Panting, Davik leaned back onto his silken pillows with a pleased sigh. His back hurt; his legs hurt. He probably had scratches along his back. But it was all covered over with an intense pleasure, and feeling of accomplishment.

She was rough with him, like she always was. He didn't think she knew how to be gentle, and he probably wouldn't be interested in her if she was. She hated him, and that hate transformed into a feral, desperate kind of sex, like sharing a bed with an animal. He loved the feel of her on top of him, the feel and sight of those Amazonian muscles straining, the inherent danger as her hands found his throat. She could kill him in an instant, snapping his neck like a twig; certainly she'd done it enough to others at his command. But if she did, she'd doom herself.

The nearness of death, her hate, and the knowledge that he'd managed to trap and cage such a creature was an aphrodisiac like nothing else he'd experienced in the galaxy.

Beside him, Kohl had already rolled off the bed and was redressing. All business, his girl. No attempt at insipid pillow-talk, like some of the joy-girls he'd had. They never lasted long. They broke too easily. Not Kohl.

He'd had more than a few powerful business associates offer to buy her, but he always refused. What was the point of having something special, unique, if he shared it? Nor was he especially suicidal. He doubted any other master would restrain themselves from making use of her other talents. More than a few business rivals had had a chance to experience those gifts, and Davik's empire had grown by leaps and bounds as a result.

He shifted, grunting as his back popped.

"I've been hearing rumours from the swoop gangs," Kohl commented, facing away from him.

Davik admired the shape of her back as she tied her boots back on. "What kind of rumours?"

"You know that the gangs beat us to those Republic escape pods. Apparently Brejik's stooges got lucky, and managed to catch a Republic officer while she was still incapacitated."

He frowned. "An officer?"

She pulled her shirt over her head, ruining his view, but he was thinking of other things. "Apparently. I'm guessing she's the one that the Sith have been stomping all over the planet trying to find."

"Hmm." The Sith and their damned blockade had been hurting his businesses, even the quasi-legitimate ones. It was an unacceptable situation, but even an Exchange boss couldn't take on a Sith fleet. "Are you proposing we tip the Sith off about this?"

Kohl shook her head, turning to stand and face him. She took a military stance as she did so, and Davik wondered again about who and what she'd been before she'd come into his possession. A soldier, certainly. Sith, maybe, although she was far more artful in her killing than he figured any of those rampaging cretins were capable. Genoharadan was his guess.

It didn't matter. She was his, now.

"Brejik has her hidden away," she explained, "as much from the fools in his own gang as from the other gangs and the Sith. He'll only reveal her at the swoop race, where he's offered her as a prize. He has no concept of her value."

"So what are you proposing?"

"That we take her during the swoop race. We can use her to strike a deal with the Sith. At best, we can win some form of reward from them, even if it's only gratitude. At worst, they get what they want and leave. So long as we don't oppose them, they have no reason to strike at us."

Davik considered, rubbing his hand across his balding pate. "Yes, but then we're left with hundreds of angry swoop gang members. You know how seriously they take that race, and trying to take the prize would unite them against us. That's a bit too much trouble, especially right now."

Propping himself up in the bed, he continued to think, and Kohl stood expectantly. Finally, he crossed his arms and looked at her. "I want you to enter the race. The Beks will sponsor you... they owe me, and they won't care about us taking the woman, they just want the win. You can win this race, yes?"

Kohl's lips twisted in distaste. "Of course. But why me?"

Davik nearly laughed at her expression. "Canderous is too big, and Calo hates the swoop gangs. He'd never cooperate enough to see this through."

"You know Brejik. He'll be expecting his own riders to win, and won't accept any other outcome."

"Yes, he's been getting a bit out of control lately. Which is why I want you to win the race fair and square... he'll try to withhold the prize, and the other gangs won't take kindly to that."

"And then?"

