Discordance

by Inlerah

KotOR: In desperate attempt to thwart the triumphing Sith, special taskforce is sent out, but things go terribly wrong. Fate of the galaxy lies in hands of a powerful Jedi and her charge...or does it?

3. Broken Sword

Chapter III: Broken Sword

"I see the party is well on its way."

They looked around. The luxurious suite was filled with people, conversing and drinking to rather loud and energising music. Some of them danced half-drunkenly, others yet whispered spicy stories into each other's ears, sitting on one of the many sofas lining the walls, or leaning on the walls. Any way you looked at it, the party was in full swing.

"What am I supposed to do now?" Carth asked rhetorically, tension lacing his voice.

"Enjoy yourself and have a drink," Vren answered in confident tone. He leaned closer, his voice lowering. "Keep your eyes open and stay focused."

Carth nodded quickly, his eyes already tracking Sarna as she approached from the back of the main room.

"You finally came! I'm so glad you could make it," she smiled widely, a slight daze in her eyes.

"We hurried back as fast as we could, my dear," Vren smiled, his voice taking on a warm silk-like quality. "I hope you don't mind me calling you that?"

She giggled stupidly, shoving a glass into his hand.

"No, I like it. Come on, there's plenty of Tarisian Ale for everyone. Yun brought a shipment that was recently confiscated from the base. No use letting it go to waste."

"My sentiments exactly," Vren agreed, scanning the faces as they came into view.

Carth exchanged a high-brow glance with Vren. They lost themselves in the crowd, Vren allowing Sarna to lead him away while chattering happily, and Carth heading over to the drinks table, not quite losing his constant tension. For as much as the place was packed, there was a loose kind of atmosphere permeating the large condominium, and if Carth ignored the insignia patches and tattoos, he could almost pretend he was amongst normal people.

Almost.

Because everytime a loud laughter or a lively chatter rose above the currents of music, he would remember that they were Sith, all of them. And he couldn't help but wonder if it was any different than the laugh they delivered when they tortured their prisoners, or gunned down an innocent family, just because they were deemed inferior and worthless by their twisted doctrine. And his thoughts drifted to the past.

Which was the last place he wanted his thoughts to be. He quickly emptied his glass, forcing his attention back to the Sith around him.

"Great party, eh?"

Carth's head snapped to the intruding voice; a young man pouring two glasses of Ale from the dispenser, making some idle chatter as he waited for the cups to fill. An officer, from the patches proudly sewn onto his military style black jumper, he must have mistaken Carth for his comrade in arms. Carth realised that with the battle armour he was wearing, coupled with the weapons and his permanent scowl he could easily pass for an off-duty, overmilitant Sith officer in a place like this. He shuddered inwardly at the mere thought, but let the man keep his assumption.

"Yeah, it's great," he responded, trying to keep his voice from sounding too hostile.

Which was entirely unnecessary, since the man was obviously already under the influence of strong liquor, dully nodding in response.

"At least it's a break from boring shift assignment duty," there was only slight slur to his voice. "I swear, if I have to beat up one more alien for crawling his way up from the lower levels, I'm gonna go berserk!"

He leaned in closer to be heard over the loud music, sloshing the expensive Tarisian Ale all over the floor and Carth's boots. Carth caught a glimpse of the military ID card hanging sloppily from his chest pocket; 2nd Lieutenant Bronson, it read.

"I thought they were supposed to keep the tiers locked down. Most of these conscripts are incompetent morons, I'm telling you," he took a long pull from one of the glasses. "They can't even find one stray Jedi between three batallions of them. If those Republic terrorists weren't already half dead by the time they get to them, you can bet your credits they wouldn't find them if they were shooting them in the back."

Carth tensed visibly, but his companion never noticed since he was too busy keeping his balance as he laughed.

"So you haven't found her yet?"

"Are you kidding me? These idiots couldn't find their own ass with both hands and all their squadmates helping them! The Governor's having a daily screaming fits, and people like you and me have to listen to it because our men are blind, deaf and stupid!"

His rambling segued into a monologue as he stumbled away toward a group on the balcony. Carth felt a weight lifting off his chest temporarily. So they haven't found Bastila yet, they weren't completely screwed just yet. But he knew very well it was just a matter of time, and every second wasted added more concern to his already overtaxed mind. Deep down, he was preparing himself for the worst case outcome, if the Sith captured Bastila and how would they try to free her.

Could they even?

He scanned the apartment again, trained eyes looking for any potential threat. But there was none, only drunk people trying to forget their daily worries and sober people trying to get drunk. It felt strange, standing next to now careless person that might be looking at you down the barrel of a rifle as soon as tomorrow. Carth pulled back the stray strands of hair on his forehead, unable to lose the suffocating feeling. He didn't like this undercover work, not one bit.

"Enjoying yourself?" Vren asked bemusedly, stopping next to contemplative Carth.

"Yeah, it's great, being at a party where everyone is drunk and a Sith."

He leaned back on the wall, giving another sharp glance across the apartment.

"We were supposed to be keeping low profile, and this kind of defeats the purpose."

Vren gave a slow shrug.

"I doubt anyone here will recognize us as…undesired elements," he said cautiously, wary of the closeness of a chatting couple behind them. He stepped over to Carth's other side. "We cannnot afford to pass such a chance up."

"So long as we don't get ourselves killed," Carth lowered his voice. "They haven't found Bastila yet, I just found out."

Vren nodded slowly.

"That's good. Now at least we know we're not on a futile chase. Let's hope she doesn't let herself get caught anytime soon."

A pair of off-duty troopers stopped before them with big grins, perhaps hoping to entangle them in conversation.

"Isn't it great? I just knew Yun would pull through with that Tarisian Ale," one of them spoke, glancing at his glass appreciatively.

"Which unit are you from?" the other one asked, stupid smile still plastered to his face.

"I'd really rather not talk about my job now," Vren's voice was scornful and formal, hoping to drive them away with his subtly hostile tone.

Their smiles faltered, but only slightly. One of them frowned as he looked down, squinting in the dim light.

"Hey, is that blood on your boots?"

"Yes. I killed someone who talked too much earlier," Vren kept his voice ominous and his expression cold.

Nevertheless, they seemed to be terribly amused by this, bursting into laughter as if he just told a great joke. Carth put down his glass, waiting for the laughing pair to walk away before speaking.

"Maybe we could find some sort of authorisation papers here somewhere," he suggested.

Vren shook his head.

"No, most of these people are just footsoldiers. I doubt very much we'll find any useful documents here."

"Then what? You have a way of smuggling two Sith uniforms from a Sith-filled apartment, provided you'd even know where they are?"

"Patience, Carth, the night is still young," Vren gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, tearing away into the crowd again.

Carth just smiled sourly, his words unheard as he murmured them into his drink.

"I really hope you know what you're doing."

Slowly the night faded away into torn rags of dawn, the music dying along with the night as many already retreated to their homes in stumbling daze. Those that remained, were soon strewn over the sofas and floor, the potent liquor having its effect. The refresher was filled with unconscious party people, floor and washbasin covered in vomit.

Carth was lounging in the heavy armchair near the drinks table, not a drop of restrained vigilance and tenseness bleeding from his face, albeit it showed his suppressed weariness plainly. His eyes bloodshot and heavy-lidded as he stared out at the lethargic suite, half-empty glass of Cassandra Sunrise clutched in his calloused fingers with familiar ease.

The heavy lights of the never-sleeping city outside subsided to its faintest in the twilight of approaching dawn, that otherworldly time of not-quite-night and not-quite-day, when nothing seemed impossible. The twilight of dawn, when the dreamy melancholy of night collided with grimy, harsh reality of day and formed a bitter taste at the back of one's mouth.

Sarna was slumped over Vren, her fingers still stuck in the sides of his armour where she tried to unstrap it. The effort must have been too much for her, and the alcohol took its toll.

Vren let her unconscious form slide from his shoulder to the couch, looking around tentatively.

Carth was already making his way between the slumbering bodies.

"Search those lockers!" Vren instructed, pointing to a set of metallic lockers off to a side wall.

Deftly picking the simple locks, Carth rummaged through them quickly, finding the assorted Sith uniforms hanging on a rack neatly.

"Got it!" he exclaimed triumphantly, quickly pulling down two of approximately fitting sizes and folding them into a case he pulled from the bottom of the locker.

A soft gurgling sound made him look back and he froze at the sight. A pool of dark crimson was spilling from Sarna's throat, eyes open in bloodshot terror. Vren was leaning over her, bloodied vibroblade in hand.

Turning, he casually stabbed his sword through the nearest passed out man's neck.

"What are you doing?" Carth called out in alarm.

"Making sure they are dead."

"Are you crazy? They'll investigate this!"

