Chapter Two: Congregation

"I suppose the first thing we should do is find De-Lanna," Ran said absently as he and Ascera left Master Skywalker's office. "You know, I've heard a lot about her, but never met her."

His Twi'lek companion sighed, her headtails quivering with barely-tempered frustration. "She's ingratiating. She thinks too highly of herself, in my opinion."

"She can't be all that bad. I mean, she's a Jedi like us."

"Right, but you're just cocky. She's worse—she's arrogant, pushy, and far too overconfident. She's like you: she doesn't have the sense to back down from a fight she can't win. De-Lanna would keep fighting just to prove to everyone that she can."

Ran scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Is she cute?"

His friend threw a scathing glare at him. "That's irrelevant, and you know it." Her look softened. "But I appreciate you trying to lighten the situation."

He chuckled. "No problem, Ascera. But really, is she all that bad of a person? The Jedi Masters speak highly of her, you know."

"And that only makes it worse."

"Is that jealousy I feel the Force?" he goaded lightly. "The great De-Lanna Tamaran, who discovers secret Jedi techniques just by dipping her hand into the sand. Where others find rocks, she finds gold." He danced ahead of Ascera, throwing his cloak and robes in wide arcs, accentuating his grand words with even grander, flamboyant actions.

Ascera laughed at his antics, and he knew that he had successfully diffused her budding ire. "Yeah, something like that. Come on, idiot, let's get this over with. If I know De-Lanna, she'll be at the gymnasium showing off her latest lightsaber forms."

"Even the great general and tactics-master Antimodes Descrier of Tauun knew when to rein his pride and listen to his aides," the green-eyed Jedi said sagely, an academic finger in the air, "and this was how he made his many victories!"

They indeed found their future traveling companion on the training floor, lightsaber blazing in her hands. Younger students sat against the walls, watching her in mesmerized awe. Ran leaned against the doorframe, joining them in their rapt study of De-Lanna Tamaran.

The first thing he noticed was the lightsaber. He wondered what kind of crystal she used to obtain a pure-white blade. The second thing he noticed was her. De-Lanna Tamaran was beautiful. Her pert, round face was tight with concentration, blue eyes the only indication of her inner fire, like young stars hinting at the spirit within. That entrancing, pale face was accented further by rich, glossy brown hair, lighter in shade than Ran's, but striking nonetheless. Pulled back into a tight ponytail, the hair made her seem younger and more innocent, but it was only a facade. Even though she could be no older than Ran or Ascera, she had a physical maturity and bearing that made her seem more experienced, more controlled than anyone else in the room. Ran found himself whistling in quiet appreciation.

His impropriety did not go unnoticed. Ascera elbowed him, hard, and some of the other students looked over at him in shocked mortification. Doubtless they thought him uncouth.

The whistle also shook De-Lanna's concentration, and she abruptly ended her exercise. Those fiery blue eyes slashed through the room, searching, until they landed on Ran. He deflected the angry glare with his usual irreverence, smirking winningly at her. He did not need the Force to tell that his grin only sparked her to greater indignation.

"Even though I'm not terribly fond of her," Ascera whispered to him, "that doesn't mean you should try goading her like this. That's like baiting acklays."

"As I recall," he replied easily, keeping his eyes on the enchanting De-Lanna, "I survived doing that, and so did you. I know what I'm doing."

"Sure you do." His friend sighed in resignation. "It's your funeral."

Boldly, with all the cockiness he could put into his stride, Ran walked up to De-Lanna and offered her a friendly, open hand. She looked at it once before decorum and protocol forced her to accept the hand with a stiff shake. "I'm Ran Tonno-Skeve," he said heartily. "I believe you already know my friend over there, Ascera Dax."

He saw De-Lanna toss a brief glimpse Ascera's way and just was quickly disregarded her. "We've met," she replied in a lilting voice. The accent reminded him of the peaceful world of Naboo. "I take it you're here about the mission to Mathassi."

He nodded. "I just wanted to get to know the third member of our little party."

"Well, you've seen me in action. Do I meet your specifications?" Her voice was mocking, hard.

Ran had a fairly accurate fix on her personality just from her speech pattern. For someone who tried to hold herself above everyone else, she was remarkably easy to read. She was skilled and she knew it, but Ran could sense that her arrogance was trying to hide something. Ran understood this well, for he was like that on more than one occasion, much to Ascera's exasperation and annoyance. But he tended to act with flair and unconcern, even recklessness. De-Lanna Tamaran instead had steely confidence and methodical care that hinted at much more complex puzzle beneath the imperious exterior.

He smiled, putting as much eagerness and warmth into it was he could. An idea flew into his head, a way to break the ice. "I like to test drive my starships before buying them," he said with a lewd wink, letting his bright green eyes wander up and down her athletic body, taking in the budding curves that her humble dueling outfit could not hide. A new level of indignation was plain on De-Lanna's round face.

Ran ignited his lightsaber, the sudden movement catching her off-guard and forcing her to take a small jump back. "I was just looking to see how muscular you were, De-Lanna," he assured her with a roguish grin. "I'm a fighter myself. Care to dance a bit?"