He smiled indulgently at her. "And then, my dear, I want you to kill Brejik, and any swoop gang member that gets between you and the Republic woman."

She nodded, then turned to leave. "Kohl." She paused, turning partway back to him. "You've forgotten something." He held up a small vial, retrieved from the drawer in the night table beside him. A tiny amount of purplish fluid was inside.

The looked at the vial, and for a split second her rage was visible on her face, before she schooled her expression back into the disinterest she normally wore. She moved to take the vial, but he held it back, until she properly held her hand out, palm up. He placed the vial into her outstretched hand.

A subtle reminder: she could take nothing from him. There was what he gave her, and nothing else.

Slipping the vial into her pocket, she gave him a cursory bow and left. Davik leaned back, pleased, pondering how much longer he cared to stay in bed.

Storming down the hallways of Davik's estate, Kohl ignored the slaves and guards who scrambled out of her way. They avoided her as a matter of course, but the expression of near-fury on her face encouraged them to be extra-swift. All except for Canderous, who appeared from a side corridor and fell into step beside her.

He looked speculatively down at her, knowing better than to comment on her activities with Davik. "Did he suggest what you expected?" was all he asked.

She didn't break stride, nor look at him. But one side of her mouth moved upward into a grim, satisfied smirk. "Yes."

Carth was never going to enter the Undercity again the rest of his life, if he had any say about it. After meeting with Gadon, he'd been cordially offered a place to sleep and – as a not-so-subtle hint – wash up. It had taken two hours of scrubbing in the Beks' shower to get the stench off his body and out of his clothes.

In any event, he was clean again, and rested, after a good night's sleep. Now, the most dangerous thing he had to contend with for the day was boredom. The swoop race was the next day, and he would be participating, after Mission and Zaalbar had generously endorsed him to the Bek leader. He'd never raced a swoop before, so he was slightly nervous. He thought his considerable time in fighters would serve him well, but fighters had ejection seats and... well, a seat. Gadon had assured him that he would do fine, but somehow he didn't think Gadon would withdraw his other racers and bet only on Carth.

So now he was sitting in Javyar's cantina, getting a meal and trying not to think about the utter insanity of his current plan. Even if he won and rescued Bastila, he wasn't going to hear the end of it from the blasted Jedi. But, he'd sworn an oath to the Republic, and the Republic had ordered him to safeguard her. And if he needed to smear himself across a racetrack to rescue her, that's what he'd do.

Of course, that wasn't plan A'.

Anticipation was going to drive him crazy before tomorrow, he decided. He almost wished Mission and Zaalbar hadn't wandered off; both had met him that morning when he'd emerged from the Bek dormitory, considerably more energetic and far less smelly. The girl had seemed more cheerful than he had during their misadventure in the sewers. He hadn't asked if anything more had happened with Kohl, but Mission had volunteered that the woman had been called back to Davik's estate.

He was still unclear as to the assassin's relationship to the crime lord. He'd assumed that she was some of his hired muscle, but some of Mission's comments had implied there was something more intimate there. He couldn't imagine Davik forcing Kohl into his bed, yet it had sounded like she despised the man.

He groaned, and took another bite of his nerf steak. He was looking forward to gossiping with a fourteen-year-old girl. He really, really, needed something to do.

It was the sudden drop in the noise level of Javyar's that made him look up. There at the entrance stood the woman he'd just been thinking about. She was dressed as she normally was, in what he'd dubbed her "business attire", with the addition of a black – of course – half-jacket. The dark colours of her clothing, and the dim light of the bar, made the flesh of her neck and face seem all the paler. Briefly, he wondered if she'd needed to scrub as hard as he had to get rid of the stink of the Undercity and the Gamorrean blood.

She moved through the crowd in the bar like a Firaxan shark in a school of fish. It was interesting to note the reactions of those around her; unlike Calo Nord, none of the gang members felt the need to test her. Certainly Kohl was physically less intimidating than the bounty hunter, despite her lean, muscular figure. It was something mental – something in her eyes. Eyes like a jungle predator, which didn't need to prove itself strongest, like a grandstanding Sith or a cocky bounty hunter – it simply was.

