Stars in the Darkness - Part Twenty-Six
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Lursan winced as the bitter-tasting liquid slid down his throat. The drink was supposed to be Corellian brandy, but it tasted as vile as _kyok_ urine. Not that he'd ever tasted the liquid waste of the ubiquitous Ahjane livestock, but he imagined the taste of this swill came fairly close.
He gingerly placed the glass on the table, noting with distaste that despite the barmaid's wiping down of the table's surface, it was still sticky with a variety of substances. He looked over at his companion. Senator Gillom appeared quite comfortable in their surroundings. But then it was the Ugan who had suggested they meet here.
"Not to your liking, eh?" Gillom said, his reptilian face creased in what Lursan assumed was a smile, his four eyes blinking in synchronous movement.
Lursan shrugged. He had not come here to drink and had only done so because Senator Gillom had insisted on buying him one.
"I've had better."
"I'm sure you have." Gillom looked around the dark, smoky room, his long, yellow tongue darting out of his wide, lipless mouth. "_The Dark Nova_ is not renowned for its drinks, but it does have its uses."
Lursan had no doubt of that. Located deep in the underbelly of Coruscant's lower levels, the club appeared to cater to the lowest common denominator of Coruscant society. But, based upon what Count Dooku had told Lursan about Senator Gillom, he was not surprised the Ugan was familiar with it.
Gillom was about to be brought before the Senate's Ethic Committee for actitivies ranging from bribery to extortion to illegal kickbacks. It was not the first time such charges had been brought against him, but on those previous occasions Gillom had been able to wriggle out of the indictments. This time, however, the senator was not so certain he would escape what Lursan suspected was his just retribution. And that was why he had sought out Lursan's services.
The Ugan picked up his own glass which was filled with some repulsive looking concoction that resembled congealed blood. He drank it quickly, smacking his lipless mouth as he placed the glass back on the table. Lursan struggled to hide his disgust. It was bad enough the Ugan stank, giving off a reeking odor as thick and putrid as a swamp, but he was also the most disgusting creature Lursan had ever seen.
But then, having lived all his life on Ahjane, which was inhabited solely by humans, Lursan had found most of the aliens he had encountered since arriving on Coruscant repulsive. Except for, and his gaze slid over to the lithe, orange-skinned barmaid who had brought them their drinks, the Twi'leks.
Noting where Lursan was staring, Gillom laughed, the sound similar to that of boulders crashing against each other. He reached across the table and placed his large, three-clawed hand on Lursan's arm. A tremor of revulsion rolled through Lursan, and it took all of his willpower not to snatch his arm away. The Ugan lewdly winked two of his four eyes.
"You have excellent taste for a _midrib_. She is a tasty little dish, is she not? After we are done with our business, I invite you to join me in procuring her services for the night."
Lursan's mouth twisted. He slowly eased his arm from under Gillom's heavy hand. If this perversion of nature thought he was going to engage in some kind of sick threesome with him and the Twi'lek female, he was as stupid as he was ugly.
"Perhaps we should get down to that business," Lursan offered.
Gillom shrugged his broad shoulders, the leather of his expensively tailored, ruby red leather coat creaking. Then he leaned forward, lowering his voice. Overwhelmed by the Ugan's reek, Lursan made himself breathe through his mouth. There really was no need for the senator to get so close. They were sitting in a booth in a secluded corner of the club, and the throbbing music from the speakers all around them was so loud there was no way anyone could hear them.
"You come highly recommended," Gillom said. "And the Count vouches for you. But, I warn you. Cross me and you're a dead _midrib_."
"I have no intention of crossing you, Senator Gillom. I am a businessman. You want a service done, I will do it. Once I have fulfilled my part of our bargain, you will fulfill yours by paying me and that, as they say, will be that. I have no interest in what goes on here politically."
Gillom grunted, his four, blood-shot eyes narrowing. "Normally I would not have engaged the services of one such as you. There are many here on Coruscant who would be more than willing to take such a job."
"I have no doubt there are."
"But Dooku said you have a personal stake in seeing that this is done."
"I do."
The Ugan's face creased again in what Lursan assumed was a smile. "And you do not wish to discuss it?"
"I do not."
"Fair enough. But, I still think the target should be Viceroy Organa. He is, after all, the head of the Ethics Committee. His death would send a stronger message."
Lursan suppressed a sigh. He and Gillom had discussed this already. "True, but as I told you before, the death of Senator Lenor would send an even stronger message."
Gillom shook his head and frowned. "She is a freshman senator. From a backwater planet on the edge of nowhere." Then his lipless mouth wrinkled. "No insult intended, of course."
Lursan inclined his head, but made himself ignore the Ugan's slurring of his homeworld. "I can not dispute that, Senator Gillom, but if Onara were to die, it would send a more chilling message to the other members of the Committee. And don't forget. As a result of her run in with Dsylogia Twang she is far more well-known among the populace than Viceroy Organa."
Gillom stared at Lursan, then picked up his glass and drank from it. Lursan waited patiently, knowing the Ugan senator was mulling over his words. In truth, killing Viceroy Organa would be the smarter way to go if Gillom and others like him wanted to send a message to the Committee, but Lursan had no interest in killing the Alderanni senator.
Initially, he had planned on taking his revenge against Kenobi and Skywalker without involving anyone but the hapless, lovesick Dalan, but Count Dooku had suggested that since there were others who sought Onara's death, Lursan might as well profit from it.
"Fine, kill her," Senator Gillom said as he set his now empty glass on the table, the reddish, ropy dregs of the drink dribbling down the glass sides. "But..." and he raised one thick, clawed finger. "...only her. I don't want anyone else harmed. Especially her child."
Gillom then lowered his finger and grinned companionably over at Lursan, his sharp, yellow teeth gleaming in his green, scaly face. "We're not butchers, after all."
Lursan said nothing, only nodded. Gillom passed over a slender datapad. Once he had received confirmation Onara was indeed dead, he would transfer the agreed upon credits to an account Lursan could access through the datapad. Lursan took it and slipped it into a pocket of his jacket.
Gillom grinned at him. "Now, are you sure you don't want to take me up on my offer? It will be my treat."
His four eyes slid over to the orange-skinned Twi'lek barmaid as she weaved gracefully through the crowd, balancing a tray full of drinks on her slender hand. Lursan's throat tightened with renewed repugnance, but he willed his voice to remain neutral.
