Disclaimer: Most of the characters featured are the property of G. Lucas.
No copyright infringement intended. I am NOT making any money with this.
ONLY TO BE ARCHIVED AT FANFICTION.NET
Timeline: Post- Vision of the Future, replacing Union
To M. For feedback, excellent company, fellowship in SW-madness and fun around the clock ;=) (Especially behind the wheel - I sure would like to see you with an X-wing!)
SPOILER ALERT: Planet of Twilight, Showdown at Centrepoint, Specter of The Past, Vision of The Future, Vector Prime as well as some later New Jedi Orders. (And naturally the Thrawn trilogy, how can anyone possibly avoid that? ;=)
WARPED UNIVERSE ALERT: For the sake of storytelling, Isard's not dead at all. Condolenses to those who get stomach cramps from the woman. I know what you're going through. Just thank the stars of Alderaan I didn't bring Callista back.
Star Wars: The Rising By Heidi Ahlmen (siirma6@surfeu.fi)
There was a knock on the door. Hard. Lando Calrissian kicked his spare blaster under the bed and threw a tohoga fruit onto the door contro pad. It opened with a squeal and a sound of pressure being released.
He trailed back a few steps as Han Solo nearly stumbled in through the door. He'd been running by the looks of him.
"Lando!" he managed to gasp out. Lando stood up to shut the door and pointed a chair to his friend.
After Han had caught his breath he could explain his bursting in. "Remember Allia? From Ord Mantell?"
"Whoa, whoa. What's this about?"
Han reeled it in and begun again. "It was before the Bacta War after Endor. I had a bounty on my head-"
Not exactly a useful clue when Han Solo was in question. "Which one was that again?" Lando enquired, baffled by his friend's enthusiasm.
"You've heard about Mara, right?"
As though that was any more useful. "Luke told me," Lando replied.
Han was about to say something but changed his mind. "How is he?"
"How'd you imagine?"
"That bad, eh? Anyway, we had that load of Tholatin crystals that nearly cost me the Falcon."
"Now I can follow. What about it?"
"After we delievered in we had a drink. Still following?"
Lando laughed. "And I'm supposed to remember a drink I had some fifteen years ago? Blasted, Han, where is this going?"
"We stayed because there was a show worth seeing in that one bar in Tyrena II, the Rebel Dawn. A dancer. The one that gave poor ole Ethar's feathers some ruffling after he'd tried to lure her into some action?"
"Vaguely."
"It was Mara."
It was, again, Lando's turn to laugh. "You're joking, you old pirate."
He wasn't. If, besides Leia of course, there had ever been a female creature he remembered for the rest of his days, it was Allia. She'd certainly been the strangest bar dancer he'd met in his lifetime. And he'd met many.
It had been a relaxed evening in Tyrena II, the unofficial capital of Ord Mantell. They'd just shipped in and were celebrating with an endless round of drinks. It was the familiar feeling of calm before storm - especially for Han, who knew that Leia, with their wedding cake hardly even staled, would not be glad for the fact that he'd been due to return to Coruscant days ago. But the party couldn't be missed, and he wouldn't have gotten past Chewbacca in the matter anyway - feasts were a matter of principle to the wookiee who so rarely got to visit his family.
Lando had been there along with others friends. How could he not remember? On the other hand, Lando wasn't Corellian.
They always chose a bar with dancers, preferably below ground. Why change a good practice, even though you were married?
The faint scent of illegal but popular substances was stuck in the furniture. Han could smell it even through the heavy whiff he got from his well-riped, carbonite-cooled, steaming liquor. Music had been playing the whole night, but with a suitably low volume for conversation. As Han noticed his chrono approaching twenty-two standard hours the crowd began to stir. Several humans and alien gathered next to one of several podiums placed between columns. It was the largest one.
There was silence, and then loud applause and uninhibited cheering from the crowd, which had grown into a mob. Sweat smelled along with more alien odours as members of at least a dozen different species gathered to welcome the dancers.
And in they came, arousing a complimentary estimate even from Chewbacca, whose taste usually excluded humans.
The tone changed into a more serious one. The song was one Han had heard more times than he could count, but not in places like the present. The language was Selonian, the rhytm poundingly hypnotic and with reed pipes and cymbals giving out a melody which was neither happy nor sad, but intriguingly seductive.
This was music Han had last heard as a youth, sneaking around the more unrespectable corners of his home town in Corellia. Music that filled every dark corner but without lightening them a bit. He'd heard it from briefly opened smuggler bars and memorized it, for to him the life of a smuggler was his utmost goal, free of all binding and dullness.