And those eyes were currently looking at him.

Carth hurriedly swallowed the bite he'd been chewing as the woman changed course and headed towards him. She came to a stop in front of his booth, and looked down at him.

"Onasi."

"Kohl."

She looked around, and then slid into the booth opposite him. Numerous eyes watched her do so, but she turned and glared, and those eyes suddenly found other things to look at. Regardless, she leaned in toward him, keeping her voice down. Around them, the constant music of the bar insured their privacy – for them, and the other suspicious conversations doubtlessly occurring around the bar.

"I have a proposal for you."

He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of proposal?"

"I'm going to win the swoop race for you."

Carth blinked, not sure he'd heard correctly. "What?"

Kohl pursed her lips in annoyance. "I'm going to win the swoop race. The Beks will sponsor me as one of their racers. I understand you've already approached them looking for the same thing?"

How did this woman get her information? "Yes, but-"

"Have you ever ridden a swoop before?"

"Um... no."

"Well, I have. And I'm very good at it. So I'm going to be racing in your place. I'll win, and I'll get your shipmate for you."

"Why?" Carth asked, incredulous. "Why would you even bother? What do you get out of it?"

"That's a very good question," she said. She leaned even closer, almost intimately close. It took a considerable amount of his self-control to not flinch away. "What I get," she said, "is a pilot."

He stared at her, confused. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"When you get your officer back, you're going to need a way off-planet, yes? As it happens, I have access to a ship: Davik's flagship, the Ebon Hawk. What I don't have is access to a pilot."

"You'd need more than that," Carth pointed out. "The Sith have an orbital defence network set up. We'd need codes to get past that."

"Canderous has a line on those. You let him worry about that."

Carth leaned back, evaluating her. She stared right back with the same emotionless expression she normally wore, her wide, grey eyes barely blinking. What she was offering was almost too good to be true; and in his experience, such things usually were. "You're being awfully generous."

"I'm being practical," she shot back. "I get you your shipmate. Together, we get a ship, the codes, and then you fly us off this rock. You, your partner, me, Canderous, and Mission and Zaalbar."

"I'm guessing Kang isn't going to be very happy about this."

She grinned, a mirthless baring of teeth. "I certainly hope not."

"Why would you be going against him? I thought you had a sweet situation here."

"You thought wrong. And I'm not going to go into the reasons why." She paused, and Carth thought he saw the first cracks in the stone-cold face she presented to the world. "I want Mission off Taris. Something bad is going to happen. I'm not sure what, but I feel it, and I trust my instincts." She blinked, and the traces of vulnerability were wiped away. "She's my objective here, Onasi – her safety. Beyond me, beyond you, beyond your Republic friend."

Carth tilted his head, watching her, surprised – and, if he were to admit it to himself, impressed. Perhaps even ruthless murderers could have a heart. But she was still asking him to put the safety of himself and Bastila – and by extension, the Republic – into her hands.

She seemed to understand his hesitation. She tilted her head. "You're wondering if I can be trusted. You want the simple answer? I can't. I'll do whatever it takes to protect Mission. Whatever it takes. And right now, what it takes is getting her off-world, in a ship piloted by you. And to get you, I'm willing to help rescue your friend." She leaned back against her seat. "Don't waste your time trusting me. Trust in what I'm trying to do, and I'm willing to take you along."

Carth nodded. Somehow, the statement of her own ruthlessness was more reassuring than any promises or overtures she could have made. "And when we get off-world?"

Kohl blinked, like she hadn't really thought that far ahead. From what he had seen, Carth considered that unlikely. Still, her smirk was strangely rueful. "Then we split up on the first planet we make landfall on. Unless you try to keep the Hawk, we won't have a problem."