"No, but thank you. I must get some rest. I want to take care of our business as quickly as possible. Then I shall be returning to Ahjane."
A look of utter incomprehension fell across Gillom's scaly face. "Ahjane? Here on Coruscant one can find and enjoy every pleasure imaginable." He leaned over and leered at Lursan. "And some you have yet to imagine. Why would you want to go back to such a backward, provincial planet?"
_So I won't have to look at monstrosities like you any longer_, Lursan thought but did not say.
Instead, he rose from the table and gave Gillom a short, but courtly bow. "Enjoy yourself, Senator."
Gillom stared at him then shrugged his broad shoulders. "Suit yourself."
He waved at the Twi'lek, who hurried over, her supple lekkus wriggling along her shapely back. As Lursan walked away, he heard the Senator earnestly negotiating the barmaid's price for her services that night. Moving quickly through the crowd, the thumping, animalistic music of the club throbbing in his head, the stench of myriad alien bodies and exotic drugs filling his nostrils, Lursan barely noted any of it for his thoughts were elsewhere.
Gillom didn't want Ben harmed. But the senator had not lost a son. Lursan had and also a dearly loved wife as a result of that son's death. Therefore, he would not be denied his revenge, notwithstanding the questionable scruples of a vile, disreputable creature such as the Ugan.
As Lursan stepped through the doors of the club and out onto the dank, dark street he stopped and looked up. Level upon level of garish lights and gaudy holo-verts soared above him. But somewhere beyond the darkness and the squalor of Coruscant's underbelly, in the pristine, glimmering edifice that was the Jedi Temple, Knight Kenobi probably slept.
However, once Lursan was done with his business, it would be the last peaceful night of rest the Jedi would ever know, for soon he would be well acquainted with what Lursan was now so familiar with. The never-ending grief and crushing pain of having lost both a beloved and a son.
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Onara drew in a deep, shuddering breath as the doors to the lift slid shut behind her. She closed her eyes, suddenly unsure about her decision to ask for a dissolution of her marriage now that she was actually home. But then, recalling Obi-Wan's tortured confession to her regarding his longing for her and Ben, her resolve strengthened. Leaving Dalan would probably not ease Obi-Wan's suffering, but it would at least keep her from having to continue living a lie. She quickly smoothed her damp palms along the soft velvet of her skirt and, straightening her shoulders, moved out of the vestibule of the apartment and into the common area.
As she turned the corner she stopped. The apartment was dark and she could detect no sign anyone was within. She knew Sinja-Bau had taken Ben out for an excursion earlier in the day, but she'd assumed the two would be back by now. It was getting close to Ben's dinner time.
She moved further into the room, then gasped. What she had thought was a shadow was actually Dalan. He sat to her right, slumped low in a chair. She could barely make out his face for the only source of illumination in the apartment were the lights of Coruscant's night-time skyline through the wide windows.
"Dalan?"
"Onara."
"What are you doing sitting in the dark like this?"
"Waiting for you."
Onara swallowed heavily for she heard an undercurrent of slyness in his voice that sent a chill down her spine.
"Where is Ben?"
"Don't you know? You are his mother, after all."
Onara bristled at Dalan's tone. "Of course I know where he is. He's with Sinja-Bau. What I meant was are they back yet?"
"No, they're not back yet." Dalan shifted in his chair, his face moving into shadow. "And Keria isn't here either. We're alone, Onara. Just you and me."
Onara walked over to him, needing to see his face. He didn't move as she approached, but his eyes, now that she could see them, were red-rimmed, their dark blueness looking almost black in the dimness of the room. She moved towards the couch next to the chair, having decided this was probably the best time to speak to him about her decision since, as he noted, they were alone. She took off her cloak and laid it on the couch. Then, folding her hands, her back straight, she sat on the edge of the couch and looked over at Dalan.
His expression was shuttered, but his eyes watched her with a sharp if somewhat bleary keenness. Then she noted the empty glass in his hand and the equally empty bottle of brandy next to him on a table. Disappointment streaked through her.
"You've been drinking."
Dalan chuckled as he raised the empty glass and inspected it. "How astute of you to notice, my love."
"You promised you wouldn't drink anymore."
Dalan lowered the glass. It slipped from his hand and rolled across the carpet.
"And you promised you would be faithful," Dalan countered, but Onara barely heard his words for she was staring at two things: her black leather satchel where it lay on the floor and a crumpled up sheet of paper next to it.
Her throat tightened, her hands balling into fists. Raising her head, she glared at Dalan. He smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Yes, my dear and loving wife. I know all about your little tryst with your Jedi lover."
"How dare you go through my things," Onara cried.
Dalan's dark brows drew low over his eyes. "How dare I? How dare you come home to me after having left the adulterous bed of your lover. Prancing in here as if nothing is amiss. As if I...."
Dalan stopped, his throat working. He reached for the brandy bottle but, noting it was empty, picked it up and threw it across the room. It crashed against the wall, shattering into pieces. Onara jumped at the sound, the muscles in her body sharply contracting, her heart beating wildly, but she willed herself to calm down.
"Dalan, you don't know what you're talking about," she said in a soft, even voice. "I haven't left anyone's bed."
Dalan leaned over, a smirk on his clearly intoxicated face. "No? Then where have you been all day? I went to your office. They told me you had left for the day. That was early this afternoon. Where have you been if not in Obi- Wan's bed?"
"If you must know," Onara said as she struggled to control her anger, "I've been at the Museum of Intergalactic Art and Culture."
One of Dalan's eyebrows arched sharply. "Oh, really? The Museum of Art and Culture? Is that where adulterous wives on Coruscant go to meet their lovers? How terribly stylish."
"You're drunk," Onara snapped. "Therefore, I see no point in continuing this conversation."
"You see no point?" Dalan leaned forward, his face bloating with rage. "This has nothing to do with what you see or do not see, my dear and loving wife. This has to do with what I see, and with what I want, and what I want- -no--what I demand is to know where you've been all day."
Onara rose from the couch and looked over at Dalan where he sat in the chair.
"I will not be questioned as if I were a criminal," she said in a harsh, cold voice. "I told you where I was. If you wish to believe otherwise, that is your affair."
"An apt choice of words, Onara. Affair." Dalan tilted his head, his lips curling. "By the way, I did not know the Intergalactic Museum of Art and Culture also exhibited the Suheb Provinces."