"They will do that regardless, since the uniforms will be missing when we leave. This way these people can't cause trouble for us in the future, such as by recognizing us. And it'll look like one of the gangs, or the resistance did it."

"The resistance? What damn resistance?"

"The social atmosphere here isn't very Sith-inclined, in case you haven't noticed. There's bound to be some such organization."

Carth shook his head as if to clear it, a dark expression still on his face.

"Look, regardless, we can't just kill them while they're unconscious! It's, it's…just not right!"

Vren looked up at him, annoyed.

"They are the Sith. The people we are at war with, remember?"

Carth was about to respond, but Vren gave him no chance.

"You're right, why don't we just wait until they wake up and make sure they're all armed just so, you know, they'll have a fair fight! We don't have time for your sudden upheavals of conscience, and we most certainly can't afford the risk! So go and wait outside if you have a problem."

"So you're just going to slaughter them all?"

Vren moved to the next one with blood-painted sword in hand.

"Just pretend they're the ones that tried to kill you on Endar Spire," he said coldly as he plunged the blade through the man's throat.

Making a disgusted face, Carth grabbed the Sith uniforms and left.

The streets were relatively quiet in the early hours of the morning, but still not completely deserted as was the case in many smaller cities around the galaxy. After all, Taris was one of the biggest there were.

Vren swiftly exited the elevators, cautiously eyeing the lobby for any presence. Carth was already waiting for him in the courtyard leading to the pedestrian walkways impatiently.

"What are you doing?" he hissed urgently upon noticing two big suitcases in Vren's hands.

"I've taken four more uniforms. That way, when they find out about it, they'll look for a larger group, maybe one of the gangs. They will not be looking for only a pair of soldiers."

Carth let out a tormented sigh.

"Lugging big suitcases in the middle of the night outside the Sith condominiums isn't exatcly inconspicuous!"

"Relax. Stay calm and we'll be off this planet before they ever know we were here."

"I don't like this," Carth commented, eyes darting around the scarcely populated walkways nervously.

"Neither do I, Carth, neither do I. But war is never easy," Vren murmured absentmindedly, his attention focused on a solitary Sith trooper that was loitering around the passageway to the Padismes District North.

"If we lower ourselves to their level, then we're no better than the Sith!"

Vren shot him a strange look.

"But we're not on their level, we're the good guys here."

"Yeah," Carth said softly, the word heavy with the unspoken.

"Now come on, the patrol has turned into the Lanerge Causeway," he looked around one more time to make sure it clear, then bolted for the interdistrict tunnel.

XXX

"The Minister's cabinet isn't returning our calls, Mr. Kang."

Davik Kang kept walking, his features growing progressively more darker, the secretary keeping pace with him nervously.

"Open a secure channel on the emergency beamload. I'll take it personally in the east conference room."

The Twi'lek secretary nodded eagerly, his lekku untangling with relief as the kingpin's apparent wrath didn't spill out on him. Davik walked through the lavishly decorated hallways of his luxurious estate, finally entering a large room with vaulted ceiling and two lines of chairs arranged neatly around the ridiculously long massive table. He entered a code into the electronic lock at the door panel, sealing the door from any unwanted visitors, which simultaneously activated the forcefield shielding and sound masker noise generators, in order to prohibit any possible espionage.

The stylishly designed holocomm unit dominated the north side of the room, complete with full 360 degree sphere-space holocams and latest in holoprojector technology. The signal for the successful uplink with the secure line was already blinking softly on the control panel, so he just entered the activation code and turned on the device, standing in the recording oval.

A projection of a middle-aged man flickered to life, clad in expensive tunics and bright colours of a nobleman. His manner conveyed annoyance and even unease.

"What's the emergency? You know I have regular conferences-"

"What's this all about, Miras? I'm not paying you to sit around on your ass all day and pretend to run this planet!"

"I know, just calm down already," the man sighed, obviously aware of the reason for Davik's anger. "I've tried to get you an audience with the Senator, but the Sith had him stay in one of their military-owned mansions. You know I can't get through to the Governor, and the base Commander is a fanatic. The Senator was unavailable the whole time he was here. He was either at the base with the Governor, or back in his lodgings holding closed receptions for off-world Sith diplomats. Even I barely saw him the whole time-"

"What do you mean "was"?" Davik's voice turned deadly sharp.

The man swallowed thickly, keeping his voice controlled.

"His transport left the atmosphere two days ago."

"What? Why wasn't I informed about this? You're making a big mistake if you think you can play me, Miras!"

"I'm not trying to play you, I swear! And I'm grateful for all your help in my campaign and continual support, but I can only do so much. The civilian government has been relegated to mere titular function since the martial law was declared. We've even lost the trade leverage because of this lockdown, I don't have to remind you of all people about that, do I?"

Davik stared back at him, dark thoughts brewing under his brow.

"Damn Sith, they've got another think coming if they think they can lock me down!"

The holoprojection of the man moved as he shifted his weight uneasily.

"Nothing can be done, unless it's approved by the Governor. I've even heard that the apprentice of-"

"I don't care what you heard! With the kind of money I'm paying you, I expect hard facts, not some half-baked rumours."

Miras paused, as if suddenly at a loss for words, taking a moment to compose himself.

"Yes, I know. That is why I always try to keep you up to date on the matters, don't I? I would also appreciate if you wouldn't throw that to my face everytime I can't get everything at your beck and call. Even I have limited influence and power, especially in these days."

"Do you know how much credits and resources I've wasted to get you in the position you are now? How much do you owe to me, and the Exchange? And now you can't even do this for me when I need you the most!"

The man brought his hands up defensively, visibly nervous.

"Look, just calm down. This wasn't exactly an open diplomatical visit, if you know what I mean. He didn't come here because he was interested in Taris local politics. You know I would've gotten you in contact if I could. Come on, you know me," his voice was almost pleading now.

Davik scoffed even harder, looking up at the transmission in distaste.

"Yeah, I do know you. Don't forget who got you where you are now. I can bring you back down just as easily!"

The other man's face darkened momentarily at the threat.

"I did manage to intercept a coded relay message for you from Kelvas," he piped up. "He said not to worry; he's rerouted spice and weapons flow through Tatooine, with temporary exclusive contracts for independent transporters."

Davik let out a slow breath. He knew well what the inclusion of independent smugglers into his cut meant. The Exchange was losing big credits with this lockdown, and he was losing even more. If they allowed smaller members to chip in on such a specific market as established spice routes, they were already cutting him out. And he'll be damned if he'll let them! As soon as those codes are retrieved, he'll have a word with that little bastard himself.

He turned back to the other man, who was waiting patiently.

"I still expect full reports on Sith political activity. And I want you to get me plans for the military base in the Tir District."

"Plans?" the holoprojection repeated lamely. "But I'm just a-"

"I don't care how you get them, I want them by the end of the week! And make sure they're detailed."

The other man nodded silently, not wanting to anger the crimelord any more. Davik shut off the commlink in irritation just as the faint buzz could be heard, indicating someone was waiting outside the sealed conference room. He typed in the unlock code in the wall panel next to the holocomm unit, not even bothering to turn around to see who the intruder was.

Familiar voice spoke from the door.

"They're ready as they'll ever be, Mr.Kang."

Davik turned to Canderous, the mercenary as unphased as ever in his silent confidence.

"They better be," he walked closer, Canderous's stare unflinching. "Let them rest for tonight, tomorrow you'll start with the preliminary plans. I want you to go with Holdan later and take care of some scum that's been eating into my business."

"Another gang refusing to pay their share?"

"They think they can get away with free enterprise in my city. I want you to teach them a lesson others won't soon forget," he waved his hand impatiently, obviously greater worries on his mind. "Holdan'll give you the details. He's waiting for you in the speeder garage."

"I've been looking forward to smashing some spines," Canderous supplied in that almost indifferent way of his as he started back out.

"Canderous," Davik's voice stopped him in the doorframe. He half-turned expectantly. "I want those codes."

Canderous nodded silently, not even looking at him.

"You'll get them."

XXX

"How come you get the higher rank uniform?" Carth said sourly, glancing at the jagged insignias on Vren's shoulders.

Vren gave him an exasperated glare.

"What does it matter who wears a higher-ranking uniform? We just need them to get past the checkpoints, we're not going on a parade. If it really bothers you so much, we can exchange them-"

"No, forget it. I'm not taking this off and on again," Carth dismissed the notion with an impatient wave, putting on the armoured gloves. "It's bad enough that I have to wear one of these in the first place."

Vren locked the magnetic buckles on his leggings shut with an audible snap.

"These suits might just give us the disguise and advantage we need. First, we'll visit some of the apartments here."

"I don't like where this is going," Carth said warily, eyeing Vren in a sidelong manner.