To her credit, the brown-haired Jedi recovered from her surprise quickly. A white blade sliced the air with a resonating hum. She said nothing, instead letting her actions speak for her. They circled one another, blades in neutral stance. Ran kept up his lopsided grin and waited. His opponent's face was smooth this time, blue eyes trained on his green ones, watching for the least movement.

Ran deliberately blinked.

Just as he knew she would, De-Lanna jumped on the apparent opening, slashing hard—but she caught nothing but air; Ran had ducked her the swing of her blade and came up behind her. He spun his lightsaber in a tight arc, aiming for her underarm. The sound of hissing lightsabers was all he received. He resumed his assault, striking high, low, high, low, and middle with a final thrust. Each was parried with deft ease.

The green-eyed Jedi was starting to feel the rhythm of the fight. De-Lanna seemed to have an overriding desire to prove herself to anyone watching. Every one of her attacks and blocks were focused, inflexible, much like her personality, or so he imagined. Ran recognized a lot of himself in her fighting style and thought he knew how to beat her. He waited for her head-on attack.

She obligingly gave it, charging with a battle cry. The white blade slashed down for his head and he made to slip to the side to counter. But then he slipped, his boot stumbling on an uneven section of the floor that he had not noticed before. His footing was gone and he struggled to regain his balance, but by then a white blade of light hummed by his ear.

Ran raised his hands helplessly. "Well, that didn't quite go the way I expected," he said cheerily.

De-Lanna smiled at him grimly, an unpleasant expression but a smile nonetheless. "That is my Nexus technique, a trick I developed when I was only a little girl," she proudly announced. "I envision an outcome that I want and it happens. Such as beating you." The last verbal barb was her winning stroke, but Ran took it in stride, still maintaining his grin.

Breaking her silence, Ascera spoke from the doorway, "But the future is always in motion. How is such a thing possible?"

The brown-haired Jedi turned an imperious glance her way. "The Nexus technique requires that I impose my will on a moment of the future, which ensures that it occurs as I wish. Of course, there are limitations to the ability." She said the last reluctantly, as if she were surrendering a great secret that displeased her. "More crucial events are more difficult to ensure, and there is the risk of failure in every attempt."

"Um, De-Lanna, do you mind taking that away from my head?" Ran asked, arching an eyebrow at the blazing white blade. It was immediately extinguished. "Thank you." He clipped his own lightsaber to his belt. "Anyway, its clear that you're a capable fighter with…some interesting…talents." He noticed how she swelled at that.

Ascera must have as well, for she spoke tightly and with great control over a quickly-rising temper that shone in the Force like a bonfire. "We should be going. Mathassi is a very long journey." Ran felt a resigned disgruntlement from his friend through the Force. He felt a similar emotion from De-Lanna. Neither Jedi found an extended hyperspace journey with the other appealing.

"This is going to be a long trip," he muttered, finally letting his grin fall away.


"Where are you going?" De-Lanna demanded, looking at the star charts and navigation array. "This isn't the way to Mathassi. We're heading Coreward!"

"Settle down, De-Lanna," Ascera said from the co-pilot's seat. "Ran knows what he's doing. After all, he's the one who was trained as a pilot, not you." Ran heard the venom in her voice and sighed. There were few people beside himself who could raise such barely suppressed hostility from his friend. Every other word passed between the females hid a vicious barb at each other's pride. That had been the agenda for the past three long days in hyperspace. It started to gnaw on even Ran's carefree demeanor, and he was growing sick of it.

De-Lanna accepted Ascera's stab with quiet dignity. "All right, explain to me why we're heading Coreward."

"A trip to an unknown world might require skills that Jedi don't have," Ran explained. "Despite what I may say or do, even I know that I'm not invincible by myself, right Ascera?"

The Twi'lek only harrumphed. "So I've been telling you since we were in diapers. As if you listen."

He chuckled. "Anyway, I figure if I want to be an invincible Jedi Knight, I'd better start surrounding myself with people who can fill in for my weaknesses. Every good fighter knows that he's got to cover his weak spots. That's where we're going."

"To cover our weak spots?" De-Lanna sounded confused.

"Right. I know few friends on the Core Worlds who might be able to help us out."

Ascera groaned loudly. "Don't tell me you're bringing that walking carpet with us!" At Ran's nod, she moaned all the louder. "But he smells!"

"But he knows his way around forests," he countered, "and according to Doctor Shemza, Mathassi is a forest planet. And besides, wherever our 'walking carpet' goes, so does Carson, and you know how good he is with a blaster."

Ran suspected that De-Lanna was thoroughly confused by the conversation and waited for the inevitable exasperated outburst. "Who are you talking about?" the brown-haired Jedi demanded, doubtlessly feeling left out.

"Borworken is a Wookiee we met while traveling through the Anduul Star Cluster," Ran said. He smiled as he remembered his first meeting with the short, lanky shipjacker. As he recalled, Borworken almost killed him that time. "He's a good mechanic and a fair pilot, but he's even better at scouting out terrain. He used to be a hunter on his homeworld of Kashyyyk, so he knows his way around the woodlands very well."

"And this Carson?"

