Bastila, consort to the most evil Darth Revan, was pissed off. The Dark Lady was always angry about something, but today she was in a really bad mood.
"YERZHA!!!!" This outburst, fueled by the Force, knocked a rare Dantooinian vase off a nearby table and shattered not a few mirrors and windows. The object of Bastila's wrath cringed in a corner, trying in vain to become one with the wall. Bastila reached out with the Force and Yerzha began to rise off of the ground. The juvenile Amanaman gave a small squeak.
"Yerzha, why did you do this to one of my apprentices?" She held up the severed head of a young female human. The eyes were wide open in shock and the skin was in the advanced stages of rotting. Bastila tightened her Force grip.
"Yerzha…Yerzha sorry…milady…she…she was so…vulnerable…please do not kill Yerzha…" the Amanaman begged pathetically. Bastila gave an exasperated sigh. This overgrown planarian could be so single-minded in its quest to prove its worth by attaching human heads to its spear. She released her grip on the Maridun native and summoned a Sith guard.
"Educate this worm in the ways of a civilized being…again." She turned with a swish of her long hair as she went in search of a replacement apprentice.
That which glitters is not all that it seems. The same holds true for the city-planet Coruscant. Beneath all the glamour and glitz of the upper city where the Jedi and Senators dwell is squalor to put all forms of slums and poverty to shame. For down under the towering edifices is a wasteland of criminals, outcasts, and people who just plain don't want to be noticed. Drake Pharr really didn't want to be noticed, especially by the authorities. There were holograms of him in every corner of the Galaxy proclaiming him to be the worst crook and murderer in the Galaxy. However, according to Drake, he was neither criminal nor killer. Okay, so he had robbed a few cantinas and won a few fight-to-the-death duels, but he didn't kill in cold blood. However, that differed from what the authorities said. They posted him as the one who assassinated the planetary governor of Corellia. It was preposterous! He had been all the way over on Korriban, light-years away from Corellia when it happened. What he'd been doing on the Sith Academy world wasn't exactly legal either, but the Republic lauded unlawful acts against the Sith Empire.
Presently, he hit the floor as he dodged a blaster bolt. Bounty hunters like this guy were getting to be a nuisance.
"Hey! Watch where you point that thing? Can't we just forget about our troubles and buy a couple drinks?" There was no answer. Drake peeked through a smoking hole in the table he was ducked behind. The bounty hunter was nowhere in sight. Not good, he thought. Taking his blaster out of its holster, he slowly stood up. A tentacled head peered at him from behind the cantina bar.
"The bounty hunter ran when some of the patrons got fed up with the blaster bolts flying all over the place," the Quarren barkeeper explained. "In fact, they don't like it that you're attracting these bounty hunters. They'd appreciate it if you left."
"Hey, I'm just trying to get a drink," Drake explained. The Quarren shook his head.
"I'm sorry, but when these two say go away, you'd better go away." He motioned behind Drake. Drake turned around and looked up. In front of him was a very tall and very annoyed Wookiee. His brown fur was ritually decorated, as were his bandolier and bowcaster.
"So, this is the great Drake Pharr, alleged killer of the poor governor of Corellia," said a female voice. A young human woman appeared from behind the Wookiee.
"Hey, I didn't do it! I swear—" Drake protested.
"Has anyone ever told you that you say 'hey' too much?" the woman interrupted him. Drake stood there.
"Er…"
"Whatever," the woman said exasperatedly. "The name's Tracy Skyhander and this is my sidekick—" there was a growl from the Wookiee "—Zarbacca." Zarbacca grunted loudly. Drake replied in the Wookiee language of Shyriiwook. Both Tracy and Zarbacca were astonished.
"You speak his language?!" Tracy asked, indicating the Wookiee. Drake nodded.
"I've been able to speak it ever since I was a little kid," he replied. He turned to Zarbacca.
So, what's up, fuzzball? he asked in Shyriiwook. Zarbacca glared at him with murder in his eyes. Tracy stepped between them.
"Okay, buddy, I don't know what you said, but when Zarbacca gets that look, that means time for you to leave." She pushed Drake out the door.
On his way out the door, Drake tripped on a metal post and landed face-first on the durasteel walkway. Rubbing his chin, he got up.
"Man, how come every time I meet a hot chick, she has some big, mean bodyguard who doesn't like me?" he grumbled to himself. He didn't see the Republic officer walking towards him.
"Sir, sir!" the officer called. Drake turned, mildly taken aback to be addressed by an officer of the Republic. The surprise was replaced by fear that he'd been found out. He kept his cool and waited for the man to catch up.
"Sir," the officer said, slightly out of breath. "You dropped this." He held up a 1000 credit chip. Drake's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. His instinct told him to take the money and run, but his honesty (what little of it he had) made him not want to accept it since it wasn't his.
"This isn't mine," he said. The officer looked at him.
"Of course it is, sir. I saw you drop it on your way out of the cantina." Drake grasped what had happened. Or what must have happened. He remembered Tracy pushing him out the door. She must have pushed the thousand-credit chip out with him. But why? No matter. Money is money.
"Oh, now I remember. Thanks, er, lieutenant." He took the 1000 credit chip. The lieutenant saluted him and walked off. Drake stood there wondering why the officer hadn't arrested him. He looked down. Realization dawned on him. He was still wearing the Republic captain's uniform he had been using to con people. With a smile on his lips, he straightened up, smoothed his uniform, and strode away through the crowd.