this out if he didn't keep me clued in?

//At least with Shael things are back to normal.// I had only barely completed the thought and was about to sigh in contentment when my tall, handsome, insecure man shifted and spoke.

"So, how's Cade doing?"

On the surface the question was totally innocent. His voice was casual, but something in his tone and the very question itself set off all my jealousy alarms. Shael was Roble's first lieutenant and the jealous type to boot, but he should have known exactly how Mason was doing. The Jedi didn't ask awkward questions like the cops did, he didn't try and worm his way into high level meetings, he was unobtrusive and everyone liked him. In short, he was perfect.

Shael jolly well knew all that and was still asking me. The reasons for asking me, and at a time like this, was a very short list. It meant that he wanted to know how I felt about Mason as a person. He wanted to know why Mason was spending so much time with me, more than usual for the sponsor of a very successful new member to spend. And I couldn't tell him why. It added up to frustration and anger. Not the best of emotional mixes for me.

"Not bad," I answered in as bored a tone as I could manage. My temper was starting a slow boil. //I thought we already took care of this!// "Bulldog and Trapper keep him out of trouble." I forced a chuckle I didn't feel. "They're almost being better sponsors than I am."

There was no immediate response and I began to relax again. It could have been a perfectly honest, innocent question, something to spark conversation. Maybe I was making a battle cruiser out of a skyhopper.

That brief, happy thought was shot to flaming wreckage.

"Chenowyth, if you're trying to let me down easy, don't. Just tell me and get it over with. Ripping my heart out slowly doesn't make it hurt any less."

Whatever I had been expecting, that wasn't it. Rising to my knees and sitting back on my heels, I looked down at him, my expression puzzled. "What the kriff are you talking about?" I demanded.

Shael pushed himself up on his elbows, his dark eyes glittering in the city's glow. "Everyone raves about Cade. They talk like he's the Force's gift to swoop gangs. He's got a decent ride, knows what he's talking about when anyone asks him anything. He hides it nearly as well as you do, but it's obvious he's had a better than average education, and he doesn't flaunt it. Everyone loves him."

Those haunted eyes met mine, a burning certainty shining out from them. "Do you?"

My mouth dropped open in surprise. Shael wasn't usually this direct about anything but riding. In a ruthless, lightning fast self-evaluation, I examined my feelings for Mason Cade. No, easy as it would have been, I didn't love the Jedi. My heart had belonged solely to Shael for so long that it was impossible for another to claim it. I simply couldn't begin to think of what my life would be like without him.

"No."

"I've seen the respect and admiration in your eyes, Chen, whenever you look at him."

"I said, no!" My voice was rising along with my temper. //Why doesn't he listen to me?// "I do respect him, and I do admire him, but I don't love him, Shael."

"You don't look at anyone else the way you look at him. If you don't love him, then why?"

I sighed in frustration. There wasn't much else I could do. "I can't tell you that, I promised."

"Tell me anyway," he insisted.

"Shael! I promised."

"Chen, have I done something to make you mad or drive you away? I already apologized for before."

With an inarticulate noise, I lunged to my feet, rather deliberately booting him in the ribs in the process. "Of course I'm mad, bantha-brain," I shouted at him. "I brought you up here for a picnic and some alone time and you want to talk about other men!"

I turned on my boot heel and stalked away to the lift before my amusement at the look on his face could affect my own expression. My anger had drained away like it had never been when I saw the astonishment, distaste, and dawning realization in his eyes, and as soon as the lift doors closed on me I collapsed against the wall in gut-busting laughter.

Hopefully it wouldn't take him long to put it all together and figure out what I meant. After all, I wanted to be married before I turned thirty.

*******

Sloan saw me come out of the lift alone, and his brow creased with a worried frown, but I waved at him and flashed him a thumbs up. As long as his brother had a gram of common sense, things were going to be just fine.

Nearly an hour later, Shael stepped out of the lift. I was crouched next to his swoop, checking on his fuel mixer, and turned to raise a questioning eyebrow at him. He knew I wasn't mad anymore. I don't fix rides for people I'm mad at or don't like, but my mood could change quickly enough if he hadn't learned his lesson.

He offered me a half apologetic, half smug smile, then went to put away the picnic stuff. A dark grey, fuzzy form appeared at my shoulder.

"You cuffed him?" Nash asked me.

"Yup."

"You told him how it is?"

"Yup."

"Good. He appears to have learned."

"Yup." I smiled up at her happily and the feline's whiskers twitched at me in amusement.

"I told you so."