Onara glanced at the note from Obi-Wan which Dalan had found and had, apparently, crumpled in his anger. For a moment, tears stung her eyes for it felt as if he had not only crushed Obi-Wan's missive to her, but something even more valuable. Her trust in him.
She looked back at Dalan. There was no use talking to him when he was in this condition. She would wait until tomorrow to discuss ending their marriage, after he had sobered up and was thinking more clearly.
"Dalan, I'm going to take a shower and change. If you like, I could make you some kafe. It will help sober you up."
"I don't want to be sober. I like being drunk." He waved his hands around. "It makes everything look clearer to me, this state of drunkenness, and I find I can now see things that I could not before."
"You're talking like a fool," Onara snapped, suddenly tired of the conversation and of him.
Dalan shot out of his chair and grabbed Onara by the shoulders, shaking her wildly.
"Fool?" he snarled. "Fool! Yes, I am a fool. For having believed you."
"Let me go," Onara cried as she struggled in his grasp.
Dalan tightened his grip, his eyes boring into hers. Onara could now smell the alcohol on his breath and something else. Something that smelled like cloves. She put her hands on his chest and pushed against him.
"I said let me go!"
"No, I'm not going to let you go," Dalan seethed. He pulled her hard against him, his arms like steel bands around her. "You're my wife, Onara. _My_ wife. Not his. And you're going to do your wifely duty by me. And when I'm done, I promise you, you'll no longer want your Jedi lover. I'll see to that."
He picked her up, even as Onara struggled in his arms, beating at his shoulders and chest, and carried her to the bedroom. She fought him, wildly, desperately, but he was not only taller, but much stronger. Once inside the bedroom, ignoring her cries for him to release her, he threw her on the bed.
Onara quickly scrambled up, but Dalan grabbed her roughly by the arms and threw her back onto the bed. Pushing the thick strands of her hair out of her face as she sat up, she tried once again to get off the bed, but Dalan grabbed her, twisting her arms.
"Dalan, please, stop this." Onara cried out from the pain as Dalan squeezed her arms harder. "You're drunk. You're not yourself."
"No! You're my wife. And drunk or not on my part, faithful or not on yours, you will not refuse me my rights as your husband. I'll make you forget him. I'll make you forget."
Dalan threw himself onto her, tearing at her clothes. With a surge of both anger and fear, Onara slapped him hard across the face. Dalan's eyes widened, his face reddening where she had struck him.
Both of them paused, the only sound their quick, harsh breathing and, as Onara stared up at Dalan, she suddenly felt as if she had crossed over a threshold into a world that was dark and cold and utterly desolate.
_It's over_ she thought with both relief and regret. _It's over_.
Dalan stared down at her, his eyes searching hers, and Onara saw he too realized the same thing. But, instead of releasing her, he growled deep in his throat and pushed her back onto the bed, his mouth seizing hers. As he roughly kissed her, his body pressing her brutally onto the bed, Onara could taste the brandy he'd been drinking and, also, the clove scent she'd sensed earlier.
Frantically twisting her mouth, a blind, whirling panic whipping through her as she realized her own husband intended to rape her, Onara grabbed Dalan's lower lip with her teeth and bit down on it. With a howl, Dalan jerked away from her.
Onara sprang up, rolling across the bed, her hands scrabbling across the nightstand next to the bed. She grabbed the first thing she touched, the statuette of Romal and Juvial, Ahjane's fabled lovers. Dalan, upon his arrival on Coruscant, had brought it out of the common room and into the bedroom.
Brandishing the statuette like a weapon, Onara watched as Dalan gingerly touched his lower lip. She was both pleased and dismayed to see blood on it. He stared at his bloodied fingertips, then looked over at her.
Even as Onara held the statuette in her hands, determined to strike him with it if he advanced on her, she noted the look of confusion and pain on his face. Pity welled in her heart. Pity and an overwhelming sense of grief. How had it come to this? she wondered. But, she also knew that no matter how it had come to this, it had to end. Now.
"Dalan," she began, slowly lowering the statute, but keeping a wary eye on him. "We can't go on like this. It has to end."
"End?"
Again Onara felt anguish churning inside her. He sounded so confused, so lost.
"Yes. Our marriage. It has to end."
Dalan stared at her for a moment, a flurry of emotions Onara found impossible to read flitting across his face. He looked around the room, as if he were searching for something or someone. Then he looked back at her.
"You want a dissolution?"
Onara nodded, too worked up to speak. Again, fleeting expressions sped across Dalan's face, but then they finally settled into one of hard suspicion.
"Why? So you can marry the Jedi?"
"No, not so I can marry him," Onara cried. "I don't ever want to marry again. I just want...." She stopped. "I just want to be happy."
"And you're not happy with me?"
Onara's shoulder's slumped, her gaze falling to the floor. She couldn't look at him.
"No, I'm not," she finally said. "I was happy when we were first married. But after....after the miscarriage....you changed." Onara's voice faded away.
Silence filled the room, then she looked up. Dalan was staring at her, but his eyes were now harsh and cold.
"Is this what you really want?"
"Yes, I do."
"And what about the Assembly? Do you think they will allow us to dissolve our marriage?"
Onara had thought about what the Assembly would say, though not too deeply. The political reasons for her and Dalan's marriage no longer existed now that Ahjane was a member of the Republic. And, she thought, anger suddenly surging through her, she didn't care one whit what the Assembly said or did.
She was tired of having to live her life for the sake of the state. She had married Dalan's uncle, Edress, for the sate of state. She had married his nephew for the state of the state. No more, she thought. If she ever married again, which she sincerely doubted she would for she loved only one man and he could not marry her, it would be for love only.
"I don't care what the Assembly says or wants," she retorted. "Our marriage will end."
Dalan's firmed his mouth, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he speared her with a ruthless look.
"I won't let you take him."
"What?"
"I won't let you take Ben," he said and his voice, though slurred, was harsh and unyielding. "Dissolve our marriage if you like. Go off and marry Obi-Wan if you want. But I won't let you take Ben."
Anger burned through Onara and she tightened her grip around the statuette. "Ben is my son. He's coming with me."
"No. Leave if you want, but Ben stays with me."
A sudden realization shot through Onara. "You don't care about Ben. You just want to keep him with you because you know it will hurt me."
Dalan frowned darkly. "That's not true. I love Ben. I gave him my name. And, according to Ahjane law, that makes him my son."
"But he's not your son, Dalan."
A tremor of pain flashed across his face.