The two looked at each other over the table. Finally, Carth nodded. "If you help me get Bastila back, both she and I would be more than happy to help get Mission away."

Kohl nodded and stood. "So we have a deal, then?" She extended one hand.

Carth looked at the hand for a moment, then reached out and gripped it... knowing full well that he was making a deal with the devil, but hoping the cost wouldn't be his soul.

"We have a deal."

The first thing Kohl did as part of their new partnership was to order him back to his hideout.

"There's always violence after the swoop races," she explained. "Some gangs don't take losing lightly. They don't fight in the swoop bay, but the streets are no-man's land. And this year promises to be worse, with the Sith and Brejik's band of idiots causing trouble."

"So you want me to hide in my apartment? I was hoping to be a bit more useful."

Kohl glanced sideways at him as they walked to the elevator up to the Upper City. "There is nothing for you to do in the Lower City now, and I'd prefer to keep you out of harm's way."

"I am a distinguished Republic soldier, you realize. I'm not useless in a fight."

"Am I insulting your man-feelings? Part of being a psychopath is that I have difficulty empathizing with others. I trust you'll tell me if I'm making you feel dis-empowered?"

Carth closed his mouth with a click, flushing a deep red. He had no idea how to respond to a comment like that... partly because he had no idea if she was joking or not. "Perhaps I just want to be there when you rescue Bastila."

"To make sure I don't double-cross you?" Kohl stepped into the elevator with Carth behind her.

"The thought had crossed my mind." She was brutally straightforward, he could return the favour.

"I hate to tell you, Republic, but if I turn on you, your presence there won't make a lick of difference."

The elevator opened again onto the Upper City before Carth could reply, and the two of them marched past the Sith who guarded the area. Kohl acted as if the man wasn't even there, and Carth remained at her side.

Carth waited until they'd rounded the corner before speaking again. "There's a more practical reason to have me there. Bastila won't know who you are. She might fight you, or just generally screw things up."

"I think I can handle one Republic officer."

"She's a Jedi."

That bit of information caused Kohl to stop in the middle of the street. She stared at Carth, and he internally awarded himself a point for managing to surprise her. "Truly?" She pursed her lips. "Interesting."

She paused, thinking. After a moment, she began walking again, and he scurried – in a manly way – to keep up. "If she's a Jedi, and Brejik has managed to hang onto her for this long, he's probably got her in a neural disruptor or something like it. This might actually make things easier."

"What? How?"

"The swoop race is going to be broadcast all over the planet. They always are. Even the so-called nobility tunes in to watch. And you can bet that the Sith will be, too." She fixed a hard look on him. "That' s why I don't want you there, Onasi. It's bad enough that your friend's face is going to be on the holocast. I don't need them seeing you, too. And I certainly don't need Davik seeing me working with you and wondering why."

Carth did not reply, unable to argue the point. More exposure was definitely not something either he or Bastila needed. The two of them walked along in silence, until Carth realized that they were both headed directly for the building where he'd based himself for the past two days. Kohl entered the building. And without being told, headed directly for his apartment. This unconscious demonstration of just how much she'd found out about him made him even more nervous.

She let him unlock the door, and when it opened, he received another surprise. Two surprises: Mission and Zaalbar, sitting at the table in the corner, playing Pazaak.

The teenager looked up and smiled brightly. "Hi, Carth!" Zaalbar yowled a greeting as well.

Carth looked at Kohl, and wondered if his face was as pale as it felt. The assassin was looking at him with an intense gaze.

She spoke, her voice pitched for the two of them alone. "I'm entrusting something precious to me to your care, Onasi. We're both risking much here. Try to remember that."

Leaving those words ringing in his ears, Kohl had left, claiming that she had final preparations to make in the Lower City and with the Hidden Beks. Her final instructions were for the three of them to visit Kebla Yurt's equipment shop and gear up, putting it on Davik's tab. Credits were no object.

