Despite struggling to get back to sleep, Carth was the first to wake up the next morning. He blinked away the sleep, his mouth dry. Ingrained senses forced him awake quickly, since he wasn't alone in the apartment. Turning his head, he checked that Mission, Zaalbar, and Kohl were still where he left them.

Levering himself into a sitting position, desperately needing some caffa, he found himself surprised that Kohl was still asleep. Somehow he figured she'd be awake already. What do you think she does at night, Onasi? Sits in the dark and waits? He shook his head and stood up.

She might sleep, but it was anything but restful, he noted. He was surprised by how different she looked. None of her normal attitude was visible; instead she looked sad, almost vulnerable. She moaned softly and thrashed in her sleep, and Carth wondered what kind of dreams would torment someone so lethal and razor-edged.

She gasped and started muttering something in a language he didn't recognize, becoming more agitated in her sleep. He leaned over her, concerned, wondering whether he should wake her. He reached out to touch her shoulder...

"That's probably the stupidest thing in the galaxy you could do, Republic. But don't let me stop you."

The pilot nearly leaped out of his skin, spinning around to find a man sitting in one of the chairs lined up by the wall near the door. The chair was almost too small for his large, muscular frame, and he held an unlit cigarra in one hand. Beside him, a utility droid sat quietly on the floor, watching Carth with interest.

"Canderous, keep it down," mumbled Mission sleepily from the bed in the corner where she lay half on top of Zaalbar, using the Wookiee like a huge, furry pillow. Her lekku twitched in the dim light.

Canderous sneered in her direction. "I'm just keeping Kohl's joy-boy from getting himself hurt."

Carth glared at the big man. His size, attitude, and numerous scars would have identified him as a Mandalorian, even if Carth hadn't recognized the Mandalorian-built carbine blaster currently sitting on the floor beside him. "Who are you? How'd you get in here?"

Canderous looked up at him from his seat, unimpressed and un-intimidated. "Name's Canderous Ordo. I'm Kohl's partner in this little venture. And yours now, too, I'm told. As for how I got in... the building caretaker can be very accommodating, when you ask politely."

"Am I running a hotel now? She didn't mention anything about someone else showing up here."

"I'm here to put you to work. Get your blasters, you'll be coming with me."

Carth didn't like the sound of that, and he certainly didn't like the idea of taking orders from a Mandalorian. "Where? To do what?"

Canderous smirked at him, though the expression on his craggy face looked more like a grimace. "To kill Sith."

The two men headed outside, to where Canderous had a speeder parked. It took the two of them to lift the droid – apparently designated T3-M4 – into the rear cargo area of the speeder, where the droid sat and whistled at them happily.

Dumping his big repeating blaster into the rear seat, Canderous slid into the operator's seat, firing up the vehicle's repulsors, and the speeder lifted half a metre off the ground with a hum. Carth likewise hopped into the passenger's seat, and after a moment to light his cigarra, Canderous pushed forward the throttle. The speeder zipped into the air with ease.

"So this base used to belong to the Republic?" Carth asked while Canderous piloted.

"More like the shoddy militia the Taris government had," his partner explained. "When the Sith came in, they rolled right over the resistance the planet put up. When they surrendered, they took over the base."

"And they keep the orbital defence net codes there?"

"Seems like. The only way a ship can get off the planet is by the personal authorization of the governor. And since the governor lives in the base... we go there."

Carth nodded. Then, after a moment, "You realize you're talking about invading one of the most defended places on Taris at the moment, right?"

"Yeah." The Mandalorian turned to grin at him. "This should be glorious."

The pilot couldn't quite agree. After a few minutes of silence, watching the buildings and spires of Taris pass underneath them, Carth turned to the big man. "Why are you helping with this? What do you get out of it?"

"Besides the satisfaction of a battle well-fought? After the war, Davik hired me to be an enforcer. I've never been been particularly drawn to crushing street trash like the swoop gangs. And as of late, Davik hasn't been paying me what he promised. So Kohl came to me, saying she wanted to leave, and I decided it was time I moved on, too."