"I'm as much a father to him as that Jedi is or ever will be," he suddenly shouted. "More so. How much time has he spent with Ben? Hardly any. And so what if Ben carries his blood. There's more to being a father than that."
Onara couldn't deny the truth of Dalan's words, but it wasn't Obi-Wan's fault. He had done what he'd thought was best for her and Ben. And she had encouraged him to return to the Jedi Order. Dalan made it sound as if Obi- Wan had abandoned his child.
"I won't let you take Ben," Onara repeated.
Dalan crossed his arms over his chest, his head tilted to the side.
"I'm sorry, Onara. But, the way I see it you don't have a legal leg to stand on. Especially when I present evidence at the dissolution hearing that you are an adulteress."
Shock thrummed through Onara. Ahjane law was very strict when it came to any hint of impropriety within a marriage, particularly if charges of adultery were brought against the wife. Many a woman had lost her children as a result of such accusations. And the evidence need not be overwhelming. The note Dalan had found from Obi-Wan would be enough to convince most judges on Ahjane that Onara was not a fit mother.
"I won't let you take my baby," she said, a steely determination in her voice. "I'll fight you, Dalan. I'll fight you with everything I have."
"Which won't be much," Dalan countered. He smiled unkindly at her. "As an adulteress, I'll not only get custody of Ben, but all your property and your wealth. You will be penniless, my dear."
"I don't care about the money, but if you try to take my son from me, I'll kill you."
"So now, finally, my loving wife, you show your true colors. You're just like that merciless grandmother of yours, the late, but sadly unlamented Lady Tsara. Nothing but a murderous witch."
"And you're just like your uncle," Onara fired back. "Heartless and cruel."
Dalan shrugged. "Perhaps. But I meant what I said."
"What happened to you, Dalan?" Onara asked in a grief-stricken voice, suddenly overcome by everything that had happened between them. "You didn't used to be like this."
"What happened to me?" Dalan paused, his expression pained. "You happened to me," he said softly, but sadly. "I didn't want to love you. I understood and accepted, as you did, the political reasons for our marriage. I knew you had feelings for the Jedi. But, despite all that, I fell in love with you."
Dalan stopped, his eyes, which had been cold and dark, now filled with anguish.
"Why couldn't you have just loved me?" he whispered.
"Oh, Dalan, I'm so sorry," Onara cried. "Truly I am. I wanted to love you. I tried to love you. But..."
"But you just couldn't forget him, could you?" Dalan exclaimed, the pain in his eyes now replaced with rage. "You spent one night with him, Onara. One night! And it was a blessing ceremony, by all the gods! You were supposed to forget him. I'm your husband. Not him. Why couldn't you love me?"
Onara lowered her head, tears welling in her eyes. "You don't understand," she said in a low, hurt voice.
"What is it that I don't understand?" Dalan demanded. "What? That you bore him a child because of the intrigues of that witch of a grandmother? So what? That he traveled to the ends of the galaxy to save your life? What does that matter? After he did so, he promptly left you alone with your child."
"But not because he wanted to," Onara cried. "And he encouraged me to marry you. He wanted us to be together, to be happy."
Dalan nodded, but his face was twisted in a sneer. "How very generous of him. But, you see, it's now all so very clear to me. By marrying me you would increase your wealth and your property. Ben would have my name and become my heir. And then, when the time was right, the Jedi would become your lover, and the two of you would conspire to do away with me. He could then lay claim to both you and Ben along with all my wealth."
Onara's eyes widened with horror at Dalan's words.
"You must be mad to even consider such a terrible thing," she gasped. "And if you think that of Obi-Wan, it's clear you know nothing of him. And it also tells me you're not only a fool, but an insane one."
Dalan's face twitched spasmodically, his cheeks mottling with rage, but it looked to Onara as if he were engaged in some kind of internal battle within himself. He put his hands to his forehead and moaned, closing his eyes as if in pain. Onara put the statuette on the nightstand and made to go to him, but she stopped when he opened his eyes and glared at her, their dark blueness blazing.
"I won't let him have you, and I won't let him have Ben. I'll see to that."
"What do you mean?"
Dalan nodded, his face burning with a livid glee. "I'll see to it the Jedi gets nothing. Has nothing. Is nothing."
"You dare threaten him?" Onara said in a low, dangerous voice.
"Onara, please, stay with me." Dalan reached out a hand imploringly to her. "It doesn't have to be this way. Abandon this foolish idea of a dissolution and nothing of what we have spoken of this day need happen."
"Now you seek to blackmail me."
"It's not blackmail, but if you don't come to your senses, I can't be responsible for what happens as a result."
"You're the one who needs to come to your senses." Onara fiercely shook her head. "I'm sorry, Dalan, but I can't go on like this. If we remain together, we'll only keep hurting each other. It's best that we part. We can consult solicitors back on Ahjane as to how to dispose of our joint properties, but---"
Before Onara could finish, however, Dalan had lunged across the bed. He grabbed her, shoving her against the wall. Even as she fought him, she was dimly aware of the sound of the lift door sliding open out in the vestibule.
"Let me go!" Onara cried.
"I won't let you take my son!" Dalan shouted, slamming her hard against the wall.
Onara's head rung as she struggled to keep her wits about her. She made herself remember the self-defense tactics Padmé and her handmaidens had taught her. When Dalan jerked her away from the wall so he could slam her against it again, she managed to hit him hard in the midsection. He cried out, doubling over. Onara darted from out of his arms and ran across the room. Then she turned, her face blazing.
"He's not your son," she sobbed, unable to stop her tears. "He'll never be your son. Never!"
"I'll die before I see that Jedi with you or Ben," Dalan shouted as he advanced on her. "Or maybe he'll be the one to die."
Onara raised her hands in the defensive position Padmé and her handmaidens had taught her, Dalan's words sending a chill of foreboding through her. But, before Dalan could reach her, he suddenly flew back, slamming against the wall. He cried out as he slid in a lump to the floor.
Onara turned, her eyes wide. Sinja-Bau stood in the doorway of the bedroom. The ex-Jedi's hand was raised, her blue-green eyes blazing. She looked over at Onara. But, before either women could say a word, a small figure darted from around Sinja-Bau and into the room.
Onara's heart lurched in her chest as Ben threw his arms around Sinja-Bau's legs, his little face streaked with tears, his blue-gray eyes wide as he looked up at her.
"No, Bau-Bau, don't hurt Papa. Please, don't hurt him."