"They'll be much more willing to cooperate with a Sith patrol searching through their homes, than some random strangers."

"So we're going to rob them?" Carth asked incredulously.

"No," Vren said pointedly as he put on the helmet. "We're going to impound assets. What do these people need credits for anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know. Trying to make a living, maybe?"

Vren scowled at Carth's sarcastic tone, even though it couldn't be seen through the reflective surface of the helmet face cover.

"We need it more than they do. This is a military emergency, we're fighting for their freedom too, after all. I am certain they would thank us if they knew the big picture."

"Yeah, I'm sure they're just waiting to give up their livelihood just so we could get off the planet. Somehow you don't strike me as someone being very dedicated about the Republic war efforts."

"I'm really not that interested in what you think, Carth, so much as what you do. And right now, you're doing nothing but wasting time we could be spending more productively. So shut up and let's get to business!"

"Sir, yes Sir!" Carth saluted mockingly. "You sure you're not playing into your role a bit too much?"

Vren just brushed past him out into the hallway briskly, brandishing his blaster rifle. The hallways were mostly empty in the early afternoon, with majority of tenants either in the local cantinas or going about their shady business. They chose the apartment building adjacent to their own, so they would have somewhere to fall back if anything went wrong.

Which Vren constantly assured it wouldn't.

The streets were uneventful, with a random passing-by Sith trooper providing amusement by idly complaining about the banes of having the double shift patrol duty. Amusing to Vren, at least, Carth was tense with anticipation of attack for the whole brief exchange, clutching his rifle stiffly as if he was struggling with the gravitational pull of a black hole.

He only relaxed a bit when they reached the relative safety of the apartment building, its hallways placid in the warm afternoon.

"Remember, act merciless," Vren instructed as he pressed the buzzer, both of them looming in imposing Sith uniforms.

"I don't believe I actually agreed to this," Carth muttered as the door was opened by a wary looking man. His eyes widened as he registered them, swallowing thickly.

"Stand aside, citizen! This is an unannounced search of premises."

"B-But you already searched our apartment last week-"

"Silence! We are to determine if you are not in possession of illegal artefacts or harbouring Republic fugitives!"

The man stepped back, letting them in as he put his hands up defensively.

"Sure, I didn't mean anything, go ahead and search the place."

Vren stomped in determinedly, Carth following with a little less determination. A human woman was standing in the bedroom doorway frightened, wringing her hands worriedly.

"Up against the wall, both of you!"

They obeyed reluctantly, as Vren turned them to face the wall, hands spread out.

"Watch them," he said to Carth, going for the nearest locker.

Carth made sure they remained unmoving, watching Vren from the corner of his eye. He went through the lockers and cabinets expertly, quickly pocketing any credit chips or an occasional stimpack, and making sure he scattered their contents carelessly about.

The door chime rang unexpectedly, freezing everyone for a few breathless moments. It sounded again, snapping Vren into motion.

"Expecting visitors?" he asked the man who was still turned toward the wall, but he just shook his head mutely.

Vren looked at Carth uncertainly, and another moment of silence was cut by the persistent door chime.

"Watch them," Vren said again flatly, starting toward the door.

Outside, a Sith officer was standing, flanked by two pairs of war droids. His insignias identified him as Sergeant-Major, probably on the routine patrol of the building. His eyes widened as Vren opened the door, Carth already prepared to dive behind the bedroom wall and open fire.

"What's this now?" the officer demanded as he stepped inside, reminding Carth that they were still wearing the Sith uniforms.

Vren shot Carth a quick look, and even thought he couldn't see his face, he could almost feel his prompting scowl.

Vren saluted and Carth followed cue, with Vren taking particluar care to exude unconditional discipline.

"All hail the Sith!" he boomed through the suit's intercom, startling the man.

"Yes, yes, stand down, soldier," the Sergeant-Major said in irritation, tapping his hand in the air dismissively. "What is going on here?"

"We are conducting a routine search of premises in this apartment complex, Sir!"

"I see. Why was I not informed about this by the Shift Sergeant?"

"I do not know, Sir!"

The man winced in irritation, scowling.

"There's no need to shout, soldier. I'll just have to take it up with the Major at the base," he said more so to himself than others. "I take it you didn't find anything?"

"No, Sir!"

The man looked around the ransacked apartment slowly, finally settling on the pair.

"Then we won't waste our time with this apartment. Proceed," he saluted, leaving with his droids.

Carth let out a sigh of relief as the door closed behind them, turning sharply to Vren.

"That was close, too close. Let's get out of here before they come back."

Vren nodded, turning on the safety on his rifle and shouldering it. The still frightened couple was now watching them with barely contained disdain.

"Yes, we are departing," he turned to the tenants. "Proceed, citizens."

"I think you went just a little overboard back there," Carth commented as they waited in the lift to take them back to the ground floor.

"Better overboard than sunk."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, I just made it up," he made an annoyed face. "Is there a point to this? Or are you just making small talk? Because this really isn't a good time," his eyes darted toward the Sith patrol nearby.

Carth brought his hands up defensively.

"Fine, I'll shut up now."

On their way back, they encountered a small group of drunken Tarisians, stumbling into their path.

"Heey, look, it's the Sith!" one of them slurred, pointing at the pair drunkenly.

"Shhh! Are you trying to get us killed?" another one quickly shushed him, his manner indicating he was only a little less intoxicated than his friend.

Nevertheless, one could easily see the unrestrained fear that was plainly apparent in their eyes at the silvery uniforms. Sith were clearly a force not to be trifled with, a fact the populace of Taris was well aware of.

As they stumbled away unsteadily, Vren kept staring after them, his expression unseen under the reflective surface.

"I have an idea," he finally said slowly, in that tone that promised nothing good.

Before Carth could open his mouth to protest, Vren turned back to him, his voice returning to that determined calm.

"Come, let's visit Kebla Yurt's Emporium and some other choice stores. Let's see if we can get a special discount."

He was already turning into the walkway that lead to the Emporium, prompting Carth to follow with a disgruntled sigh.

XXX

For being a restricted access area, the changing rooms and the large circular lobby were surprisingly packed with people. Considering the relatively small number of actual combatants, the multitude of people here was astounding.

The arena wings were an exuberant hive of life and movement, bustling with activity and nervous anticipation that could easily match the one on the other side of the doors. Various servants and medics were darting from combatant to combatant, seeing to their needs and bringing refreshments and weapons. Duel coordinators could be seen lingering among the various people, instantly recognizable by their voluminous headsets and tense, neurotic demeanor as they saw to it that everything ran smoothly and continuously. Personal managers hovered around the individual combatants, cowering as they were getting yelled at, while others yet delivered the yelling themselves.

In the chaotic buzz of anxiety and stilted tension, the combatants themselves were the most calm element of all. They seemed to take the anticipation with relative calm and stoicism that can only come from years of duelling in the arena. Whether stretching and warming up for the upcoming fight, being massaged by a random Twi'lek, or merely observing the hectic crowd as they waited for their fight, they were clearly aware that they were the center of all the chaos that raged around them.

Vren found a spot near one of the empty lockers, putting his blades on the bench as he took off his armour to examine it for any structural weaknesses.

"Would you like something refreshing to drink, a nutritious powersnack perhaps? A massage?"

Vren looked up at the Twi'lek girl in stained attendant uniform, shaking his head silently. A duel coordinator slid his way through the crowd, waving the girl off annoyedly.

"Hello, you must be the new one, right?" he paused as he read the data on his headset, a bulky visor that obscured most of his face from view. "Mysterious Stranger, right? Okay, you're scheduled at the nine-thirty fight, that's in about twenty minutes. You're up against Deadeye Duncan, shouldn't be a problem. Are you familiarized with the rules and procedures?"

The fingers of his right hand tapped mercilessly on the small keypad in his hands, his mind tracking multiple threads at the same time.

"Yes, Ajuur explained it all yesterday."

"Well let me just go over the basics quickly, just in case. The combat's non-lethal, as you know, that means when your opponent goes down, you don't touch him. Got it? Good, now as far as weapons are concerned, you can use any type of blaster or blade weapon you like, with the exception of molecular destabilizers and vibroblades with non-standard charging or harmonic vibration intunement. Which means no disruptors or specially enhanced vibroswords, alright? Also, no explosives of any kind are allowed in the arena! Stimula-"

"Make room!"

They stepped aside briskly as a group of medics hurried past with an unconscious body on a stretcher; Vren recognized the man as Gerlon. They disappeared through the worn white doors of the medblock. Vren's attention was brought back as the coordinator snapped his fingers irritably.

"Hey, hey, pay attention!"

Vren gave him a mildly wary look.