"And you always follow her lead?"

"What Kohl wants, Kohl usually gets."

"You're scared of her?"

Canderous snorted. "Onasi, if you don't have a healthy fear of that woman, then you're not as smart as you pretend to be."

"Where is she from? What's her story?"

"Nobody knows." He glanced sideways, and caught Carth's sceptical look. "I'm serious. She arrived here a bit over a year ago, on a transport ship doing business for Davik. Half the crew was dead by the time they docked... the survivors had sealed her away on the lower decks. Personally, I think they tried to rape her after they found her stowing away." He smirked. "I'm guessing, based one what she did to the two of them."

Carth suddenly felt ill.

"Anyway, Davik sent me in to waste her. But when she fought back..." He shook his head in admiration. "She nearly handed me my ass. She gave me this," he indicated a long, thin, white scar which ran from the side of his neck down past his collarbone, "with a knife from the galley. I walked into that ship with armour, a shield, and my repeater, and it took everything I had to knock out a half-naked woman with a kitchen utensil."

"I'm surprised you didn't kill her."

Canderous scowled at him. "You don't kill a woman like that. You marry her, and raise fine warrior children."

He continued. "Anyway, Davik decides to question her, try to find out where she came from. Turns out she doesn't know. Can't remember getting on the ship, can't remember anything before the ship, can't even remember her own name. Took her about a week to recover all her speech skills... and trust me, she can speak nearly any alien language you care to name.

"That's what those dreams are. They're not really nightmares. I'm guessing they're memories, from her previous life. But she has a hard time remembering them when she wakes up, and she always wakes up mad because of it. So here's a piece of advice: steer clear of her until after breakfast."

"She wakes up mad? This is somehow different from the other hours of the day?" He couldn't believe he was joking with a Mandalorian. Couldn't believe he was about to attack a Sith base beside a Mandalorian.

Of course, he also couldn't believe that what he'd seen so far might be Kohl's idea of a good mood.

Canderous laughed, a harsh, guttural sound. "Onasi, that woman is all business. The only things that can really lather her are Davik, Mission, and questions about her past. You avoid those, and you'll be okay. She might still slit your throat, but at least you'll know it wasn't personal." He shook his head admiringly. "She'd make one hell of a Mandalorian."

"Quite the endorsement," Carth muttered. Canderous nodded as if it was obvious. "So, she's an expert fighter, and speaks lots of languages. Why has she stuck around this long for Davik? Surely she doesn't feel like she owes him or something."

The Mandalorian barked another harsh laugh. "Republic, Davik is number one on her hit list. But he's got something on her, I'm not sure what." The muscles bunched in his jaw. "I think maybe he threatened the Twi'lek girl. Mission was a new slave at Davik's estate when Kohl arrived. She kinda took to her... she's almost adopted her and the Wookiee."

Carth raised his eyebrows in surprise. "She doesn't strike me as the sentimental type."

"She not, usually. It's too bad. If not for those two, she'd be the perfect woman," Canderous grumbled. "At least she had the sense to finally get the girl blooded."

Carth clenched his teeth, having very definite opinions about the proper way to raise a child, but heading into a combat situation was not the time to start an argument with the person watching your back, so he swallowed his words.

Besides, he realized with a twinge of guilt, he hadn't been around enough when Dustil was growing up to rightfully criticize others. Morgana had warned him that he was going to miss his son becoming a man completely. She'd been right, like she always was. For more right than either he or she had realized at the time.

He was shaken from his morose thoughts as Canderous ducked the speeder under an elevated street, then swooped around to land it smoothly on a platform nearby. He found himself on one of Taris' many elevated streetways, stretching between the complexes behind him, and extending forward into a very intimidating, squat building in front of him. There was only a single visible set of doors into the building, a heavy set of durasteel sheets that looked like they could take a direct hit from a naval turbolaser.

Carth was very surprised to see the lack of any kind of guard. "Is it smart to do this in the middle of the day?"

"You have a better time?" Canderous replied. "Nearly all the troops are out patrolling the streets, because they're expecting trouble from the swoop gangs after the race. The base is practically empty."