To be continued.....
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Lursan winced as the bitter-tasting liquid slid down his throat. The drink was supposed to be Corellian brandy, but it tasted as vile as _kyok_ urine. Not that he'd ever tasted the liquid waste of the ubiquitous Ahjane livestock, but he imagined the taste of this swill came fairly close.
He gingerly placed the glass on the table, noting with distaste that despite the barmaid's wiping down of the table's surface, it was still sticky with a variety of substances. He looked over at his companion. Senator Gillom appeared quite comfortable in their surroundings. But then it was the Ugan who had suggested they meet here.
"Not to your liking, eh?" Gillom said, his reptilian face creased in what Lursan assumed was a smile, his four eyes blinking in synchronous movement.
Lursan shrugged. He had not come here to drink and had only done so because Senator Gillom had insisted on buying him one.
"I've had better."
"I'm sure you have." Gillom looked around the dark, smoky room, his long, yellow tongue darting out of his wide, lipless mouth. "_The Dark Nova_ is not renowned for its drinks, but it does have its uses."
Lursan had no doubt of that. Located deep in the underbelly of Coruscant's lower levels, the club appeared to cater to the lowest common denominator of Coruscant society. But, based upon what Count Dooku had told Lursan about Senator Gillom, he was not surprised the Ugan was familiar with it.
Gillom was about to be brought before the Senate's Ethic Committee for actitivies ranging from bribery to extortion to illegal kickbacks. It was not the first time such charges had been brought against him, but on those previous occasions Gillom had been able to wriggle out of the indictments. This time, however, the senator was not so certain he would escape what Lursan suspected was his just retribution. And that was why he had sought out Lursan's services.
The Ugan picked up his own glass which was filled with some repulsive looking concoction that resembled congealed blood. He drank it quickly, smacking his lipless mouth as he placed the glass back on the table. Lursan struggled to hide his disgust. It was bad enough the Ugan stank, giving off a reeking odor as thick and putrid as a swamp, but he was also the most disgusting creature Lursan had ever seen.
But then, having lived all his life on Ahjane, which was inhabited solely by humans, Lursan had found most of the aliens he had encountered since arriving on Coruscant repulsive. Except for, and his gaze slid over to the lithe, orange-skinned barmaid who had brought them their drinks, the Twi'leks.
Noting where Lursan was staring, Gillom laughed, the sound similar to that of boulders crashing against each other. He reached across the table and placed his large, three-clawed hand on Lursan's arm. A tremor of revulsion rolled through Lursan, and it took all of his willpower not to snatch his arm away. The Ugan lewdly winked two of his four eyes.
"You have excellent taste for a _midrib_. She is a tasty little dish, is she not? After we are done with our business, I invite you to join me in procuring her services for the night."
Lursan's mouth twisted. He slowly eased his arm from under Gillom's heavy hand. If this perversion of nature thought he was going to engage in some kind of sick threesome with him and the Twi'lek female, he was as stupid as he was ugly.
"Perhaps we should get down to that business," Lursan offered.
Gillom shrugged his broad shoulders, the leather of his expensively tailored, ruby red leather coat creaking. Then he leaned forward, lowering his voice. Overwhelmed by the Ugan's reek, Lursan made himself breathe through his mouth. There really was no need for the senator to get so close. They were sitting in a booth in a secluded corner of the club, and the throbbing music from the speakers all around them was so loud there was no way anyone could hear them.
"You come highly recommended," Gillom said. "And the Count vouches for you. But, I warn you. Cross me and you're a dead _midrib_."
"I have no intention of crossing you, Senator Gillom. I am a businessman. You want a service done, I will do it. Once I have fulfilled my part of our bargain, you will fulfill yours by paying me and that, as they say, will be that. I have no interest in what goes on here politically."
Gillom grunted, his four, blood-shot eyes narrowing. "Normally I would not have engaged the services of one such as you. There are many here on Coruscant who would be more than willing to take such a job."
"I have no doubt there are."
"But Dooku said you have a personal stake in seeing that this is done."
"I do."
The Ugan's face creased again in what Lursan assumed was a smile. "And you do not wish to discuss it?"
"I do not."
"Fair enough. But, I still think the target should be Viceroy Organa. He is, after all, the head of the Ethics Committee. His death would send a stronger message."
Lursan suppressed a sigh. He and Gillom had discussed this already. "True, but as I told you before, the death of Senator Lenor would send an even stronger message."
Gillom shook his head and frowned. "She is a freshman senator. From a backwater planet on the edge of nowhere." Then his lipless mouth wrinkled. "No insult intended, of course."
Lursan inclined his head, but made himself ignore the Ugan's slurring of his homeworld. "I can not dispute that, Senator Gillom, but if Onara were to die, it would send a more chilling message to the other members of the Committee. And don't forget. As a result of her run in with Dsylogia Twang she is far more well-known among the populace than Viceroy Organa."
Gillom stared at Lursan, then picked up his glass and drank from it. Lursan waited patiently, knowing the Ugan senator was mulling over his words. In truth, killing Viceroy Organa would be the smarter way to go if Gillom and others like him wanted to send a message to the Committee, but Lursan had no interest in killing the Alderanni senator.
Initially, he had planned on taking his revenge against Kenobi and Skywalker without involving anyone but the hapless, lovesick Dalan, but Count Dooku had suggested that since there were others who sought Onara's death, Lursan might as well profit from it.
"Fine, kill her," Senator Gillom said as he set his now empty glass on the table, the reddish, ropy dregs of the drink dribbling down the glass sides. "But..." and he raised one thick, clawed finger. "...only her. I don't want anyone else harmed. Especially her child."
Gillom then lowered his finger and grinned companionably over at Lursan, his sharp, yellow teeth gleaming in his green, scaly face. "We're not butchers, after all."
Lursan said nothing, only nodded. Gillom passed over a slender datapad. Once he had received confirmation Onara was indeed dead, he would transfer the agreed upon credits to an account Lursan could access through the datapad. Lursan took it and slipped it into a pocket of his jacket.
Gillom grinned at him. "Now, are you sure you don't want to take me up on my offer? It will be my treat."
His four eyes slid over to the orange-skinned Twi'lek barmaid as she weaved gracefully through the crowd, balancing a tray full of drinks on her slender hand. Lursan's throat tightened with renewed repugnance, but he willed his voice to remain neutral.
"No, but thank you. I must get some rest. I want to take care of our business as quickly as possible. Then I shall be returning to Ahjane."