There was a black, transparent veil, hanging from something on the stage. As the rhytm changed, accelerated into a heartbeat-fastening beat, the veil fell, revealing the masked face of a dancer. She wasn't dressed like the others, in a revealing set of lacy garments. Instead she wore wide and low- cut, hip-hugging pants with a thin, corset-like blue top. On her hips was a belt of small, round metal plates tied in a rope which gave a tingle as she moved.
She danced barefoot which revealed her legs; again, strangely strong and muscled-looking for a dancer, with obvious vibroblade scars adorning them. This girl had seen some action. As she danced she often stood on her toes - also peculiar. Like the temple dancers of Kuat or some of the more cultured ones they schooled for the pleasure of the socialites in the Core Worlds.
She danced like an acrobat, the movements of her hips outrageously inviting, every muscle taut - which also made a difference between her and the skinny other dancers. Every movement was calculated and executed like the slash of a vibroknife.
But what was so significant about her was the look on her face. Like steel. She didn't dance for anyone except herself, ignored the brief touches, the leers. But what most burned itself into Han's memory was the fact that even though there was a grace to it all that only could be brought out with training, the moves were all from ancient Corellian dances, ones Han had seen his cousins practicing for weddings and other occasions where celebrating was required. She danced with experience and some classical dance schooling - Han could tell from the way she often stood on her toes. Corellia was a civilized world, but not as half as urbanized as Coruscant.
Most of the human population where farmers - all industry was located outside the planet system in the orbit. They held onto their age-old traditions of song and dance, of hospitality and family.
It had been long since Han had last been home.
He sat and watched the dancer, mesmerized. Not by her cold beauty but the strange sadness in her and the perfection and automation of the dance of this obviously battle-trained woman. What else could the scars and the figure tell of?
He stopped a waiter - a buzzing little droid, not very intelligent-looking, and asked about her. He was simply told that she was not taking any offers.
It was time to use his connections. It wasn't his first trade run to Mantell, after all. He walked across the bar. The man he was looking for was engrossed in conversation a few feet away from the necessity doors - there were several of them, as hutts really needed more space than humans and, say, slightly different sort of facilities.
He sat without permission but the owner of the bar, a sturdy Sullustani named K'a'Hut grinned like only a Sullustani could, his vast array of teeth scattered in different directions and his breath smelling foul.
"Nice girl," he commented, a question directed at Han. "Allia's the name."
He took a more serious approach. "Any chance of a chat with her?"
The Sullustani laughed. "She'd collect your bounty, Solo."
The alien accompanying him in the corner - a smuggler vaguely familiar to Han by the name Ethar, gurgled.
The Sullustani pointed a limb at him. "He's already got himself an audience. I've got a bet on him he won't get out alive."
"Who is she?"
"Just walked in and asked for a job. Doesn't appreciate it but gets attention aplenty. We've never had sales this good. But she's leaving."
"Where?"
The Sullustani shrugged, and drops of some unknown bodily substance were scattered onto his companion. "Who knows. We don't ask questions here, Solo. You shouldn't either."
The dance continued, but the thick wad of smoke never revealed much of the dancer's face. Han tried to get closer but couldn't. She left the podium soon, and Han noticed Ethar scuttering into the back rooms after her. He soon returned, clutching his face. One tentacle was obviously severed by a blaster burn.
What sort of dancer girls carried blasters?
Mara, oblivious of her past being reeled over in Coruscant by two ex- smugglers, strode the streets of Tyrena II, not wanting to admit she was as good as lost. And worse, there was no sign of the one man she'd wanted to find.
He'd been like her, one of those who'd abandoned the Empire after Palpatine's death. They hadn't made friends, just sort of looked out for each other, like two people in a similar situation would. It wasn't until he walked into their usual meeting place with three stormtroopers that she'd found out he'd worked right under Isard.
She'd fled as it had been the only reasonable thing to do. Fled Mantell. She'd experienced Isard's hospitality once before, managed to escape from the power-hungry clutches of the Imperial Intelligence chief, and never meant to cross paths with her again. For Ysanne Isard definitely wasn't one of her favourite people.
The man had known things about her part, or at least had hinted so more than once. He wouldn't be a willing helped, but Mara knew by experience what a few empty threats could do in ters of negotiation. Besides, it had been years ago. Information on her were no longer a good negotiation card. Time had passed, and hopefully she was off most death lists by now.
She kept looking.
************************************************'
Thank you for reading. Reviews and feedback would be greatly appreciated - they're the fuel that feeds this creative furnace.