The two hopped out of the speeder, fetching their weapons, and together they helped T3 down from its perch on the back of the vehicle. The little droid followed obediently as they walked up to the doors, Carth nervously looking for the defence turrets he figured had to be there.

Canderous had no such reservations, striding up to the Sith base as if he owned it. He tapped the access button on the door controls, just to be sure, but was not surprised when the panel rejected him.

Waving T3 over, he pointed at the panel. "Come on now, rust bucket. Time to see whether you were worth all those credits."

The droid emitted a raspberry sound at the Mandalorian, obviously insulted, but plugged itself into the data port just below the panel. It hummed away, thinking, and at one point a pair of articulators emerged from its body, cutting away a small piece of metal around the data port. A second interface arm then extended into the hole, jacking into some data conduit located deeper within the console.

Carth kept a watch out, though his agitation grew as the droid took more and more time. "How long is this going to take? We might as well just knock."

T3's head module tilted toward him. With an electronic snort, there was a spark, and the base doors slid open.

Canderous hefted his repeater. "You were saying?"

Sighing, Carth pulled his blasters. "I said, lead on'."

The Republic soldier entered the base like he'd been taught: blasters up, walking quietly and unhurriedly, his back to the walls, keeping an eye out for the first signs of the enemy. Canderous, however, walked straight through the main doors as if he owned the place, blaster carbine held in both hands, as if daring someone – anyone – to take a pot shot at him. Both men had their energy shields up, ready to deflect blaster fire.

As something of an anti-climax, there were no waiting Sith troopers just inside the base entrance. Instead, as the base doors closed behind them, a single Twi'leki woman looked up from behind a reception desk.

"Excuse me, but only author-" She stuttered to a stop, eyes enormous, as she saw the two men and the high-powered repeater aimed between her eyes.

"Hit an alarm, shout, or otherwise make a fuss, and I'll blow what questionable brains you might have out over the floor," growled Canderous. "Put your hands up where I can see them."

The receptionist nervously complied, standing, her lekku twitching with agitation. "Please," she begged. "I'm just a secretary. I don't really want to work for them, but they executed any of the old staff who objected."

"Then run," Canderous said. "You're going to be unemployed after today, one way or another."

The Twi'lek nodded, then scurried past them to jab at the front door controls, dashing out as the doors opened. "Good luck!" she called back over her shoulder.

Carth watched the situation, and raised an eyebrow at the other man. "Mercy from a Mandalorian?" he commented, surprised.

Canderous growled at the implied slight. "There's no honour in killing a secretary. Bucket!" he gestured at T3, who had rolled in behind them. "Can you penetrate their datanet from here?"

The droid whistled an hesitant affirmative; rolling behind the console, it found the data port and plugged in. It hummed, and after a few seconds, warbled a series of disappointed beeps.

"They must keep the codes in a separate location," commented Carth. "Check for references."

T3 beep an affirmative; using the console's main display, it pulled up a graphical map of the complex, drawing a line to the most probable location of the defence codes.

"The governor's quarters. We should have expected that."

"Disable the surveillance system, and erase the last hour of logs," Canderous commanded. "No need to have the Sith knocking down Davik's door before we've had a chance to do it ourselves."

T3 squeaked an affirmative, and for a minute it sat, humming industriously. Eventually it disconnected from the console and toodled.

"Fine," Canderous replied. He turned to Carth. "Looks like we're headed to the sub-level."

"Lead the way."

As Canderous had predicted, they encountered few inhabitants in the base. Those that were unfortunate enough to blunder in front of the two men were quickly and easily dispatched, and Carth was beginning to wonder if the man could have just shot the Sith fleet out of the sky with that repeater of his. Advancing through the base was almost ridiculously easy; and as a result, Carth became more nervous, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It seemed his apprehension was well-founded, as they discovered the elevator was guarded by a pair of turrets and a large battle droid; but the little T3 unit proved its worth once again, corrupting the turrets' targeting algorithms and disabling the battle droid's shield. The two men lured the droid into the corridor where it could be destroyed, and then each dispatched one of the turrets. Then, there was nothing between them and the elevator.