A look of utter incomprehension fell across Gillom's scaly face. "Ahjane? Here on Coruscant one can find and enjoy every pleasure imaginable." He leaned over and leered at Lursan. "And some you have yet to imagine. Why would you want to go back to such a backward, provincial planet?"
_So I won't have to look at monstrosities like you any longer_, Lursan thought but did not say.
Instead, he rose from the table and gave Gillom a short, but courtly bow. "Enjoy yourself, Senator."
Gillom stared at him then shrugged his broad shoulders. "Suit yourself."
He waved at the Twi'lek, who hurried over, her supple lekkus wriggling along her shapely back. As Lursan walked away, he heard the Senator earnestly negotiating the barmaid's price for her services that night. Moving quickly through the crowd, the thumping, animalistic music of the club throbbing in his head, the stench of myriad alien bodies and exotic drugs filling his nostrils, Lursan barely noted any of it for his thoughts were elsewhere.
Gillom didn't want Ben harmed. But the senator had not lost a son. Lursan had and also a dearly loved wife as a result of that son's death. Therefore, he would not be denied his revenge, notwithstanding the questionable scruples of a vile, disreputable creature such as the Ugan.
As Lursan stepped through the doors of the club and out onto the dank, dark street he stopped and looked up. Level upon level of garish lights and gaudy holo-verts soared above him. But somewhere beyond the darkness and the squalor of Coruscant's underbelly, in the pristine, glimmering edifice that was the Jedi Temple, Knight Kenobi probably slept.
However, once Lursan was done with his business, it would be the last peaceful night of rest the Jedi would ever know, for soon he would be well acquainted with what Lursan was now so familiar with. The never-ending grief and crushing pain of having lost both a beloved and a son.
--------------------
Onara drew in a deep, shuddering breath as the doors to the lift slid shut behind her. She closed her eyes, suddenly unsure about her decision to ask for a dissolution of her marriage now that she was actually home. But then, recalling Obi-Wan's tortured confession to her regarding his longing for her and Ben, her resolve strengthened. Leaving Dalan would probably not ease Obi-Wan's suffering, but it would at least keep her from having to continue living a lie. She quickly smoothed her damp palms along the soft velvet of her skirt and, straightening her shoulders, moved out of the vestibule of the apartment and into the common area.
As she turned the corner she stopped. The apartment was dark and she could detect no sign anyone was within. She knew Sinja-Bau had taken Ben out for an excursion earlier in the day, but she'd assumed the two would be back by now. It was getting close to Ben's dinner time.
She moved further into the room, then gasped. What she had thought was a shadow was actually Dalan. He sat to her right, slumped low in a chair. She could barely make out his face for the only source of illumination in the apartment were the lights of Coruscant's night-time skyline through the wide windows.
"Dalan?"
"Onara."
"What are you doing sitting in the dark like this?"
"Waiting for you."
Onara swallowed heavily for she heard an undercurrent of slyness in his voice that sent a chill down her spine.
"Where is Ben?"
"Don't you know? You are his mother, after all."
Onara bristled at Dalan's tone. "Of course I know where he is. He's with Sinja-Bau. What I meant was are they back yet?"
"No, they're not back yet." Dalan shifted in his chair, his face moving into shadow. "And Keria isn't here either. We're alone, Onara. Just you and me."
Onara walked over to him, needing to see his face. He didn't move as she approached, but his eyes, now that she could see them, were red-rimmed, their dark blueness looking almost black in the dimness of the room. She moved towards the couch next to the chair, having decided this was probably the best time to speak to him about her decision since, as he noted, they were alone. She took off her cloak and laid it on the couch. Then, folding her hands, her back straight, she sat on the edge of the couch and looked over at Dalan.
His expression was shuttered, but his eyes watched her with a sharp if somewhat bleary keenness. Then she noted the empty glass in his hand and the equally empty bottle of brandy next to him on a table. Disappointment streaked through her.
"You've been drinking."
Dalan chuckled as he raised the empty glass and inspected it. "How astute of you to notice, my love."
"You promised you wouldn't drink anymore."
Dalan lowered the glass. It slipped from his hand and rolled across the carpet.
"And you promised you would be faithful," Dalan countered, but Onara barely heard his words for she was staring at two things: her black leather satchel where it lay on the floor and a crumpled up sheet of paper next to it.
Her throat tightened, her hands balling into fists. Raising her head, she glared at Dalan. He smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Yes, my dear and loving wife. I know all about your little tryst with your Jedi lover."
"How dare you go through my things," Onara cried.
Dalan's dark brows drew low over his eyes. "How dare I? How dare you come home to me after having left the adulterous bed of your lover. Prancing in here as if nothing is amiss. As if I...."
Dalan stopped, his throat working. He reached for the brandy bottle but, noting it was empty, picked it up and threw it across the room. It crashed against the wall, shattering into pieces. Onara jumped at the sound, the muscles in her body sharply contracting, her heart beating wildly, but she willed herself to calm down.
"Dalan, you don't know what you're talking about," she said in a soft, even voice. "I haven't left anyone's bed."
Dalan leaned over, a smirk on his clearly intoxicated face. "No? Then where have you been all day? I went to your office. They told me you had left for the day. That was early this afternoon. Where have you been if not in Obi- Wan's bed?"
"If you must know," Onara said as she struggled to control her anger, "I've been at the Museum of Intergalactic Art and Culture."
One of Dalan's eyebrows arched sharply. "Oh, really? The Museum of Art and Culture? Is that where adulterous wives on Coruscant go to meet their lovers? How terribly stylish."
"You're drunk," Onara snapped. "Therefore, I see no point in continuing this conversation."
"You see no point?" Dalan leaned forward, his face bloating with rage. "This has nothing to do with what you see or do not see, my dear and loving wife. This has to do with what I see, and with what I want, and what I want- -no--what I demand is to know where you've been all day."
Onara rose from the couch and looked over at Dalan where he sat in the chair.
"I will not be questioned as if I were a criminal," she said in a harsh, cold voice. "I told you where I was. If you wish to believe otherwise, that is your affair."
"An apt choice of words, Onara. Affair." Dalan tilted his head, his lips curling. "By the way, I did not know the Intergalactic Museum of Art and Culture also exhibited the Suheb Provinces."