"An ex-Imperial stormtrooper," jumped in Ascera. "After the fall of Grand Admiral Thrawn, he became a mercenary. He helped us fight off some space bandits who were camping out on Wataro Four's trade lanes. Borworken owes him a life-debt, and that's why if we find one, we'll find the other."

De-Lanna sat back in her seat, silent. Ran felt her thoughtfulness in the Force; he grew curious. "What's the matter?" he pressed gently.

The brown-haired Jedi made a surprised sound at being brought from her reverie. "I was thinking. It sounds like the two of you have been on several missions already. I found that interesting."

"Oh? Why?" Ascera asked, her curiosity also piqued.

"This is my first mission." Ran sensed her discomfort at that admission. She continued, "The Jedi Masters kept me at the academy since I first began my training. They wanted me to perfect my Nexus technique rather than go on adventures like some of the other Jedi. I imagine that Master Skywalker wanted me to pass on my skill to others—so that they can go on missions while I have to stay and teach."

There was such disappointment in her tone that Ran turned his attention from flying to study her round face. Ran's skills in the Force were very instinctual; he did not have Ascera's fine control. What his instincts told him was that De-Lanna wore the armor of arrogance to hide her own fears. In that regard, they were kindred spirits. "For what it's worth," he said with such grave sincerity that even Ascera turned to look at him in surprise, "I think you'd be pretty good on missions."

He saw De-Lanna blink, clearly taken aback by the empathy in his words. "Thank you, Ran," she said simply. She settled into her chair and quieted.

A series of blinking lights on the consoles brought Ran's attention back to the task at hand. "I'm dropping us out of hyperspace," he said. He matched words with actions, lowering a lever. The stretched streaks of starlight returned to shining pinpricks. "There it is," he muttered grimly. "Star Town Station."

Dominating the viewport in all its illicit glory was an amalgam of docking bays, orbital platforms, and artificial atmospheric domes welded together into a mocking semblance of civilization. Star Town Station was only a short hyperspace jump from the polluted world of Duro, but the lonely space station could provide what few locales could in the Core World region: sanctuary for the criminal.

"What is this place?" De-Lanna inquired, taking in the metal monstrosity with a mixture of wide-eyed wonder and disgust.

"Just what it looks like," Ascera answered with clear distaste. "It's the worst of society among the best of society. But this is the place we can expect to find Carson Rehf and Borworken; they wouldn't be overly welcome anywhere else in the Core, Carson especially."

Ran thumbed on the communication system. "Star Town port authority, this is the transport ship Gray Obex. Request permission to dock."

"Permission granted Obex," a grainy, bored voice responded. "You may dock at bay X7-5B."

"Copy that." Ran hung up the communicator and brought the ship through its landing procedures.

Minutes later, the Jedi trio walked down the landing ramp, breathing in the stale recycled air of the space station. They saw a docking officer standing before the entrance to the station proper, prim and commanding in his pressed dark blue uniform. "Welcome travelers," the he greeted in officious tones. "Docking is a hundred-credit fee, if you wish to enter the station. This includes refueling for your vessel. Otherwise, I will have to confine you to the docking bay without refueling opportunities."

Ran turned to Ascera and winked mischievously, to which she just sighed. He waved a hand in front of the officer. "I don't need to pay the fee."

The officer responded perfunctorily, "You don't need to pay the fee. Please, accept the hospitality of Star Town." With that, he left for a nearby office.

"The Force should not be used for such pettiness," De-Lanna lectured sharply. "This demeans the both the Force and you. You should be ashamed."

Ran only laughed. "Whatever you say, mother." The miffed look on her face only made him laugh harder. "As Ascera can no doubt tell you, telling me not to do something isn't very effective."

"Then you're just being foolish," the brown-haired Jedi retorted.

He shrugged. "Maybe, but even a fool can be wise, or so I've been told. Hopefully, I'll fall into that category. If not, I'll just be the most unremembered Jedi ever." He strode down the ramp and into the station proper. He could feel De-Lanna's gaping look of disbelief boring into his back and heard Ascera say to her, "Ran's an idiot, so his arguments only make sense to him; pay him no mind." He tried vainly to suppress a chuckle.

His mirth was quickly cut when his green gaze settled on the dingy disrepute of Star Town. The last time he came here with Ascera, his stomach twisted in knots at the moral effrontery he had found. It was doing the same thing now and he tried not to cringe.

It was still a vile place, with recycled air that held the aromatic tint of despair. It was a sensation he had felt so often as a child, one that wracked his dreams and made him toss and turn in fright. Coming to this place last time brought him such dark anger that it shocked him to the core. He thought that he had a firm grip on the reins of those emotions. But the dark anger was still there, gnawing at him. Star Town—and all places like it, where the unfortunate wallow in gutters while those only slightly better than they die slowly in their dilapidated apartments—summoned all of those old evils in him.

He remembered with bitter vividness the sorry apartment he and his mother, a prostitute to a vile Hutt lord, had lived in, which was even worse than the complexes in Star Town. He shivered and shook his head, trying to clear away the haunting memories. There was a warm touch on his shoulder as Ascera laid a comforting, understanding hand. She knew about his mother.