The elevator opened up onto a single, straight corridor. "What's down here?" Carth asked.

"According to the schematic the droid pulled up, just the governor's quarters. We're going to probably have to wax this guy. You got a problem with that?"

"A Sith governor?" He raised his blasters to his shoulders. "No problem at all."

The other man nodded, than strode down the hall, followed faithfully by T3. The three gathered at the door. Canderous made eye contact with the pilot, who nodded. At that signal, he tapped the door control.

The door slid open to reveal one man, kneeling in the middle of what appeared to be a general computing and surveillance centre. Computers and screens lined the walls of the mostly-circular area, and a door to the right led off to sleeping quarters.

"It's about time." The man stood up, facing them, and Carth's mouth went dry as he realized the Sith wore the armour of a Dark Jedi. A double-bladed sword was held in his left hand, a far-cryu from a lightsaber, but deadly enough. "I've been waiting for you. You'd think if you were going to come here, you could have the courtesy to not keep your host waiting," he sneered.

"Down you go!" Carth shouted, as he opened fire with both blasters. The bolts bounced off a personal shield, and suddenly he was flying through the air, struck by an invisible hand. He hit the floor and managed to roll.

A Force-Adept. Wonderful.

Canderous opened up with his repeater, but the damnable shield interfered again, glowing under the assault but not yielding. T3 attempted to assist with its own equipped blaster, but the Sith extended a hand, and a torrent of Force lightning arced out to wash over the little droid. T3 squealed with electronic pain and spun away, panels popping off and secondary short-circuits arcing across its chassis.

Before Canderous could get off another barrage, the Sith surged forward and slashed at his belly, and the big man was forced to use the blaster carbine as a makeshift melee weapon, blocking the attack and trying to club his opponent. The Sith easily dodged the counterattack, bringing the other blade up to catch him in the ribs. The armour blocked most of the cut, but enough got through to draw a grunt of pain from him.

Before he could drop the repeater and draw his own sword, the Sith thrust a palm into his chest, and Force lightning wrapped around his body. The Mandalorian was thrown across the room, an agonized scream torn from him as the governor continued to pump voltage into his body.

Carth dropped his blasters, pulling out his sword and activating his own shield. He rushed the Sith, who diverted his lightning from Canderous to him. The voltage washed over his shield, but Carth kept coming, forcing the Sith to use both hands on his blade to block a powerful overhead blow.

The pilot was no slouch with a blade, but he knew immediately the Sith was playing with him. All of his thrusts and slashes were easily blocked, and the Sith scored cuts on his legs and arm, sometimes even opting for painful and insulting strikes against his body with the flat of his blades.

Carth swung a vicious horizontal cut, hoping to score a hit through plain brute force. The Sith parried his strike upward, and then suddenly Carth was flying again. This time he struck the wall, feeling his ribs crack from the force of the blow. He crashed to his face on the floor, unable to draw breath, his sword clattering away.

The governor swaggered over to the fallen pilot. "When I felt intruders on the base, I was actually looking forward to a decent challenge. The pair of you managed to get this far... I thought you'd be of sufficient merit to earn me my lightsaber from Lord Malak." Another crash of lightning, igniting every nerve in Carth's body. He wasn't even able to move his chest enough to scream. "Overall, this has been very disappointing."

Carth was in a haze of pain, struggling to prop himself up on his hands and knees. T3 was down for the count, and he suspected even Canderous wouldn't be enough to save him now. He saw the governor looking down at him, and felt a surge of anger that would have done a Dark Jedi justice.

"Really now, what did you hope to gain with this foolish endeavour?"

"B... Bastila..."

"Eh?" The governor approached and kicked Carth onto his back. The pilot gasped, clutching at his ribs. "Bastila Shan? What do you know of her?"

"Jedi-"

"Yes, yes, I know she's a Jedi! Where is she?" He leaned down and seized the pilot by the throat. "You will tell me where she is, or I swear by the ghost of Ajunta Paal, you'll wish I'd killed you right now."