"As I was saying, you can use stimulants, as long as it's nothing above X3 level, and X2 for strength enhancers. Generally, anything that's below military grade nerve scorchers is okay. Oh yeah, medpacks are prohibited," he turned toward the crowd abruptly, shouting to some specific person Vren didn't see. "Mel'khet, why isn't Twitch here yet? He's got the late evening slot, make sure he's here by the time this next fight starts!" he turned back to Vren with a small smile, continuing his train of thought as if it hadn't been interrupted. "It's not like you'll have the time to use one in a fight, anyway. Don't worry, we've got a competent medic team here, they'll patch you up as good as new!"

"Very reassuring," Vren commented dryly.

The man ignored the comment, too involved in the micromanaging that went on in his visor.

"You got all that?" he asked in that nervous, constantly on edge tone.

Vren nodded somewhat absently.

"Great. If you need anything, just ask any of the attendants. Good luck out there!"

And he was off, disappearing into the crowd once more. Vren took a moment to wrap his mind over the hastily explained instructions, putting his armour back on slowly. He spotted Carth with corner of his eye, as he searched for him in confusion. Finally his face brightened as he found Vren off to the side, quickly making his way over.

"I didn't know this place was so crowded! I thought I'd never find you in this chaos."

"They let you in here?" Vren asked, mildly surprised.

"Yeah, I told the guards I'm your manager. Those Rodians really aren't the smartest bunch out there."

"Did you bet on me as I asked?"

Carth nodded silently, looking around at all the commotion.

"I did, but I still don't think this a good idea."

Vren sheathed his weapons into scabbards on his back, waving over one of the busy attendants.

"Have a little faith, Carth."

"Hey, don't get me wrong, I've seen what you can do in combat. But you've been up all night and drinking last night. It isn't exactly smart to go into battle exhausted."

"Rest assured I'm not exhausted," Vren muttered as he ordered some chilled C-tea.

Carth took a tired breath, unwilling to argue about the matter any further.

"And I wasn't drinking, unlike some people," Vren added pointedly, stretching and warming up his joints.

"Fine, whatever. When does the fight start?"

"In about twenty minutes. Aren't you going to watch from the tribunes?"

Carth shook his head, indicating the large projector screens that covered the wall above the arena entrances. Another familiar face emerged from the dressing rooms, tall and proud as she walked over to the lockers. Ice, the winner of the previous battle. Her eyes met and held Vren's for a few tense moments, before she turned her attention back to the attendant that was carrying her armour.

"I didn't know it was so busy in here," Carth commented idly, looking around the large antechamber.

Vren sat down on the worn bench, sipping his tea slowly.

"We're going to give those uniforms a try tonight. It might just be enough to fool the guard into thinking we are his comrades."

"Let's hope so."

Vren stopped to look at him, puzzled by the distant tone of his voice.

"Is something the matter, Carth?"

"No," Carth was quick to retort guardedly. "Nothing's wrong. Aside from the mess we're in, of course."

Vren shrugged slowly, taking another sip of his drink. He looked up suddenly, as if remembering something.

"I've been thinking about the things you said. About the Republic defectors, I mean. About your past."

Carth shot him a sharp, angry look.

"Maybe you should focus more on how we're going to find Bastila."

"I cannot help but think all of this is somehow connected with your aversion to trust people," Vren continued, ignoring him. "And when I say people, I mean mainly me."

Carth sat down on the bench stiffly, his eyes wandering aimlessly.

"If this is gonna be more arguing, I think I'll pass."

"I'm always up for a good fight," Vren rebuked, sipping his tea.

"Yeah, I've noticed. You're pretty tenacious, you know. I'd hate to be Malak and have you on my tail."

"Quite so. Now stop evading and spill it out already."

"Well, now that you've put it so nicely…" Carth said dryly. "Alright, look…"

Vren put down his drink, looking him in the eye.

"Come now, you know you will have to tell me eventually. I want to know who I am stranded in this place with. Tell me about yourself, Carth."

"Me? I'm just a grunt, fighting for the Republic. Not much to tell, really. There are things…I really don't want to remember," he let out a soft grunt, shifting in his seat.

"The betrayal of your comrades-in-arms, you mean?"

Carth gave him a surprised look.

"No…no, it's not that. It's something more personal."

"I imagined so, from the way you spoke about those who defected to the Sith."

Carth paused with a heavy breath, steadying his thoughts.

"One name out of those stands out especially; Saul Karath."

"You say it like I should know the name."

"Well you should. He's…he was one of the Admirals in the Republic fleet that went over, taking great many people with him. He's the sole reason Malak's been so successful in his conquest. He was also my mentor," he added more quietly.

"I see."

"He bombed my homeworld just to prove to the Sith that he's got what it takes to join them. Only a Sith could have killed billions like that."

He paused in distaste, taking a shivering breath.

"He even tried to recruit me into the Sith," he gave a remorseful sigh. "I could have stopped him then and there. I didn't see it at first, but he was trying to win me over by telling me how things change and someone of my perspective shouldn't be wasted in a losing battle. We fought about it, and he left in anger."

"And that is why you keep drowning in self pity?" Vren inquired in brutally forthright manner.

"Don't even try to pin that one on me!" Carth snapped back angrily. "It's not self-pity, or anything like it! I'm not letting this stop me from doing my duty. But I'm going to find Saul, and make him pay for all the grief he's caused!"

"Good. I'd do the same thing in your shoes."

Carth paused, mildly taken aback by Vren's cold reply.

"I guess you would. But we can't talk about it now. You're almost up," he indicated the large digital panel displaying time.

Vren nodded silently, his eye catching one of the coordinators that was waving to him in acknowledgement.

"Well, looks like this is it. Good luck out there!" Carth said as he checked Vren's armour was buckled on tightly, giving him an encouraging slap on the shoulder.

Vren nodded, noticing his opponent approaching as he too made his way over to the arena entrances. He grimaced into what was probably supposed to be an intimidating expression, but it only looked pathetic on him.

"You and me, tough guy, you and me," he spat, gesturing provocatively as he walked by.

Vren turned back to Carth with a lopsided smirk, but he just frowned in concern, glancing after Deadeye.

As Vren disappeared out of view in the crowd, he assumed a position leaning on one of the lockers, eyes darting from the crowd to the large arena monitors intently. After a few more minutes he was beginning to get impatient, but the buzz of the people around him slowly died down as all eyes turned to the viewpanels.

They showed the panned view of the empty arena first, with crowds occupying only a little more than half available seats in the galleries. From their disinterested faces, Carth could assume they were really not that excited about the constant rotation of the same fighters anymore.

The combatants emerged from the antechambers in amphitheatre, among the lukewarm applause of the crowd and announcer's voice introducing them.

Calmly, Vren pulled out his swords, indifferent to the cheering crowds. As the siren sounded, he charged forward in measured pace, Deadeye running toward him with a sneer. He brought his blade down as Vren came in range, dark leer spreading through his face.

With a flash of moves almost too quick to follow, Vren's right sword deflected the clumsy chop as he swooped down low, snapping at his opponent's wrist with his knuckles. Deadeye was disarmed, his sword flying forward from his hands spectacularly. He himself soon followed, as Vren's sword hooked his right ankle, pulling his leg upward and back in a wide arc, sending him crashing face first to the floor unceremoniously.

Even as he landed with a thump and a grunt, Vren's other sword jabbed down toward the back of his neck in a blur, tip stopping short of skin in a display of perfect control.

There was a momentary silence before audience cheered, discordant waves merging into a roar at the display before them.

"Deadeye is down!" the announcer's rich voice boomed over the shrill of the crowd. "But really, is it to anyone's surprise? You will have to do better than that if you want to impress us, Stranger!"

Vren pushed his sword down on Duncan's neck slowly, feeling the resistance as the kinetic energy dispersed by the suppressors. Faint trickle of blood poured down the man's neck as he passed out.

Finally, Vren sheathed his weapons and walked steadily to one of the exits, medic team already rushing out past him.

Making his way through the arena lobbies, he found Carth already waiting outside as he separated himself from the mass of people that poured from the gallery entrances. He waved him over, watching the close by groups of people with the corner of his eye. Carth emerged from the crowd, slightly out of breath.

"That was quick, and effective. Are you alright?"

Vren glanced at him absently, tracking the slow movements of the Hutt as he made his way to the register booth.

"Of course. I hope you're not suggesting that this novice could offer any serious opposition."

"Wow, you're pretty full of yourself, aren't you?" Carth said half-seriously.

"Of course. What else would I be full of?" Vren retorted in the same lighthearted manner, offering a mischievous glance.

The Hutt was unsurprisingly irritated by having to part with Vren's share of the purse, dramatically inserting sighs and wistful moans during the transfer of credits and brief instruction to come back and talk to him when he wanted to schedule another fight.

"Easy money," Vren commented as he turned the credit chips in his hands before pocketing them.