"Perhaps it would have been better if we just went to Mathassi alone," she whispered.

He shook his head. "No, we need Carson and Borworken. Don't worry, I've got it under control."

Her eyes narrowed crossly. "No, you don't. But you're right, so let's just find those two and get out of here, all right?"

"All right." He smiled weakly. "Thanks Ascera." She smiled back at him.


The three Jedi stood before the entrance to the Gateway, a local drinking dive. Smells of smoke, hookah, and all manner of beverage wafted from its half-open windows. Ran tried not to gag; he was not a drinking person himself, and just the smell of the vile melange brought tears to his eyes. "This was the place, right?" he asked Ascera.

The Twi'lek nodded. "Carson used to get his jobs here."

De-Lanna turned her nose imperiously. "Can we be certain that this Carson Rehf is the kind of person we want to associate with? If his taste in alehouses is anything to go by, he's probably an old man who can't get his glory days behind him."

"You'd be right about that," Ran agreed, "but he's got the skills to back up his words. Come on." He led the way into the dimly lit bar, taking care to keep his lightsaber hidden and motioning his female companions to do the same. This close to the Core Worlds meant that more people would recognize a Jedi when they saw one, and that would not do. Ran did not so easily forget the bounty hunters that had attacked Doctor Shemza.

Ran was not a clever person, but even he could see the implications of someone hiring a hit squad to capture or kill a man doing research on the Jedi. The fact that they were bounty hunters only meant that places like the Gateway might be a nest for potential assailants. So he took stock of the sentient beings around him: a few Rodians drinking in a corner, a quarto of Aqualish trying their hand at pazaak, a Zabrak and two Twi'leks whispering in low tones over a dish of fried worms. None seemed out of place, but all set off Ran's danger senses. The fact that every one of them carried some manner of weapon—a blaster, a knife, or a stun baton—only heightened his wariness.

Ascera, who had been through just as many wild adventures as he had, moved with the same level of alertness. She seemed passive, calm, oblivious to all around her from the drunk Ithorian on the bar to the Twi'lek dancing girls on the tables. But Ran saw the movement of her eyes, the way her hand kept close to her belt—and her lightsaber. Her caution set him at ease.

But De-Lanna was another matter. Inexperienced in such a setting, she walked with open confidence, though she had the good sense to hide her lightsaber under her cloak like Ascera. "So, where is this Carson Rehf and his Wookiee companion?" she asked. A few heads turned at the sound of the names, and Ran heard Ascera curse in low tones.

"Please be discreet," the Twi'lek whispered harshly into De-Lanna's ear. "We don't want to attract too much attention; a stormtrooper and his pet carpet aren't exactly welcome this close to the Core."

"We'll let you know when we see them," Ran told the brown-haired Jedi in kinder tones. "Ascera, you and De-Lanna find us a seat. I'll look around. That way we won't look like we're obviously looking for someone." The females agreed and took a booth in a dark corner. Ran went to work.

He found the rough-bearded Carson Rehf slouched against a wall in a corner table, with Borworken nursing a mug of something potent. It had been several months since Ran last saw them, but aside from a thicker growth of facial hair, Carson looked much the same, as did his Wookiee companion.

Ran stood in front of their table, hands on his belt. "Hello, guys. Long time no see." Borworken growled nastily at him and flashed yellowed teeth. The green-eyed Jedi raised open hands defensively. "Don't give me that, Borworken. I mean, we're all still friends, right? Right?" Ran gathered the Force around him, ready to placate the fierce Wookiee with soothing energies if he had to.

Carson, still leaning against the wall, mumbled in his gravelly, drunken tone, "Leave 'im be, furball. 'e ain't worth killin'. And remember, 'e's a Jedi. And Jedi don't talk to scumbags like us without wantin' to pay for it. And they pay good."

"I'm glad you think so highly of me, Carson," Ran replied easily, bowing low and fancifully, even going so far as to raise the tail of his cloak. The sight was a mixture of respect and mockery. "And since you've no doubt guessed at the depths of the Jedi Order's coffers, I will be happy to pay you your usual fee for your excellent services."

The burly warrior drew himself up, sniffed long and hard, and spat onto the floor near Ran's boot. "Look 'ere, Jedi boy," he growled in low tones, raising a thick, callused finger at him, "I ain't gonna be taken in by your tricks like last time. You want me to kill Imperials, I'll kill Imperials. You want me to kill Mandalorians, I'll kill Mandalorians. But I want to see those creds up front. All in advance."

"But Carson, buddy, credits are hard to come by these days, especially for Jedi! We're aesthetic people, you know." Ran mentally swore. He had nowhere near Carson's fee on him; the best he could manage was half, and he was hoping to resort to their typical half-up-front, half-later arrangement. "How about three-quarters now, one-quarter later?" He figured that he could sell some of the extra food rations on their ship to make up for the difference.

But Carson shook his head. "No go, boy. I remember the last mission when you hired me and my buddy Borworken here. Fifty battle droids, thirty stormtroopers, and a really angry Imperial warlord. I ain't sticking my neck out for those odds again. I'm Mandalorian, not Corellian, so odds are odds." He made a dismissive gesture with his thick hands. "So you pay me all up front, plus room and board, or you're missin' out on a blaster monkey."