Onara glanced at the note from Obi-Wan which Dalan had found and had, apparently, crumpled in his anger. For a moment, tears stung her eyes for it felt as if he had not only crushed Obi-Wan's missive to her, but something even more valuable. Her trust in him.
She looked back at Dalan. There was no use talking to him when he was in this condition. She would wait until tomorrow to discuss ending their marriage, after he had sobered up and was thinking more clearly.
"Dalan, I'm going to take a shower and change. If you like, I could make you some kafe. It will help sober you up."
"I don't want to be sober. I like being drunk." He waved his hands around. "It makes everything look clearer to me, this state of drunkenness, and I find I can now see things that I could not before."
"You're talking like a fool," Onara snapped, suddenly tired of the conversation and of him.
Dalan shot out of his chair and grabbed Onara by the shoulders, shaking her wildly.
"Fool?" he snarled. "Fool! Yes, I am a fool. For having believed you."
"Let me go," Onara cried as she struggled in his grasp.
Dalan tightened his grip, his eyes boring into hers. Onara could now smell the alcohol on his breath and something else. Something that smelled like cloves. She put her hands on his chest and pushed against him.
"I said let me go!"
"No, I'm not going to let you go," Dalan seethed. He pulled her hard against him, his arms like steel bands around her. "You're my wife, Onara. _My_ wife. Not his. And you're going to do your wifely duty by me. And when I'm done, I promise you, you'll no longer want your Jedi lover. I'll see to that."
He picked her up, even as Onara struggled in his arms, beating at his shoulders and chest, and carried her to the bedroom. She fought him, wildly, desperately, but he was not only taller, but much stronger. Once inside the bedroom, ignoring her cries for him to release her, he threw her on the bed.
Onara quickly scrambled up, but Dalan grabbed her roughly by the arms and threw her back onto the bed. Pushing the thick strands of her hair out of her face as she sat up, she tried once again to get off the bed, but Dalan grabbed her, twisting her arms.
"Dalan, please, stop this." Onara cried out from the pain as Dalan squeezed her arms harder. "You're drunk. You're not yourself."
"No! You're my wife. And drunk or not on my part, faithful or not on yours, you will not refuse me my rights as your husband. I'll make you forget him. I'll make you forget."
Dalan threw himself onto her, tearing at her clothes. With a surge of both anger and fear, Onara slapped him hard across the face. Dalan's eyes widened, his face reddening where she had struck him.
Both of them paused, the only sound their quick, harsh breathing and, as Onara stared up at Dalan, she suddenly felt as if she had crossed over a threshold into a world that was dark and cold and utterly desolate.
_It's over_ she thought with both relief and regret. _It's over_.
Dalan stared down at her, his eyes searching hers, and Onara saw he too realized the same thing. But, instead of releasing her, he growled deep in his throat and pushed her back onto the bed, his mouth seizing hers. As he roughly kissed her, his body pressing her brutally onto the bed, Onara could taste the brandy he'd been drinking and, also, the clove scent she'd sensed earlier.
Frantically twisting her mouth, a blind, whirling panic whipping through her as she realized her own husband intended to rape her, Onara grabbed Dalan's lower lip with her teeth and bit down on it. With a howl, Dalan jerked away from her.
Onara sprang up, rolling across the bed, her hands scrabbling across the nightstand next to the bed. She grabbed the first thing she touched, the statuette of Romal and Juvial, Ahjane's fabled lovers. Dalan, upon his arrival on Coruscant, had brought it out of the common room and into the bedroom.
Brandishing the statuette like a weapon, Onara watched as Dalan gingerly touched his lower lip. She was both pleased and dismayed to see blood on it. He stared at his bloodied fingertips, then looked over at her.
Even as Onara held the statuette in her hands, determined to strike him with it if he advanced on her, she noted the look of confusion and pain on his face. Pity welled in her heart. Pity and an overwhelming sense of grief. How had it come to this? she wondered. But, she also knew that no matter how it had come to this, it had to end. Now.
"Dalan," she began, slowly lowering the statute, but keeping a wary eye on him. "We can't go on like this. It has to end."
"End?"
Again Onara felt anguish churning inside her. He sounded so confused, so lost.
"Yes. Our marriage. It has to end."
Dalan stared at her for a moment, a flurry of emotions Onara found impossible to read flitting across his face. He looked around the room, as if he were searching for something or someone. Then he looked back at her.
"You want a dissolution?"
Onara nodded, too worked up to speak. Again, fleeting expressions sped across Dalan's face, but then they finally settled into one of hard suspicion.
"Why? So you can marry the Jedi?"
"No, not so I can marry him," Onara cried. "I don't ever want to marry again. I just want...." She stopped. "I just want to be happy."
"And you're not happy with me?"
Onara's shoulder's slumped, her gaze falling to the floor. She couldn't look at him.
"No, I'm not," she finally said. "I was happy when we were first married. But after....after the miscarriage....you changed." Onara's voice faded away.
Silence filled the room, then she looked up. Dalan was staring at her, but his eyes were now harsh and cold.
"Is this what you really want?"
"Yes, I do."
"And what about the Assembly? Do you think they will allow us to dissolve our marriage?"
Onara had thought about what the Assembly would say, though not too deeply. The political reasons for her and Dalan's marriage no longer existed now that Ahjane was a member of the Republic. And, she thought, anger suddenly surging through her, she didn't care one whit what the Assembly said or did.
She was tired of having to live her life for the sake of the state. She had married Dalan's uncle, Edress, for the sate of state. She had married his nephew for the state of the state. No more, she thought. If she ever married again, which she sincerely doubted she would for she loved only one man and he could not marry her, it would be for love only.
"I don't care what the Assembly says or wants," she retorted. "Our marriage will end."
Dalan's firmed his mouth, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he speared her with a ruthless look.
"I won't let you take him."
"What?"
"I won't let you take Ben," he said and his voice, though slurred, was harsh and unyielding. "Dissolve our marriage if you like. Go off and marry Obi-Wan if you want. But I won't let you take Ben."
Anger burned through Onara and she tightened her grip around the statuette. "Ben is my son. He's coming with me."
"No. Leave if you want, but Ben stays with me."
A sudden realization shot through Onara. "You don't care about Ben. You just want to keep him with you because you know it will hurt me."
Dalan frowned darkly. "That's not true. I love Ben. I gave him my name. And, according to Ahjane law, that makes him my son."
"But he's not your son, Dalan."
A tremor of pain flashed across his face.