"Won't Davik be mad about that?" Mission had asked.

Kohl had shot the Twi'lek a smirk. "By the time he finds out about it, it won't matter one way or another." And then she had left.

They'd done as she asked, although a man walking through upper Taris with a Twi'lek and a Wookiee drew many stares. Carth's poor view of the planet was reinforced by the outright bigotry he saw in those looks. Mission was delighted enough by the shopping trip that she didn't notice, but he made eye contact with Zaalbar and saw the resignation there.

Kebla, at least, had no compunction about selling to aliens. In fact, the three of them made her very happy, as Carth picked up new armour, and helped Mission select the best set which would fit her smaller frame. New vibroblades, grenades, a high-quality blaster pistol for Mission, and even some parts Zaalbar claimed he could use to improve their weapons, were all added to the pile. Carth felt vaguely guilty about the tab they ran up, and hoped Kebla wouldn't be held responsible by Davik.

They spent the better part of three hours in the shop, and the sun was going down by the time they went back to the apartment. Kohl still wasn't back, so the three of them ate together, Mission babbling nonstop. He'd cast an amazed glance at Zaalbar, who just shrugged helplessly. He suspected her loquaciousness didn't bother the quiet alien all that much, seeing the genuine fondness in the Wookiee's eyes when he looked at the teenager.

Despite himself, Carth found himself gaining respect for the assassin for putting herself between Davik and the youngster. Slavery would have been especially harsh on such a free spirit; she probably wouldn't have survived it.

After the meal Zaalbar went to tinker at the nearby workbench, while the pilot pulled Mission aside and had her test-fire her new pistol, right there in the apartment. They made a target out of an old but sturdy table, after insuring the pistol wouldn't burn through it or bounce off. As it turned out, Mission was quite apt with a pistol, Kohl having taught her quite well. Carth had few tricks to add to her repertoire.

Kohl still wasn't back by midnight. Deciding they needed to be rested for the next day, Carth decided they should head to bed. Mission squawked, until she realized that he meant all of them, including himself. So, letting the two of them take the large bed he'd slept on before, Carth stretched himself out on the smaller bed on the opposite side of the room.

He wasn't sure what time he was awakened by the door opening. It was dark, and a figure entered the room, surprisingly silent. Keeping up the appearance of being asleep, Carth's hand inched toward the blaster under his pillow.

He stopped when the person stepped through the beam of light from the window, revealing it to be Kohl. She wandered past the opposite bed, checking up on Mission and Zaalbar. Then she walked over to the windowsill, becoming a dark shape cast in light.

He lay quietly, watching, as she pulled what he recognized as a medical injector from the pouch on her hip. She inserted a something into the clip, a tiny vial full of purple liquid, which she plucked from her pocket. She seemed to pause to regard the injector for a moment; then she lifted the injector to her neck, pressing it against her skin and pulling the trigger. There was a sharp, short hiss, and the woman jumped slightly, then relaxed. He saw her silhouette lay the injector down on the counter, and she leaned on the solid surface, a morose sigh escaping her. It was the most human sound he'd heard her make.

His lip twisted in disgust. She was the least likely person he'd imagine to indulge in narcotics, but he supposed everyone had a weakness, even someone who despised weakness in everyone else. So that's how Davik keeps her. He let his head fall back, trying to return to sleep, trying to forget the image of her shooting up.

"Whatever you're thinking is wrong." Her soft voice carried easily across the small apartment.

He probably shouldn't have been surprised that she knew he was awake. "None of my business," he replied, equally softly, to avoid waking Mission and Zaalbar.

She turned to look at him, and even in the shadows her eyes seemed to catch the light and glitter. "You're right. It's not."

Dismissing him, Kohl went over to the bed where Mission and Zaalbar lay. Rolling up her coat into a makeshift pillow, she stretched out on the floor beside them.

Carth did not find sleep for some time.