Ran saw that both mercenaries would be unbending. He sighed and agreed to their terms. "I don't have the money right now, but I'll sell some stuff on my ship. Your payment will be waiting on docking bay X7-5B."

"Docking bay X7-5B," the burly warrior repeated, nodding. He lifted his mug toward the Jedi. "A pleasure doing business with you, Ran." With a deep drink, the meeting between allies was over. Or should have been. Ran knew that despite his perpetual stupor, Carson was always on the alert, and his wariness was proven once again: "Hey, Jedi boy, look over there," he whispered, tilting his head to one side.

Ran followed the motion and cursed at what he saw. A quintet of Rodians walked into the bar, blaster rifles slung over their shoulders, but far too close to their reach for Ran's comfort. "Bounty hunters," the green-eyed Jedi surmised. "They look like the ones who ambushed me and my friends a few days ago."

Carson let out a whistle of respect. "You're getting better at fighting if you survived a scuffle with them. Those are the Zoddo clan. Tough monkey-lizards and real hardcore about the hunt. They are priced at six figures."

"They aren't so skilled that they should cost that much," Ran muttered, remembering how soundly he defeated the clan earlier. "But trouble in this town would be a bad thing. Meet me at docking bay X7-5B in three hours." Ran turned and headed for Ascera and De-Lanna's table. He pointed out the Zoddo bounty hunters, and the three of them left the bar with their faces hidden beneath the low cowls of their cloaks.

Three hours later, Ran had the funds—though he had to sell more than he had intended—and when he returned to the docking bay with his fully-loaded credstick, he found Carson and Borworken waiting for him. Ascera and De-Lanna were standing on the ship's landing ramp, eyeing both mercenaries with open wariness. A sigh escaped Ran, for he had the sinking feeling that the trip was going to be much longer than he expected.

Without preamble, the green-eyed Jedi tossed the credstick to Carson, who caught it with deftness that belied his graying hair and fifty-odd years. "That's everything," Ran said perfunctorily. "Ten thousand credits, all in advance."

The burly warrior checked the counter on the credstick and smiled widely. He slipped it into his belt pouch. "Thanks, boy. Now, let's get this show on the road. If the Zoddo are looking for you, I know a way to get us out of the system without them noticing. Borworken," he turned to the lanky Wookiee, "plot in the coordinates for the Ysella Run." The shipjacker nodded, and lumbered into the ship, heading for the cockpit. Ran followed him; they may be working together, but Ran was the better pilot. And besides, he did not trust the two mercenaries farther than he could throw them.

He overheard De-Lanna voice her concerns to Ascera, "Do we really have to work with them?" she asked, "they are hardly altruistic. They practically radiate selfishness in the Force!" Though her tone was confident and calm, the disgust and apprehension she truly felt was apparent in the Force, and Ran felt it fully.

Concerns and anxieties aside, Ran knew that there were no better people at what they did than Carson and Borworken. Ran may not trust them, but he could rely on them to handle any mission. At the moment, that was his only concern. The self-reassurance did little to assuage his worry, though. He set the ship into its launch cycle to settle his nerves.

"Launching in three seconds," he reported. The lanky Wookiee, sitting next to him in the navigator's seat, howled. "Yes, Borworken," Ran said, understanding the language of the Wookiees with passing proficiency, "I'm flying the ship. It's my ship, after all." Another howl. "No, it doesn't have anything to do with trusting you," he lied, "but thanks for offering. Anyway, transfer that Ysella Run of yours to my console. I want to see the star charts myself."

His screen flickered on with a little-known trade route glowing on it. Ran whistled appreciatively. "How'd you guys get this? Never mind, I don't want to know." He was impressed. According to the maps, the Ysella Run was a smuggling route that dodged the space station's sensors by flying directly under them—which involved flybys right across the station itself. It was a risky flight path, as one false move would crash a ship right into the station's hull. But he thought he could perform the necessary maneuvers.

Ran opened the internal communication system. "All right, people," he called, "buckle down. It's going to be a rough flight." He wiped sweaty palms against his thighs, grasped the control sticks, and hit the engines.


The Ysella Run had kept them unnoticed by any sensor relay, effectively throwing off the Zoddo, but Ran made sure to accelerate to lightspeed as soon as he could, jumping twice just to be safe. An hour after leaving Star Town Station, Ran engaged the autopilot systems and freed himself from his chair. He stretched, threw his hands behind his head, and stared out the viewport into the swirling blue-white lights of hyperspace.

"Come on, Borworken," he said cheerfully to the lanky Wookiee sitting grumpily in the navigator's seat, "let's ditch this place and find something fun to do. You don't like me, and I can't say I much like you, but we have a good long trip of hyperspace boredom to look forward to. We can't be enemies forever." Ran had the most disarming and winning smile on his face, but the Wookiee seemed unfazed. The furry visage only scowled at him. Ran sighed and gave up, walking into the ship lounge alone.

There he found Ascera playing cards with Carson. There was an unfriendly aura of diehard competition arcing between them, and the intensity of it surprised Ran. "What game is that?" the green-eyed Jedi asked cautiously, wary of sparking an explosion, so volatile seemed the situation.