"This time," Carth replied darkly, looking around the ever-excited Cantina crowd.

"Let's go straight back to the apartment. I need to get some rest and we still have to get ready if we are going to go through with the plan tonight."

Carth nodded slowly and they lost themselves in the crowd.

XXX

Vren was leaning over the partially dismantled helmet of a Sith uniform, microscope visor on his face. He was trying very hard to catch some elusive part of exposed miniature integrated circuity with long pliers, extremely thin and delicate melting needle in his other hand.

Carth peered over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm removing the built-in commlinks," Vren said absently, delicate electronics sizzling under the melting needle.

"You think they got trackers on those things?"

"Absolutely. If we get close enough to a scanner range, and the military base is just around the corner from that lift, they'll pick up a stolen identcode and pinpoint our location."

His voice was monotone and flat, his concentration focused on the circuitry in front of him.

"You should have thought of that before we went out wearing them this morning."

Vren just shrugged, his attention still focused on his work. Carth fell into a nervous pace around the room, his troubled expression precursor to his brewing thoughts. Finally he stopped, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared distantly somewhere at the cracked floor-coating of their apartment.

"I think we made a mistake," he said quietly.

Vren put down his tools, turning to Carth fully.

"If this is about those Sith yesterday…"

"Damn right it's about those Sith! They're probably looking like crazy for those uniforms right now, and we're walking around in them like we didn't have a care in the world, pretending to be Sith for a few spare credits!"

Vren stared at him for a few moments of dramatic silence, as if surprised and annoyed at the sudden outburst. Finally, he put down his visor, speaking calmly.

"It will have repercussions, yes. So much the better for us if the pot is stirred a little. We will be able to get by more easily in the chaos."

"That's ridiculous! They'll be looking even harder for the Republic fugitives if they think there's a possibility of an uprising. Tightened security is not what we need right now!"

"They will have to divide their efforts, which only benefits us. At the moment they are focusing on finding Bastila – presuming they haven't already, that is. If we are going to beat them to it, the least we could do is create a diversion."

"This won't work," Carth's tone was leaking pessimism. "I could have thought of a better diversion, if we really needed one."

"I've no doubt. But not the kind where a group of Sith soldiers is put out of commission in the process. There must be no compromises where Sith are concerned!" his eyes flashed with dangerous momentum, a warning finger shooting up in rigid emphasis of his sharp words.

Almost immediately his expression calmed and fire disappeared from his eyes, as if he realized his overbearing vehemence.

"Drawing attention to ourselves is not a good idea," Carth persisted with restrained tone.

"Well, we're not drawing attention, are we? The Sith are a pretty common sight on the streets, much more common than a pair of conspicuous-looking Republic soldiers, pretending to be mercenaries."

He crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair as he spied a glance at the uniforms.

"A few more rounds with these suits and we'll be able to afford some better equipment and thus heightening our chances of actually finding Bastila and getting off this damned planet."

"I don't believe this!" Carth threw his hands up in appallment. "First you go and rob some poor bastard in our apartment complex, then you drag me to a stupid party where you kill all the people after they're unconscious-"

"Sith people," Vren corrected. "And it wasn't a stupid party. We got the uniforms, didn't we?"

"That's beside the point! You didn't have to kill those people the way you did, just as you don't have to go robbing more people of their credits now. Forget it, I'm not doing this anymore! I've been on this planet with you for a couple of days, and I already feel more dirty than I did in the whole damn war!"

A thick silence cut abruptly, pierced by opposing glares.

"Carth," Vren began slowly, picking a piece of lint from his thigh, "How long have you been fighting in this war now? How many years? And with Mandalorians before that? How many people have you lost, Carth, how many loved ones have you lost because of the Sith?"

"That's none of your business!" Carth snapped.

"I want to see the end of this war as much as you do, rest assured of that. I'm not exactly having a blast here, in case you haven't noticed."

"Well with you one never knows," Carth spat acidly.

Vren scoffed darkly.

"Do not presume to know me more than you do. You were the one that wanted to look for this Jedi at all costs. As far as I'm concerned we can give up the search right now, and concentrate on getting ourselves out of here!"

Carth looked like he was about to say something, but just clenched his jaw tightly, turning away abruptly.

"We have to find her," he said quietly after a while, looking down at his hands. "She's our only way out of here. And the Republic needs her. We owe it to all that have lost their lives in this war."

"Well there you go! And we have just the means to do it," he indicated the uniforms lying neatly on the table.

Carth rubbed his face tiredly, nodding in resignation without a word.

"I'm going to take a shower, and then get some rest. I haven't slept all night."

Vren watched him as he walked across the room into the refresher, thick metallic doors sliding closed after him.

"And as far as I am concerned, I don't owe anyone a goddamn thing," he murmured quietly to himself.

XXX

The night life of Taris was, like many other such great cities, quite remarkable. Not even the quarantine dulled it, since the Sith were thoughtful enough not to institute a curfew. A pair of Sith troopers on patrol was not an unusual sight, but the pair that was currently walking down the Detonation Boulevard was different. It isn't often one could encounter Republic military in Sith uniforms.

"That really was a strange experience," Vren carried the conversation, referring to their little adventure earlier. "It's amazing where a right uniform can get you these days. We could have shot people on the street, and nobody would even dare to look our way! Quite…useful."

"But it makes you realize just what kind of terror the Sith are exerting over these people," Carth's tone conveyed disgust, compassion and thinly veiled hate.

"Such is the fate of the defeated."

"You can't be serious?" Carth stopped to look at him in shock. "The Sith are animals, not-not even Mandalorians are this cruel!"

"Will you calm down!" Vren looked around frantically to make sure nobody heard them. "I didn't say what they're doing is right, I merely pointed out that the conquered usually receive woe aplenty. That is why we have to stop the Sith at all costs!"

Carth gave a discontented sound, falling into a steady pace after Vren again. They walked like that for a while, until Carth spoke up again uneasily, his thoughts obviously reaching critical mass.

"Look, I'm sorry about before. You're right, they were Sith and they had it coming. It's just the way it was done that didn't sit well with me."

"This whole affair isn't sitting well with me, Carth. Getting shot down from the orbit into a Sith occupied territory is not my idea of a good time. Searching for a lost Jedi in mutant infested urban wasteland is even less inviting."

"Let's hope we can find her quickly then."

"Something tells me it isn't going to be that easy," Vren indicated an armoured personnel carrier, heading their way.

They quickly turned in the opposite direction, walking away as quickly as they could without arousing suspicion. The booming engines of the large speeder seemed to be the only sound in their ears, each step so slow against the approaching sound.

"You there!"

Carth and Vren both froze as the armoured speeder came to a smooth halt, an officer calling to them from the open hatch on the top of the vehicle. They turned slowly, Carth's hand tightening around his rifle.

"What are you doing out of an established patrol routes? Are you Captain Gervik's men?"

The vehicle's gas searchlight bore down heavily on them, almost blinding. Vren took a deep, calming breath before replying.

"No, Sir! We are on our way to a Lower City patrol route."

"Just the two of you?" the officer asked sceptically. "That's not a standard practice for a level two security zone. Unit and rank, soldiers!"

"Lance-Corporal Horana and Rifleman Nakiyo, Sir! The rest of our detachment got called back to Padismes South for some sort of emergency," Vren thought quickly.

"Oh, they must be calling back additional troops to secure the crime scene. Nasty," the officer shook his head. "The whole apartment of off-duty troopers got slaughtered last night. The Colonel's put the base on general alert and sent out reserve reinforcements to all level two security patrols and checkpoints. We might have an uprising on our hands, on top of all the hassle with Republic fugitives. All redundant personnel is to report to base for staff assignment restructuring. Didn't they tell you about all this?"

"No, Sir, we did not know that," Vren allowed distress to color his voice. "We have been on patrol the whole night, and have just gotten back to HQ when we were sent right back out."

"You're pulling double shifts, huh?"

"Yes, Sir. Might I ask if this attack occurred unexpectedly, Sir?" Vren asked, feigning avid curiosity.

Carth grit his teeth inside his helmet, silently cursing Vren's big mouth. The officer looked them over momentarily, frowning.

"Yeah, they must have taken them by surprise. Who would have figured this could happen in the prestigious Upper City neighbourhood! The dirty bastards even stole a batch of uniforms they were apparently keeping in the apartment. I'm always telling these new conscripts to lock up their uniforms at the base when they get off duty, but do they listen? Noo, and then we get a freighterload of crap like this!"

"But who could do such a terrible thing, Sir?" Vren's tone carried nothing but bewilderment and disgust.

The officer's eyes grew distant for a moment, his voice lowering.

"I don't know, soldier, I don't know. But you can count on one thing: They'll pay, whoever did this!"