Heidi Ahlmen siirma6@surfeu.fi
ONLY TO BE ARCHIVED AT FANFICTION.NET
Timeline: Post- Vision of the Future, replacing Union
To M. For feedback, excellent company, fellowship in SW-madness and fun around the clock ;=) (Especially behind the wheel - I sure would like to see you with an X-wing!)
SPOILER ALERT: Planet of Twilight, Showdown at Centrepoint, Specter of The Past, Vision of The Future, Vector Prime as well as some later New Jedi Orders. (And naturally the Thrawn trilogy, how can anyone possibly avoid that? ;=)
WARPED UNIVERSE ALERT: For the sake of storytelling, Isard's not dead at all. Condolenses to those who get stomach cramps from the woman. I know what you're going through. Just thank the stars of Alderaan I didn't bring Callista back.
Star Wars: The Rising By Heidi Ahlmen (siirma6@surfeu.fi)
There was a knock on the door. Hard. Lando Calrissian kicked his spare blaster under the bed and threw a tohoga fruit onto the door contro pad. It opened with a squeal and a sound of pressure being released.
He trailed back a few steps as Han Solo nearly stumbled in through the door. He'd been running by the looks of him.
"Lando!" he managed to gasp out. Lando stood up to shut the door and pointed a chair to his friend.
After Han had caught his breath he could explain his bursting in. "Remember Allia? From Ord Mantell?"
"Whoa, whoa. What's this about?"
Han reeled it in and begun again. "It was before the Bacta War after Endor. I had a bounty on my head-"
Not exactly a useful clue when Han Solo was in question. "Which one was that again?" Lando enquired, baffled by his friend's enthusiasm.
"You've heard about Mara, right?"
As though that was any more useful. "Luke told me," Lando replied.
Han was about to say something but changed his mind. "How is he?"
"How'd you imagine?"
"That bad, eh? Anyway, we had that load of Tholatin crystals that nearly cost me the Falcon."
"Now I can follow. What about it?"
"After we delievered in we had a drink. Still following?"
Lando laughed. "And I'm supposed to remember a drink I had some fifteen years ago? Blasted, Han, where is this going?"
"We stayed because there was a show worth seeing in that one bar in Tyrena II, the Rebel Dawn. A dancer. The one that gave poor ole Ethar's feathers some ruffling after he'd tried to lure her into some action?"
"Vaguely."
"It was Mara."
It was, again, Lando's turn to laugh. "You're joking, you old pirate."
He wasn't. If, besides Leia of course, there had ever been a female creature he remembered for the rest of his days, it was Allia. She'd certainly been the strangest bar dancer he'd met in his lifetime. And he'd met many.
It had been a relaxed evening in Tyrena II, the unofficial capital of Ord Mantell. They'd just shipped in and were celebrating with an endless round of drinks. It was the familiar feeling of calm before storm - especially for Han, who knew that Leia, with their wedding cake hardly even staled, would not be glad for the fact that he'd been due to return to Coruscant days ago. But the party couldn't be missed, and he wouldn't have gotten past Chewbacca in the matter anyway - feasts were a matter of principle to the wookiee who so rarely got to visit his family.
Lando had been there along with others friends. How could he not remember? On the other hand, Lando wasn't Corellian.
They always chose a bar with dancers, preferably below ground. Why change a good practice, even though you were married?
The faint scent of illegal but popular substances was stuck in the furniture. Han could smell it even through the heavy whiff he got from his well-riped, carbonite-cooled, steaming liquor. Music had been playing the whole night, but with a suitably low volume for conversation. As Han noticed his chrono approaching twenty-two standard hours the crowd began to stir. Several humans and alien gathered next to one of several podiums placed between columns. It was the largest one.
There was silence, and then loud applause and uninhibited cheering from the crowd, which had grown into a mob. Sweat smelled along with more alien odours as members of at least a dozen different species gathered to welcome the dancers.
And in they came, arousing a complimentary estimate even from Chewbacca, whose taste usually excluded humans.
The tone changed into a more serious one. The song was one Han had heard more times than he could count, but not in places like the present. The language was Selonian, the rhytm poundingly hypnotic and with reed pipes and cymbals giving out a melody which was neither happy nor sad, but intriguingly seductive.
This was music Han had last heard as a youth, sneaking around the more unrespectable corners of his home town in Corellia. Music that filled every dark corner but without lightening them a bit. He'd heard it from briefly opened smuggler bars and memorized it, for to him the life of a smuggler was his utmost goal, free of all binding and dullness.