"It's a new game called Kapras," the Twi'lek answered, hiding her competitiveness under typical Jedi calm. She laid down a yellow-and-blue-striped card with careful grace. "It has more strategy to it than sabaac and less randomness than pazaak. It's an invigorating game." She set down another card, a solid red one.

The burly warrior grouched, "You say that now, girl, but just wait until I get the wild card." His took a card from his hand and placed it atop Ascera's solid red one. It was colored olive green, with a sword image on it. "Penetration card negates your base card," he informed her with a confident grin. "The tides have turned."

"I have the utmost respect for my elders," Ascera said absently, setting down a gold shield card upon the sword, "but I must say your stratagems do not correlate with that I've heard of old stormtrooper tactics. Defender card negates your penetration card. My base card takes the lead." Carson swore loudly.

Ran interjected, "How long have you been playing, Ascera?"

"Twenty minutes," she replied without arrogance. Her tone was serene. Ran smiled.

Carson looked from his cards at him. "Why don't you start tellin' me what it is you want me to do, boy. You Jedi don't go around hirin' scum like me and Borworken unless its gonna be a big mess. Out with it."

"I'll be brief and to the point, then," Ran replied. "We're heading to a planet called Mathassi. There are Jedi ruins there that our Master, Luke Skywalker, wants us to investigate. We are to bring any relics or holocrons we find. It is a simple mission, but the world is, by all accounts, an icy, forested affair. We know next to nothing about its predators or what plants are edible or medicinal. That's where you and Borworken come in."

"We're tour guides," the burly warrior muttered sourly. "We're frellin' tour guides!" His self-depreciating tone would have been heartbreaking in any other person, but Ran and Ascera knew very well the kinds of crimes he and the Wookiee had committed in their long lives; the Jedi held no pity for them. "All right," Carson said in a subdued voice. "I guess it shows that old age is catchin' up to me if I got to take a bunch of brats sightseein'."

"It's an easy ten thousand credits," Ascera said, making a vestigial attempt at assuaging the warrior's bruised pride. "All you have to do is keep us alive and make the trails safe."

"Just go back to playing cards, girl," he mumbled tiredly.

Ran sensed that the matter was closed and went to look for the final member of their party. He found De-Lanna in the cargo hold, working through her lightsaber forms. The Force swirled around her like a vast, weightless sea. Ran was not very strong in the Force himself, but she shone like a beacon to him. The fact that she had the lean, athletic build that he found so attractive was a bonus. And she was a brunette. Ran had a weakness for brunettes.

Smiling mischievously, he jumped into her field of view, lightsaber blazing in his hands. Their blades crashed with the smell of ozone. She was startled for a second, but retaliated with surprising quickness. Sparks and light flickered in the dimly lit cargo hold, signaling the beat and rhythm of their violent dance. She was an aggressive fighter, and pressed the attack with such ferocity that Ran felt his shoulders hit the wall. He ducked below her next swing, ran under her reach, and further ran up the wall and over her head.

When he landed, he had his blazing blue blade caressing her shoulder. "It's one to one, so far," he reported cheerfully. He deactivated his weapon. "What happened to your Nexus?" he asked without rancor, honestly curious as to why she did not use it.

She extinguished her blade and replied, "It is unbecoming for a Jedi to use their powers frequently. It is a display of arrogance to do so."

Funny that you seem to strut around with that same arrogance regardless, he thought to himself.

"I remember a story about a Force wizard who never used his full power in public," he said. "Everyone thought he was a weaker than he really was. So when a great beast came and attacked his village, people believed him mad to go up alone against it. But he slew it in one instant, earning the awe and fear of his people. Now knowing that he deceived them all their lives, they started distrusting him and eventually ran him out of town."

She wiped her brow and clipped her lightsaber to her belt. "An interesting story, and one I'll think on later." She placed her hands on her hips. "You were very foolish to jump in like that. I could have taken off your head."

"You sound like I wasn't prepared or something. I've been practicing with a lightsaber since I was five, De-Lanna. You too, probably. Years of training and the Force make it almost impossible to be caught off guard."

"Which is a conceit!" She turned on him and locked her enchanting blue eyes on his brilliant green. "You're dangerous, Ran. I realized that the moment you and I dueled in the academy gymnasium. You leap into things you shouldn't, like hiring that mercenary and his friend or jumping into my lightsaber exercises. Small things, yes, but how far will you go?"

"I can go pretty far," he replied flippantly. He pressed an arm against the wall, effectively trapping De-Lanna between him and his arm. "For one, I could be really, really dangerous and do this." He drove his head forward, pressing his lips against hers. Beneath him, he heard De-Lanna's muffled protests, and suddenly found himself flying backwards from a point-blank Force blast. He hit the opposite wall with enough kinetic force to make it clang.

"How dare you!" the brown-haired Jedi snarled, hands clenched tightly at her sides. She spun on her heel and stormed out of the cargo hold. A few seconds later, Ascera replaced her, leaning idly against the doorframe.