Carth wanted to say something witty and heroic, but nothing came to mind. So it was only with a defiant look that he armed the Gamorrean grenade he'd plucked from his jacket pocket, and jammed it down the front of the governor's armour. With the last of his strength, he braced his feet against the Sith's chest, and thrust him away, the horrified look on the man's face warming his soul in a way Carth hadn't thought possible. He jammed his hand onto the control of his shield armband, hoping the device had enough power left.

The governor was jumping around, screeching, clawing at the clasps on his chest plate. He was too slow; the grenade detonated, and the head of Sith government on Taris disappeared in a flash of plasma.

Despite his shield, the blast picked up Carth and slammed him again into the nearby wall. The force field absorbed and reflected the deadly heat and energy, but could do little to block the kinetic shock. His ears rang, and for long moments he could only lay on the floor, every breath an effort.

A figure loomed over him; he looked up to see Canderous standing there, burned, bruised, and bleeding, but otherwise alive. "Are you dead?" he asked, not sounding as if he cared either way.

"Ask me again a minute," Carth rasped.

"That was pretty damned foolish, Republic. You could have killed all of us, just to get him." Canderous laughed, clutching his ribs in sudden agony as he did so. "Maybe there's hope for you yet."

Kohl wandered around the flight bay of the swoop track, waiting for her turn to race. The other riders, nearly two dozen sentients of various species, watched her nervously – but she was used to that, and ignored their sideways glances.

Off to the side of the bay, near the race monitor's console, was the cage where her target, the Jedi Bastila, was kept. She took care not to immediately walk straight to the cage to check up on the incapacitated woman, as she was sure Carth would have. Instead, she idled around the set of holoprojectors next to the main bay doors, watching the racers run their heats alongside the others.

Before long, it wasn't necessary to fake boredom, and she began to move in a slow circle around the perimeter of the bay. The circle took her past the emergency exit, the large transparisteel windows which allowed viewing a small section of the track, and then finally past the cage. She took note of the cameras which watched the swoop bay, broadcasting the entire race to the rest of the planet.

By virtue of being the leader putting up the prize, Brejik had been permitted to post some guards within the bay. A pair of Vulkars stood near the cage, both armed with blades. The two guards, a Weequay and a Trandoshan, fingered their weapons nervously as she approached. She smothered a smirk as they did so; they were afraid of her, and that's the way it should be.

Keeping her arms crossed in front of her, she scrutinized the woman inside the cage. That she'd been a Republic officer was no longer obvious; Brejik, the idiot, had dressed her up in a joy-girl outfit, which left her legs, shoulders, and a goodly amount of her cleavage evident. The woman was slightly taller than Kohl, shapely, pretty, with a smooth oval face and generous lips.

She stood in the cage, wavering slightly as though inebriated; her eyes were closed, and she did not respond to any of the hooting and shouting of the racers. Her will was broken by the neural disruptor which circled her neck; the device suppressed higher brain functions, leaving the woman in a highly suggestible state, highly compliant to immediate commands. That would all change once the collar was removed, of course, but Kohl had no intention of doing so until the woman was safely in Carth's hideaway. She had no desire to trade a compliant rescue-ee for one that would undoubtedly demand explanations, resist commands, and otherwise interfere with the mission.

At least the woman was unhurt, Kohl noted. She leaned in, squinting. Something about the Jedi's face was familiar. She puzzled, rooting through her decidedly short range of memories, trying to place the woman's face...

She blinked, as images flashed across her mind, unbidden. A brunette Jedi, wielding a yellow lightsaber. She cut and slashed, quick as a whirlwind, until her opponent, a Dark Jedi holding a red saber, made a fatal mistake. A thrust, and the fight was over.

...Or it was just beginning. The Jedi looked up, and her eyes widened with fear...

Kohl shook her head. That had never happened before. The images had been vivid, immersing, but lacking any emotional content. Had it been a memory? In the past, she'd never been able to call forth any bits or pieces of the life she'd lived before Davik had discovered her on his transport ship. Discovered her, enslaved her, giving her a name that wasn't her own.