His eyes refocused on them, sharply.

"Well, you shan't get that rest anytime soon. We're going on a cleaning job and we're desperately short of men. Get in, I'm adding you to my team."

Carth and Vren exchanged quick glances under their visors.

"Sir," Vren began with growing unease. "We have direct orders to proceed to the Lower City and report to the Warrant Officer on duty in complex sixteen-through-seventy-six."

"Well your orders just changed. Just tell him to talk to Captain Frelok if he gives you any trouble."

The back door in the speeder opened, revealing two rows of Sith troopers lined on each bench in the cramped space. Carth was about to level his rifle at the Captain, but Vren grabbed his arm, shaking his head subtly. They walked into the speeder stiffly, where they settled into empty seats at the front of the vehicle, near the driver. Frelok came down from the upper hatch as the speeder rumbled into motion, taking a seat next to them.

"Which company did you say you were from, men?"

"Our patrol group has been assembled from various units, Sir, because there wasn't enough free troopers on the shift reserve."

The Captain nodded in silent understanding.

"Really? I could swear there was at least a full company on reserve duty when we left this morning. Who's your assignment officer?"

There was an uneasy pause, during which Vren's hands inched to the rifle by his side.

"2nd Lieutenant Bronson, Sir," Carth blurted out quickly, earning a surprised glance from Vren.

Captain scratched his chin, making a sour face.

"I guess you wouldn't know, then. He's one of those that got killed in the sector eight-eight-seven-three yesterday. There's been a couple of higher ranking officers in that apartment too, the whole thing made a mess from the schedule and command chain hierarchy. And we're already understaffed as it is."

Vren made a mental note of that fact.

"We were hoping we would finally get some reinforcements to relieve us of these killer double shifts, Sir."

"They've requested reinforcements from the 13-f and 25-b grid bases, but they've got their own hands full. Colonel keeps sending out patrols to look for that Bastila bitch, and we've lost countless men in the Undercity already. You should count yourself lucky for getting the easy upper levels duty. You wouldn't believe some of the horror stories I hear from the Undercity SD teams," pausing, he looked over his men briefly, before turning back to them. "No, we'll be lucky if we get any new detachments by the end of the month."

The speeder shook slightly as it turned into a lower level traffic lane, the engine shifting into higher gear. The next fifteen or so minutes were spent in awkward silence, at least for Carth and Vren. A brief laughter interrupted the trip from time to time as the troopers talked amongst themselves, the Captain quickly prompting them into silence.

"Sir, we've reached the Lower City checkpoint," the driver announced as the speeder slowed down.

The Captain climbed back up to the hatch to handle things with checkpoint security. Vren glanced at Carth; the proximity of other Sith troopers prevented them from speaking for fear of giving themselves away. Carth just shook his head, looking down. Vren could tell he was concerned about their current predicament. Probably worried if they would get out of it alive. He had to admit, though, this time he shared Carth's concern.

XXX

"Holdan, we didn't expect you to drop by," one of the Warper gang thugs said nervously, everyone immediately on edge.

"Sit down," Holdan pointed with his blaster, a clear enough gesture as to the nature of this visit. Behind him, Canderous secured the entrance with his large body, unslinging the heavy blaster from his back as he scanned the room. Apart from the various crates packed in one corner, the dark hall had a broken-down bar at one end and a large loading bay at another, a large table covered in credit chips and strips of Paazak cards sat next to the offices stairway, half-empty glasses and cigarillos before each its occupant. Who were as varied as one could expect from a Lower City dingy warehouse: From human to Rodian, Aqualish and Twi'lek, there was even a Trandoshan sitting at the table.

Most notable, however, were the Twi'lek girl a lovely shade of blue, with what appeared to be her bodyguard, a towering Wookiee. They were standing a bit to the side, obviously engaged in an argument with the gang leaders before they were interrupted. Canderous could only guess as to the nature of these two's presence here, most likely street crawlers, selling information to the gang for a couple of credits.

"Leave, kid. This doesn't concern you," Canderous said simply, glancing briefly at the Twi'lek girl.

She placed her hands on her hips angrily, her voice firm.

"Wait a minute, we haven't been paid yet! I don't care what your business with them is, but we're not leaving until Groshef pays us the credits he promised!"

Holdan groaned in annoyance, pointing a blaster pistol at her head.

"Then you'll just die with them, you stupid bitch."

The Wookiee roared and stepped threateningly forward, causing him to take a step back in sudden fear. Canderous brought his heavy weapon up with a soft click of pre-charger, training the weapon at the large alien wordlessly. The Wookiee roared again frighteningly, but possessed enough sense to stop his advance. Holdan pointed his blaster back up again, this time at the Wookiee, whom he still regarded with great wariness.

A faint flicker of fear passed over the Twi'lek's face, quickly dissolving into a dark scowl. Everyone in the room stared breathlessly as the Wookiee verbally released his anger, a terrifying sight indeed.

Only a Mandalorian would have the nerve to face down an angry Wookiee with the calm Canderous just presented. The air shivered with tension as they stood unmovingly for a few moments, deep growl rumbling in the depths of Wookiee's chest with Mandalorian's heavy blaster aimed for his head unwaveringly.

"Come on, Big Z, it's not worth it," the small Twi'lek tugged at his arm, glancing at the weapons trained at them with surprising lack of fear.

Instead, there was a sort of distressed anger flaming in her eyes.

"We don't want any trouble with Davik," she assured. "We'll just go and nobody gets hurt, okay?"

Canderous' and Holdan's weapons were still trained on them as she practically dragged the glaring Wookiee out the door.

"Smart choice," Canderous offered off-handedly as they passed him by.

She offered a quick glare, but said nothing.

"Would you believe the nerve of some people?" Holdan exclaimed as the strange pair left, letting his blaster drop to his side. "Speaking of nerve…"

He turned to the gathered gang leaders, who were just staring at the exchange with no small amount of trepidation all this time. He holstered his blaster, striding over confidently with a dark gleam in his eye. His confidence mostly driving from the Mandalorian behind him and his weapon, which was now pointed in the general direction of the table, his eyes daring anyone to pull a blaster out.

Holdan stopped at the loaded table, eyeing the credits and Paazak cards scattered haphazardly over it. A small container of raw spice was staring from the mess here and there.

"It has come to Mr. Kang's attention that you shitheads have been doing some trading on the side. This worries Mr. Kang a lot."

He walked around the table slowly, making sure to slap the back of a frightened head from time to time. Canderous noticed all eyes uncertainly flickering to one particular figure constantly; a Trandoshan, clad in an expensive Bothan armour suit. He was the only one whose demeanor didn't leak fear blatantly, calm inhuman eyes glued to Canderous.

"Did you really think you could get away with stealing from Mr. Kang and he wouldn't notice?" Holdan kept yelling dramatically, stopping to pull his blaster out again.

"But we didn't steal-"

The Twi'lek's words were abruptly cut as Holdan jumped him, swinging his pistol. He punched the alien out of his chair, repeatedly bashing him with the blaster handle as he screamed obscenities.

"Say that again, core-slime, say it again! I dare you to say it again, asshole!"

Everyone stirred at Holdan's sudden eruption, but remained seated out of fear of Mandalorian. The Trandoshan let out a low hiss, sharp teeth glinting in his lizard-like face. Dishevelled Holdan finally stood up, wiping a faint splatter of blood from his face.

"By not giving Mr. Kang his share, you have all stolen from him. You disrespected him by trying to run a business without his approval. He doesn't like thieves, and neither do I!"

He kicked another gang member from his seat, sending him scraping before Canderous' feet. A swift boot to the face from the Mandalorian sent him into unconsciousness. Holdan continued with his diatribe, now having everyone severely terrified.

"There's only two things I want to know before I make an example out of you: Who's your off-world contact, and where are you keeping your stash!"

One of Trandoshan's hands was slowly edging toward the end of the table all this time, and was now resting lightly on his raised thigh, only centimeters from the blaster strapped to it. Canderous met his eyes for a second, and in that moment they both knew the other knew. His mouth twisted in a death-grin of anticipation, his body steeling for the backlash of his large weapon.

Trandoshan's fingers curled around the handle of his blaster, their eyes still locked.

But neither got the chance to fire their respective weapons as the doors abruptly exploded inward with a slight delay, thick durasteel resisting the rapidly expanding gas. Bright light flooded the room, coupled with surprised screams. By that time neither Canderous nor Trandoshan were where they used to be a moment ago. Right after the initial blast receded, another pair of explosions blinded the room, in form of successive flash bangs that temporarily dazed the occupants.