"I'm as much a father to him as that Jedi is or ever will be," he suddenly shouted. "More so. How much time has he spent with Ben? Hardly any. And so what if Ben carries his blood. There's more to being a father than that."
Onara couldn't deny the truth of Dalan's words, but it wasn't Obi-Wan's fault. He had done what he'd thought was best for her and Ben. And she had encouraged him to return to the Jedi Order. Dalan made it sound as if Obi- Wan had abandoned his child.
"I won't let you take Ben," Onara repeated.
Dalan crossed his arms over his chest, his head tilted to the side.
"I'm sorry, Onara. But, the way I see it you don't have a legal leg to stand on. Especially when I present evidence at the dissolution hearing that you are an adulteress."
Shock thrummed through Onara. Ahjane law was very strict when it came to any hint of impropriety within a marriage, particularly if charges of adultery were brought against the wife. Many a woman had lost her children as a result of such accusations. And the evidence need not be overwhelming. The note Dalan had found from Obi-Wan would be enough to convince most judges on Ahjane that Onara was not a fit mother.
"I won't let you take my baby," she said, a steely determination in her voice. "I'll fight you, Dalan. I'll fight you with everything I have."
"Which won't be much," Dalan countered. He smiled unkindly at her. "As an adulteress, I'll not only get custody of Ben, but all your property and your wealth. You will be penniless, my dear."
"I don't care about the money, but if you try to take my son from me, I'll kill you."
"So now, finally, my loving wife, you show your true colors. You're just like that merciless grandmother of yours, the late, but sadly unlamented Lady Tsara. Nothing but a murderous witch."
"And you're just like your uncle," Onara fired back. "Heartless and cruel."
Dalan shrugged. "Perhaps. But I meant what I said."
"What happened to you, Dalan?" Onara asked in a grief-stricken voice, suddenly overcome by everything that had happened between them. "You didn't used to be like this."
"What happened to me?" Dalan paused, his expression pained. "You happened to me," he said softly, but sadly. "I didn't want to love you. I understood and accepted, as you did, the political reasons for our marriage. I knew you had feelings for the Jedi. But, despite all that, I fell in love with you."
Dalan stopped, his eyes, which had been cold and dark, now filled with anguish.
"Why couldn't you have just loved me?" he whispered.
"Oh, Dalan, I'm so sorry," Onara cried. "Truly I am. I wanted to love you. I tried to love you. But..."
"But you just couldn't forget him, could you?" Dalan exclaimed, the pain in his eyes now replaced with rage. "You spent one night with him, Onara. One night! And it was a blessing ceremony, by all the gods! You were supposed to forget him. I'm your husband. Not him. Why couldn't you love me?"
Onara lowered her head, tears welling in her eyes. "You don't understand," she said in a low, hurt voice.
"What is it that I don't understand?" Dalan demanded. "What? That you bore him a child because of the intrigues of that witch of a grandmother? So what? That he traveled to the ends of the galaxy to save your life? What does that matter? After he did so, he promptly left you alone with your child."
"But not because he wanted to," Onara cried. "And he encouraged me to marry you. He wanted us to be together, to be happy."
Dalan nodded, but his face was twisted in a sneer. "How very generous of him. But, you see, it's now all so very clear to me. By marrying me you would increase your wealth and your property. Ben would have my name and become my heir. And then, when the time was right, the Jedi would become your lover, and the two of you would conspire to do away with me. He could then lay claim to both you and Ben along with all my wealth."
Onara's eyes widened with horror at Dalan's words.
"You must be mad to even consider such a terrible thing," she gasped. "And if you think that of Obi-Wan, it's clear you know nothing of him. And it also tells me you're not only a fool, but an insane one."
Dalan's face twitched spasmodically, his cheeks mottling with rage, but it looked to Onara as if he were engaged in some kind of internal battle within himself. He put his hands to his forehead and moaned, closing his eyes as if in pain. Onara put the statuette on the nightstand and made to go to him, but she stopped when he opened his eyes and glared at her, their dark blueness blazing.
"I won't let him have you, and I won't let him have Ben. I'll see to that."
"What do you mean?"
Dalan nodded, his face burning with a livid glee. "I'll see to it the Jedi gets nothing. Has nothing. Is nothing."
"You dare threaten him?" Onara said in a low, dangerous voice.
"Onara, please, stay with me." Dalan reached out a hand imploringly to her. "It doesn't have to be this way. Abandon this foolish idea of a dissolution and nothing of what we have spoken of this day need happen."
"Now you seek to blackmail me."
"It's not blackmail, but if you don't come to your senses, I can't be responsible for what happens as a result."
"You're the one who needs to come to your senses." Onara fiercely shook her head. "I'm sorry, Dalan, but I can't go on like this. If we remain together, we'll only keep hurting each other. It's best that we part. We can consult solicitors back on Ahjane as to how to dispose of our joint properties, but---"
Before Onara could finish, however, Dalan had lunged across the bed. He grabbed her, shoving her against the wall. Even as she fought him, she was dimly aware of the sound of the lift door sliding open out in the vestibule.
"Let me go!" Onara cried.
"I won't let you take my son!" Dalan shouted, slamming her hard against the wall.
Onara's head rung as she struggled to keep her wits about her. She made herself remember the self-defense tactics Padmé and her handmaidens had taught her. When Dalan jerked her away from the wall so he could slam her against it again, she managed to hit him hard in the midsection. He cried out, doubling over. Onara darted from out of his arms and ran across the room. Then she turned, her face blazing.
"He's not your son," she sobbed, unable to stop her tears. "He'll never be your son. Never!"
"I'll die before I see that Jedi with you or Ben," Dalan shouted as he advanced on her. "Or maybe he'll be the one to die."
Onara raised her hands in the defensive position Padmé and her handmaidens had taught her, Dalan's words sending a chill of foreboding through her. But, before Dalan could reach her, he suddenly flew back, slamming against the wall. He cried out as he slid in a lump to the floor.
Onara turned, her eyes wide. Sinja-Bau stood in the doorway of the bedroom. The ex-Jedi's hand was raised, her blue-green eyes blazing. She looked over at Onara. But, before either women could say a word, a small figure darted from around Sinja-Bau and into the room.
Onara's heart lurched in her chest as Ben threw his arms around Sinja-Bau's legs, his little face streaked with tears, his blue-gray eyes wide as he looked up at her.
"No, Bau-Bau, don't hurt Papa. Please, don't hurt him."
To be continued.....