There was a black, transparent veil, hanging from something on the stage. As the rhytm changed, accelerated into a heartbeat-fastening beat, the veil fell, revealing the masked face of a dancer. She wasn't dressed like the others, in a revealing set of lacy garments. Instead she wore wide and low- cut, hip-hugging pants with a thin, corset-like blue top. On her hips was a belt of small, round metal plates tied in a rope which gave a tingle as she moved.
She danced barefoot which revealed her legs; again, strangely strong and muscled-looking for a dancer, with obvious vibroblade scars adorning them. This girl had seen some action. As she danced she often stood on her toes - also peculiar. Like the temple dancers of Kuat or some of the more cultured ones they schooled for the pleasure of the socialites in the Core Worlds.
She danced like an acrobat, the movements of her hips outrageously inviting, every muscle taut - which also made a difference between her and the skinny other dancers. Every movement was calculated and executed like the slash of a vibroknife.
But what was so significant about her was the look on her face. Like steel. She didn't dance for anyone except herself, ignored the brief touches, the leers. But what most burned itself into Han's memory was the fact that even though there was a grace to it all that only could be brought out with training, the moves were all from ancient Corellian dances, ones Han had seen his cousins practicing for weddings and other occasions where celebrating was required. She danced with experience and some classical dance schooling - Han could tell from the way she often stood on her toes. Corellia was a civilized world, but not as half as urbanized as Coruscant.
Most of the human population where farmers - all industry was located outside the planet system in the orbit. They held onto their age-old traditions of song and dance, of hospitality and family.
It had been long since Han had last been home.
He sat and watched the dancer, mesmerized. Not by her cold beauty but the strange sadness in her and the perfection and automation of the dance of this obviously battle-trained woman. What else could the scars and the figure tell of?
He stopped a waiter - a buzzing little droid, not very intelligent-looking, and asked about her. He was simply told that she was not taking any offers.
It was time to use his connections. It wasn't his first trade run to Mantell, after all. He walked across the bar. The man he was looking for was engrossed in conversation a few feet away from the necessity doors - there were several of them, as hutts really needed more space than humans and, say, slightly different sort of facilities.
He sat without permission but the owner of the bar, a sturdy Sullustani named K'a'Hut grinned like only a Sullustani could, his vast array of teeth scattered in different directions and his breath smelling foul.
"Nice girl," he commented, a question directed at Han. "Allia's the name."
He took a more serious approach. "Any chance of a chat with her?"
The Sullustani laughed. "She'd collect your bounty, Solo."
The alien accompanying him in the corner - a smuggler vaguely familiar to Han by the name Ethar, gurgled.
The Sullustani pointed a limb at him. "He's already got himself an audience. I've got a bet on him he won't get out alive."
"Who is she?"
"Just walked in and asked for a job. Doesn't appreciate it but gets attention aplenty. We've never had sales this good. But she's leaving."
"Where?"
The Sullustani shrugged, and drops of some unknown bodily substance were scattered onto his companion. "Who knows. We don't ask questions here, Solo. You shouldn't either."
The dance continued, but the thick wad of smoke never revealed much of the dancer's face. Han tried to get closer but couldn't. She left the podium soon, and Han noticed Ethar scuttering into the back rooms after her. He soon returned, clutching his face. One tentacle was obviously severed by a blaster burn.
What sort of dancer girls carried blasters?
Mara, oblivious of her past being reeled over in Coruscant by two ex- smugglers, strode the streets of Tyrena II, not wanting to admit she was as good as lost. And worse, there was no sign of the one man she'd wanted to find.
He'd been like her, one of those who'd abandoned the Empire after Palpatine's death. They hadn't made friends, just sort of looked out for each other, like two people in a similar situation would. It wasn't until he walked into their usual meeting place with three stormtroopers that she'd found out he'd worked right under Isard.
She'd fled as it had been the only reasonable thing to do. Fled Mantell. She'd experienced Isard's hospitality once before, managed to escape from the power-hungry clutches of the Imperial Intelligence chief, and never meant to cross paths with her again. For Ysanne Isard definitely wasn't one of her favourite people.
The man had known things about her part, or at least had hinted so more than once. He wouldn't be a willing helped, but Mara knew by experience what a few empty threats could do in ters of negotiation. Besides, it had been years ago. Information on her were no longer a good negotiation card. Time had passed, and hopefully she was off most death lists by now.
She kept looking.
************************************************'
Thank you for reading. Reviews and feedback would be greatly appreciated - they're the fuel that feeds this creative furnace.
Heidi Ahlmen siirma6@surfeu.fi