"Found a new girl to pine after, I see," she said wryly. There was laughter in her eyes. "You never get tired of that come on, do you, Ran?"

He rubbed his sore head and felt a welt growing on his scalp. He sucked in a pained breath. "I think she likes me," he noted.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, she didn't kill me outright."

"She's a Jedi—Jedi don't act in anger."

"Well, what do you call that?"

Ascera smirked. "Righteous female indignation."


Ran and Ascera had decided to remain in the cargo hold working on their lightsaber forms. Two hours into their practice, sweating and tired, they felt the ship shudder violently. Ran winced as his shoulders banged hard against a crate of foodstuffs. He heard Carson's gravelly voice through the intercom. "Somethin' just pulled us out of hyperspace. Someone get on the gunwells!"

The green-eyed Jedi gave his friend a worried look. The Twi'lek nodded, agreeing with his unspoken question. "Looks like we didn't give the Zoddo as big a slip as we thought," she said.

"In that case," Ran said, "you better get in the cockpit with Carson. Try and rip off their interdictor unit with the Force."

"It might be too massive for me to do it."

"We're in space, remember? Zero-gravity. It'll be slightly easier." He patted her shoulder reassuringly.

The two Jedi ran to their posts. They passed by De-Lanna on the way, and Ran told her to take one of the gunwells while he took the other. He climbed the ladder to the dorsal turret and buckled himself into the seat. He primed the communicators and spoke, "I'm in, Carson. Root me some power." Almost immediately, bright lights flickered on inside the gunwell, casting a coruscating rainbow across his dark face.

The targeting screens aligned themselves automatically, and Ran took the gunnery controls with confidence. "De-Lanna, you settled in?"

"Don't talk to me," she said icily. Ran decided to obey that chilling command.

The Zoddo fighters started arcing in. He recognized the attacking ships as a scrapped-together mix of Headhunters and decommissioned TIE interceptors. "Where'd they get TIEs?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. It did not matter in the end; he was going to blast them to pieces anyway.

The fight was swift, but fierce. He counted a total of eight Zoddo fighters, all flying with an eclectic style that made it obvious that each fighter was acting on his own, with no cooperation from the others. For an eternity, Ran never released the trigger on his weapons. Red slashes cut through midnight space, occasionally tearing apart blue shields and dull gray metal. Their ship rocked and barreled through punishing maneuvers—trademark of Borworken's risky flying style. Ran tried not to groan at the thought of the smelly Wookiee at the controls.

The ship panned around a much larger transport, a Corellian freighter with a white bulb attached to its dorsal side—the Zoddo interdictor ship, with the gravity well projector installed on its hull. Ran smiled. "Ascera, take out that interdictor!" The white bulb shuddered in space and threatened to tear apart from its parent ship. Cords, fueling cables, and support beams peeled away, but Ran saw with dismay that the gravity well projector was held in place by a thick tether cable. He made quick work of it, slicing it clean with a few well-placed shots. Ascera finished the task with a final, telekinetic pull. The projector, disconnected, flew into the black abyss.

"We're headin' to hyperspace," Carson informed them through the intercom. Stars became lines, and Ran let out a sigh as they jumped to lightspeed.

The party gathered into the cockpit, settling themselves into their chairs. Carson asked, "All right, what the hell is goin' on here? Zoddo chasing you is one thing, but Zoddo with frellin' interdictors is another. What's so important about you Jedi brats that someone's hirin' interdictors to ambush you?"

"We don't actually know," Ascera replied honestly. "I can only assume that whoever sent these bounty hunters is also seeking Mathassi or wishes to keep it hidden from outsiders. Why is a question that, I'm sure, will be answered on the planet itself."

Carson was quiet, his stony face considering her words. He settled back into his chair with a grunt. "So you Jedi ain't omniscient after all," he grumbled. Turning to more familiar topics, the burly warrior said to Ran and De-Lanna, "Nice shootin', you two. Between you, you took out five of those fighters. Nice job."

"Thanks," Ran responded cheerily.

"Your praise is…welcome," De-Lanna replied more carefully. Ran suspected the prim brown-haired Jedi was still uneasy near the callous mercenary. "If you don't mind, I'll retire to the cabins." She got up and left the cockpit, deliberately walking as far from Ran as possible. He saw Ascera smirking knowingly at him.

The Wookiee howled, which Ran roughly understood to mean, "Another stuck-up rich girl," though the idioms were a bit different.

But Ran saw the stern, faraway look that washed over Ascera's face; she understood the gist of the growling phrase. "Pray that a rich girl is all you'll have to face," she replied in silk-smooth tones, "and hope that we don't have to tough it out with anymore bounty hunters."


The hyperspace trip was quiet—at least so far as space encounters went. No interdictors, no sudden asteroid fields, and no hyperspace aliens tried to detour them from their journey. But within the ship itself, tensions rose.

And it was all Ran's fault.

Ran was a hot-blooded youth, born and raised in the gutters of Coruscant's lowest levels. Despair and poverty went hand in hand for him. He hated that life, was glad to be away from it forever, but he did miss his first family—a ragtag gang of belligerent street toughs who looked out for each other when no one else would. Among those smelly, smart-mouthed rogues, Ran had learned loyalty to his gang, how to survive by his own wits, and—most importantly—how to find entertainment in the foulest of places.