The yelled orders over the haze and stomping of many boots served to further disorient the Warpers, with everyone pulling their weapons and shooting blindly. But only two of room's occupants had their targets sharp in their vision. Both Canderous and the Trandoshan had the sense and reactive speed to shield their eyes before the flash grenades were thrown in. Canderous' heavy repeater was now cutting down gang members, yet still missing its agile target. He took mild care not to intentionally hit confused Holdan, who has thrown himself to the floor, expression locked in blind fear. The majority of the Warpers were now stumbling across each other, many taking hits from blind discharge of their comrades' weapons.

The Trandoshan was jumping from obstacle to obstacle, firing off precise shots in Canderous' direction as he took cover behind the crates and even his disoriented gang comrades. Even more blasts penetrated the hazy air, emerging from the warehouse corridor where clustered silhouettes lingered. Canderous leveled the obstacles in his line of view, cutting down people and containers alike as powerfully charged bolts traced a black line across the walls. Unpreturbed by the screeching blasts of the supersonic weaponry, he took the chaos around him with a sort of anxious resignation. After all, it was hardly what one could call a challenge for a Mandalorian.

As the first smoke-obscured figures began pouring into the hall with their own death sprays, spreading the cloud of fright, the Trandoshan was already sprinting toward the energy transformer cabinets in the back of the building. Canderous scrambled after him, pausing his rapid volleys only to pull Holdan roughly to his feet. The Trandoshan discharged his blaster madly as he retreated, hoping to catch the Mandalorian and any pursuers in a random shower of blaster bolts. Canderous threw himself behind a small vat, pulling hysterical Holdan along to the safety.

"It's the Sith!" the man screamed in his ear, in a way that made him consider shoving him back in the line of fire and blame his death on the Warpers later.

Canderous' narrowed eyes darted to the entrance quickly; shining black and silver uniforms were spreading from it like Rodian Blood Flies into the room, dealing death and devastation. The remaining gang members would only distract them for so long, and their cover turning into a deathtrap was only a matter of moments.

The Warpers regained a semblance of their sight by now, concentrating their efforts on the Sith after realizing they were fighting for their lives.

Canderous peered over the edge of the large vat, a shot sizzling the metal container dangerously close to his head. Jolting back to the safety of the cover, he took a deep breath, checking his powerpack levels. Abruptly, he rushed from behind the cover, running as he sprayed scorching death. The Trandoshan was forced back into the defensive, disappearing behind a transformer cabinet. Holdan almost crashed into Canderous' back as he ran after him, bolts from the advancing Sith striking uncomfortably close.

"Get in that loading bay," Canderous nodded toward a crate-filled area, his hand reaching for his belt.

As mortified Holdan scrambled away amidst blaster barrage, Canderous pulled a fragmentation grenade from his belt, armed it with a flick of his thumb and tossed it carelessly behind him. He could hear muted screams of "Grenade!" as he threw himself behind a stack of crates after Holdan. Deafening explosion shockwave rippled the air with a flash of scorching gas and deadly shrapnel. Unpreturbed, Canderous quickly pulled himself up again, simultaneously opening fire on the Trandoshan's cover again and glancing briefly at his companion from the corner of his eye. The frightened man was randomly firing his blaster in the direction of where the shots were coming from, providing a vague suppressive fire at least.

The Trandoshan backpedalled, a bolt absorbed by his armour that would have otherwise been fatal, sending him stumbling backwards. With surprising agility, he rolled into the cover of the loading bot control consoles, shower of blasts charring the massive cabinets with eruptions of sparks. Hissing madly, the Trandoshan fired off a few more shots before finally throwing himself into a ventilation system emergency purge, his back grazed by one of Canderous' blasts.

The Mandalorian swore silently, doubly so as a squad of Sith troopers poured from behind the durasteel protective screen in the next moment, guns blazing. He redirected his gunsight at the entranceway, mowing down the first group of Sith troopers that gushed through.

A few of them holed themselves up in the offices that lined the warehouse, large windows now broken and giving them a good view on the defiant pair below. It was obvious they were loathe to use explosives in such constricted area, and settled for covering their position with rain of blaster fire. Canderous, on the ohter hand, had no such inhibitions, and was already unclipping another frag grenade from his belt.

"Get that loading bot between us and the Sith!" he screamed over to Holdan, already thumbing the grenade timer switch.

Flinching every time a blaster bolt wheezed by and constantly spewing curses, Holdan nevertheless managed to hoist himself over to still smoking bot command console, where Trandoshan was only a minute or so ago. Canderous tossed the grenade toward the edge of the bay, and watched the Sith troopers scatter like frightened Tachs. In the same moment that the deafening blast sounded, the massive body of the loading arm glided in front of him on its rails and obstructed his view, most likely saving him from the brunt of the blast as well.

The explosion caught the stairway in its radius, collapsing it along with a good portion of the office walkways above, sending Sith that were on them at the time plummeting down. As he reloaded his weapon in the brief respite that followed the explosion, Canderous spotted the lever of the maintenance tunnel hatch just a little further from his position. Allowing himself a small smile, he gestured to Holdan his intentions, springing from his shelter to throw himself through the blaster rain into the inset rails of the loading bot where Holdan was already waiting, struggling to move the lever.

Only then did Canderous realize that the outer side of his right thigh was scorched and deeply gashed with fresh blood trickling out, pain nothing more than a distant echo in the rage of his combat focus. That last blast must have not missed him completely. Slightly annoyed, he pushed Holdan out of the way and pulled down the lever with seeming ease. The heavy hatch screeched open slowly, covered in grime of disuse. Canderous practically threw Holdan into the dark tunnel, squeezing himself right behind him, but not before firing off a couple more shots at the enclosing Sith.

A loud flash erupted behind them, with accompanying explosion echoing shrilly in the narrow tunnel. The Sith weren't going to chase after them, so they just threw a frag grenade in and closed the hatch. Fortunately, they were already far beyond the blast zone when it detonated.

As they ran blindly through the narrow and low passageway of the maintenance tunnel, pain from his leg only adding adrenaline to the excitement he had learned to control and sharpen during the years, Canderous smiled euphorically – this was the best he had felt in months.

After the explosions died down along with blaster discharges, a grim silence of the aftermath settled on the smoky and abused battlefield. Sith troopers hovered over the still warm bodies likes carrion birds, faceless masks surveying the area for any hint of movement.

"Everyone drop your weapons and surrender, this is a raid!" the Sith Captain called out, his attention stopping abruptly on a Warper that has miraculously managed to survive the slaughter and was now cowering in a loading ramp, bleeding.

"Corporal Hicks! Why is that man still alive?"

The Corporal in question quickly amended the situation, firing a short volley into the man until he was positively dead.

"Well," the Captain picked up, satisfied, "It looks like all the offenders were accidentally killed in the initial skirmish."

He made an indifferent sound, heading over to the overturned table, trampling over half-melted credit chips.

"Private Griss, organize a small group to recover whatever useful credit chips and electronics from this jumble here."

Private Griss saluted, quickly taking to his task as Captain turned to somewhat lost-looking Vren and Carth.

"Lance-Corporal Horana, take six men and search this building for any illegal contraband that needs to be confiscated."

It took a moment for Vren to realize the Captain was speaking to him. He saluted awkwardly, mumbling out something unintelligible. He took Carth and five other men, leading them through the back to the loading bay and storage rooms.

The Captain took in the scene with a stonecast expression, looking around the wrecked room tentatively. Then he called one of his men over, instructing him in low voice as the others scoured the room around them for anything useful.

"Rinis, get in touch with our man and let him know another shipment's on the way. Probably the last one for some time, at least until this whole situation clears up."

The trooper just nodded, quickly disappearing in the darkened entranceway.

Up ahead in the storage and loading area of the warehouse, five Sith troopers were searching the crates and tanks systematically, while Vren and Carth stood off to the side, pretending to supervise the search.

"I have to say, this is easier than I thought," Vren commented, keeping a close eye on the nearby Sith.

"Are you crazy? We've been lucky so far, but our luck ran out the moment we stepped into that speeder. It's a miracle we're still alive, and no thanks to your constant provocation!"

"Relax, Carth. Things are progressing just fine."

"Relax?" Carth was dumbstruck. "How can you tell me to relax when there's a platoon of Sith troopers out there, who are only this close to realizing our suits don't have IFF's, and then we're screwed!"

Vren looked at him, dark surface of his visor reflecting nothingness.

"That is why we shan't stay here long enough for them to find out," he spied a glance about. "We are already in the Lower City, all we have to do is get rid of our escort."

Carth shouldered his blaster rifle, exhaling heavily.

"I say we make a run for it before they figure out we're not who we say we are."

They fell quiet abruptly as one of the Sith troopers approached.

"Sir, we found the cargo," he reported.