That last lesson he took to heart.

It began when Ran, in a fit of boredom, sneaked into the ship's cabin wing while Borworken was sleeping. The Wookiee's snores were horrendously loud, but they served to hide the green-eyed Jedi's own booted footsteps. Ran then shorn a good patch of fur from the sleeping behemoth's chin and cheeks. The resulting carnage almost made him regret the prank, "almost" being the operative adverb.

Then came Ran's prank on Ascera. Though the Twi'lek would die before admitting it, she was a meticulous caretaker of her own stunning looks. Her Jedi aesthetics would never permit her to voice her vanities aloud, but Ran knew that in the privacy of her cabin, Ascera spent at least an hour making sure her lush blue skin was perfect and unblemished. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Ran simply exchanged his friends' usual bottle of moisturizing cream with an identical container of poison ivy. Ascera's screams of horror and utter rage had broken Ran into a fit of laughter—which immediately drew the Twi'lek's deadly ire. He barely survived that punishment.

Next on Ran's list was Carson. The grim and gritty mercenary rarely talked and usually retired to his cabin early to drink away the hours with a tall bottle of Corellian ale. Never missing a fun opportunity when it so clearly presented itself, Ran performed another bottle exchange. This time, he swapped the ale for hot sauce. The former stormtrooper showed his ferocity that evening, and Ran received numerous bruises across his face and eyes for his antics. But he was still smiling—albeit with a split lip—at the end.

He was on his way to the refreshing to wash his injuries with that winning, devil-may-care smile when he chanced to run into De-Lanna exiting said refresher. A soft towel was wrapped around her lithe body with another coned around her boyish hair. They crashed into each other quite by accident, both falling onto their rumps. De-Lanna was quick on her reflexes, and gathered her towels, retaining her modesty.

But she did not have that same level of control over her blush.

Ran saw her—and the blush—and smiled wider. Sitting up, leaning against his hands, he leered playfully and noted, "Well, well. When you blush, you blush everywhere." He felt the Force flow around him, violently, and suddenly he was sent across the corridor and slammed his head into no less than three walls before skidding to a stop by Ascera's booted feet.

He winced and looked up. "Oh," he said dumbly. The Twi'lek's face, still slightly red from his trick, was the epitome of irritation. "Um, hi, Ascera."

"Ran Tonno-Skeve," she drawled out his name as if dragging a fish through a muddy stream, "you never learn, do you?"

He shrugged from where he lay on the floor. "Master Skywalker said I was a slow learner," he quipped innocently. The remark earned him a swift kick in the head.

Then De-Lanna stormed into the corridor, hastily tying her robes together. Hot outrage glowed in her blushing skin and pure loathing of Ran Tonno-Skeve was apparent on her snarling countenance. "I'm going to kill that peeping son of a bantha!" she growled.

Ascera heard her dark comment and beat her to it. She kicked Ran in the head again, hard.

"Ow!" Ran protested, "Stop that! You'll break something!"

"Hardly," the Twi'lek sniffed derisively, "I've yet to see proof that you have a brain. Now, what in the Core Worlds did you do this time?"

De-Lanna gladly filled in, embellishing with choice remarks drawn from Corellian, Outer Rim, and Coruscanti underworld curses. Ascera's reddened face only dropped into the resignation of long trial and exhaustion. "Ran," she mumbled, "you're a hopeless idiot."

"More like a dead idiot," the brown-haired Jedi snarled.

"Hey," Ran sat up, leaning against the wall, "I only did a few harmless pranks. You know, to liven things up. I mean, we're all cooped up in here for the next while with nothing to do except play a few old holos, some cards, and training routines. This way, we can laugh at each other and talk about all the fun stuff that happened to you guys."

Ascera planted a booted foot on his chest, dangerously close to his windpipe. "Fun?" she roared, "You single-handedly turned my face into a toddler's finger-painting! Where's the fun in that?" Ran blanched from the heat of her ire, but then something happened.

De-Lanna snickered.

"Well," the brown-haired Jedi said, trying to stifle her laughter, "you do look kind of funny with your face like that, Ascera." Suddenly, she could not contain herself anymore and burst out into bellyaching guffaws.

Ran looked at Ascera; she looked at him. "See," he said, "it's already working."

She sighed and rubbed her head. "I suppose it is kind of amusing tricking Carson to drink hot sauce." A wispy grin found its way to her lips. "And Borworken certainly howled a storm. And seeing you get pummeled by all of us was definitely rewarding."

"I'll say it is," Carson added agreeably. Ran saw that he was standing by the lounge, with his graying head and Borworken's shaven one peeking into the corridor. Doubtless they heard the latter end of Ran's verbal punishment under the girls' sharp tongues. But he also saw a broad grin on the burly warrior's leathery face, which made him seem ten years younger.

Ran smiled, ignoring the pain in his scalp, the pain in his lip, and the pain on his chest. There was laughter again in the lives on his comrades and friends. He learned long ago that enjoying yourself was a good trait, but that having others to enjoy life with you made the experience that much better.