Vren and Carth exchanged looks, following the soldier into one of the storage compartments. The small area was packed with crates and cargo cylinders, most of them opened to reveal raw spice and electronics in protective foam within. A pair of heavy durasteel crates stood out among the plasteel ones, complete with electronic locks that were just being disabled by one of the troopers that were miling about.

"Very good," Vren murmured to the soldier that lead them in, looking around the displayed wares curiously. "What is all this?"

"Cruiser battery guidance systems," Carth said as he raked through the assorted foam-encased packages idly. "And…something."

He studied with confusion the flat metallic cylinder he was holding up.

"Put that down!"

He was startled into almost dropping the object at the Captain's exclamation, who was standing in the doorway, his brow creased in a dark frown.

"Put it down," he repeated in a more collected manner, yet still bleeding nervousness.

Carth returned the cylinder back into its slot in the durasteel crate, where many more were lined neatly in metal racks. The Sith Captain couldn't completely hide his relief as the crate's cover plopped closed, swallowing thickly. He looked around, appraising the crates and cargo cylinders in the room.

"Alright," he said, his voice returning to its previous commanding tone. "I'm confiscating the contents of this warehouse. Load it up in the APC!"

He sweeped around with his hand, indicating the cargo. The troopers quickly set to carrying out the task, establishing an efficient convoy through the main warehouse area and hallways to the armoured speeder waiting outside.

"You two," Captain pointed to Vren and Carth unnervingly. "Stay here and guard the area."

Then he turned and instructed to the nearest of his men.

"Someone take the casualties back to the transport. It wouldn't do to leave our dead here. And make it quick, we don't have all night!"

The soldier that went out earlier returned, relaying something to the Captain discretely. The Captain looked at him surprised, then adopted an exasperated expression, turning to the working troopers.

"Alright men, listen up!" everyone stopped with their task, putting down their loads to wait for his command. "We've got to make a positive ID on the death of a certain individual. A Trandoshan, shouldn't be hard to find, I need his body, confirmed and bagged. Organize a small group to search for the body, I want the others to keep moving those crates! Get to it!"

"Now's our chance," Carth whispered urgently. "We can slip out in the crowd, nobody'll notice!"

Vren looked around at the busy soldiers, nodding quickly.

"Let's go!"

They barely made it to the main area of the warehouse, looking as casual as possible, before the Captain's stern voice stopped them.

"Hey! I thought I told you two to guard the storage area!" he was standing on one of the office walkways above, studying some datapad or other as he surveyed the area. "Get back in there and don't let me catch you out here again before the area's been cleared!

They reluctantly made their way back, not failing to notice the impatient warning in his voice. In that moment, Vren seriously considered just putting a bolt in the man and then making a run for it. They probably wouldn't make it, but it would be worth it for the look on Captain's face as his brains splattered out.

Clearing his head of such distracting thoughts, Vren rather directed it into more productive efforts of an alternative plan for their escape.

Ultimately, they could just wait out for the troopers to load the contraband and then be dropped off in the Lower City to return to their duties.

Or so they thought.

Because when the last crate was cleared and the warehouse welded closed with the seal of provisional Sith government, Carth almost breathed a sigh of relief. Vren, however, had this ominous feeling at the back of his mind, strange premonition telling him things weren't about to get any easier.

It was confirmed as they boarded back in the APC, Vren carefully phrasing his question as he tried to sound as casual as he could.

"Where shall you drop us off then, before you return to the Upper City?"

Captain looked at him in mild irritation as the large speeder slid into motion, still upset that they didn't recover the Trandoshan's body.

"Drop you off? Well yes, when we're finished here."

"But," Vren began slowly, trying to keep hostility out of his voice. "Aren't you going back to the upper tier to return to the base?"

"Oh, but we're not going back to the base. Since you're new here, I suggest you just sit back and keep quiet. Just concern yourself with staying vigilant and keeping watch for hostiles, men, beacuse nothing else concerns you."

Vren and Carth exchanged alarmed looks.

"Sir?"

The Captain leaned back in his seat with an air of satisfaction, explaining off-handedly.

"Just one more little stop and we'll drop you off to your post."

"Sir, I really must protest-"

"That's enough, soldier! You'll get to your assignment when I say you do, clear? We've got more priority assignments on our hands than patrol duty!"

Vren kept quiet at Captain's agitated tone, clenching his teeth together silently. This man was really beginning to get on his nerves. He switched on the safety on the blaster rifle in his lap, so as to reduce the temptation to paint the speeder walls crimson with his brain matter.

"Looks like we won't get to that post as quickly as we planned," Carth said tersely, his visor hiding any sour expression he might have worn.

XXX

"Master Dorak!"

The elderly Master stopped his light gait and turned to the voice. The young Jedi was only slightly out of breath as she ran to catch up with him.

"May I have a word?"

"Certainly, I am always ready to assist the learners in any way. Especially someone in the kind of distress you seem to be in," he quirked his eyebrows slightly, the weight of her emotions not escaping him.

The woman paused, collecting her composure.

"Forgive me. The recent events have thrown my steady progress off course," her voice was tense, controlled.

Master Dorak nodded slowly, one hand going to his chin as he observed her. The fear, the confusion, even anger were evident as a storm cloud around her. She suppressed it well for other students at the academy, allowing only rarely for it to shine through a crack in her hardened surface. But Master Dorak was not easily fooled, and neither were the rest of the Council Masters.

"How may I be of assistance?" he asked innocently, knowing exactly what she would ask.

"Master, I was wondering…the unfortunate matter with Juhani."

She swallowed a little too noticeably, Master Dorak giving a knowing nod.

"Yes, most troubling, I imagine."

"Master, I have already spoken to Master Vandar and Master Zhar. I suggested that they allow me to try and bring Juhani back to the path of Light, but they denied my request. I know her, Master, I know her well! She isn't like that, not really! If only I was given this chance, I know I could help her."

Master Dorak gave a slow sigh

"No, Padawan. You are close to her, but you do not know her. The darkness you speak of is present in all of us. To ignore it would be not only foolish, but downright dangerous."

"But…what are the Masters planning to do about this? Surely she can't be left to herself in the state she is in?"

Dorak scoffed, continuing as if she hadn't interrupted.

"To accept it, yes, but never allowing it to take a hold of us. History teaches us that all the sorrow and pain has come from underestimating the Dark Side, Padawan."

Belaya sat down next to him, folding her hands in her lap helplessly.

"If anyone can reach her, it's me, Master."

"Reach her, yes. But what comes then? The emotional bond between you would bring more harm than it possibly could good. To become so attached in the first place, is what brought this drapery over your judgement."

Belaya looked down, her voice halting and subtly accusing.

"A mistake."

"No, not a mistake. A necessary obstacle on your path. You must face your darkness, just as Juhani must face hers."

"So you will not speak to other Masters on my behalf?"

Dorak paused, knowing that she will not understand the necessity of the Council's actions, let alone see the wisdom in their intentions.

"Juhani is in a very delicate state," he began slowly. "To force things now, would be disastrous."

"I…understand," she looked away, her hands clenching in her lap.

"The Force works subtly, Padawan. Like the evermelting glacier, it slides and pulls everything with it in ways unimaginable. In ways that can often be seen only through the eyes of time. That is the bane of those who are blind to the history and are unaware of the lessons it may offer; they are bound to repeat it."

"But, the Council is considering accepting her back into the Order should she repent and recognize her mistakes?" she asked cautiously.

Dorak smiled faintly.

"If she returns to the Order, the Order will accept her. But there is much for her to overcome, and learn yet. Padawan Juhani has seriously wounded Master Quatra as she gave in to the darkness inside her. She must first come into terms with herself, if she is to be helped. She must repeat that which ever cycles in her own segment of time, for the lesson to truly have effect."

"Is Master Quatra any better?"

"Yes, she is recovering nicely," he noticed the look in her eyes. "Don't worry about her, she doesn't hold it against her. She understands that what happened was necessary."

"Necessary?" Belaya almost snapped. "Forgive me, Master. I didn't mean to be rude. I can't help but feel this is all partly my fault, because of my attachment to her…"

"Don't be so quick to embrace the comforts of guilt," Dorak warned. "It is unsuitable for a Jedi. You have done what you could for Juhani, now it is up to her to overcome this."

Belaya looked up, her eyes misty.

"Yes, Master," she kept her voice carefully flat.

Master Dorak nodded with a soft grunt, getting up to resume his daily business. As his figure slowly distanced in the soft light of the approaching dusk, Belaya stared out to the orange sky. Sun was sending last day's rays over the enclave walls, spilling the warm glow over the calm garden like a blanket of peace. Birds chirped lazily above with the land cooling slowly as it sank into its sleep. Rust-coloured grass stalks rustled and wafted gently in the warm evening wind that ruffled her hair and caressed her skin.

Belaya stared out, but she saw none of it.