It hadn't felt like a memory...

Her introspection was interrupted by a growled voice beside her. "Kohl."

She turned her head and looked up, and found herself looking at a very displeased Brejik of the Black Vulkars. The dark-skinned human radiated anger. His ire pleased her, and she found herself smiling slightly. "Brejik."

Her scanned her up and down, noting the Bek colours painted onto the tight-fighting silver racing suit she wore. "You're no Bek. What are you doing here? What does Davik want?"

Kohl regarded the Vulkar coolly. She tossed her head at the woman within the cage. "Davik wants the woman."

Brejik glared at her. "She's the prize for winning the race. This is a swoop gang tradition... even Davik can't interfere!"

"Who's interfering? I'm going to race for the Beks. I'm going to win for the Beks. If they decide to give the woman over to us afterwards, that's really none of your concerned, is it?" She held her hands wide. "I'm not even armed."

Brejik glared at her, seething, but unable to respond. In a way, it was a disappointment... if he challenged her on the spot, she could kill him and be done with it, and not waste her time in the foolish race. But alas, he was not so accommodating, spinning on his heel, stomping away, shouting at one of his racers as if by volume alone he could make them drive faster.

Kohl sighed internally. Such a child.

Seeing no purpose toward hanging around the cage other than to make the Black Vulkars nervous, she walked back to the observation area. One of the racers had wiped out, and the others hooted and jeered, and a fight nearly broke out between one of the dead racer's gang and a Vulkar. Kohl observed with a lack of interest; she merely wanted to complete her mission and leave.

In time, her name was called by the race coordinator, and she strode forward, proceeding through the doors to the track where her donated swoop bike waited. Unlike some of the other racers, she didn't bother with a helmet – if a sentient hit the ground at two hundred kilometres per hour, she didn't see how a helmet would possibly be useful.

She did a quick walk-around inspection of her swoop, pressing on the repulsors, tugging on the steering flaps, and revving the engine up to near-red-line with the thrusters disengaged. Satisfied that the swoop was safe – or, at least, not tampered with, she straddled it, signalling to the observer that she was ready to go.

She sat on the bike, and closed her eyes as the start timer counted down. She reached inside for that place within her; that place that was far less than human, and sometimes far more. Sometimes it was as cool as a fountain, other times as hot as a planetary core. Yet it always guided her, if she let it; it told her when to move, when to run, when to kill. It made an animal out of her, a creature of pure instinct and reaction, and she gloried in it.

Her foot slammed down on the accelerator a split second before the go' indicator came on. The swoop bike exploded forward, and when she opened her eyes, it was if she could see the entire one-kilometre length of the track all at once.

A swoop race was essentially a solitary sprint. The bikers were expected to get off the finish line as quickly as possible, timing their up-shifting precisely, dodging the debris on the track, and taking advantage of the odd thrust-pads which would send a sudden shock into the thrusters of the swoop, producing the vehicle's distinctive sound and temporarily increasing the swoop's acceleration. The bike would eventually be moving fast enough that debris almost couldn't be seen before impact, and even the slightest mistake could sent the rider tumbling from the swoop's meagre frame onto the ground at hundreds of kilometres per hour.

Kohl found the exercise tedious.

The wind whipped through her hair as she tore down the track, but there was almost no thought in her head to notice it. Her arms almost moved of their own accord, her legs shifting her weight into precisely the right spot, drawing upon the deep well of skill and experience that was hidden behind a wall of lost memory. She was well past the finish line, the swoop almost stopped, when she came back to herself.

She had shaved five seconds off the shortest time posted. She had three heats to run; the lowest time of those would be posted as her score, and it was up to the other racers to beat that time on their own, randomly-ordered runs.

On her second heat, she dropped another two seconds. On her third, yet another second.

When she strutted back into the swoop bay, the cheers of the Beks greeted her, along with the jeers of the Vulkars and some of the other gangs. She ignored them all, walking to the back of the bay to await the finish.

She was at least amused to see some of the Vulkars, fearful of their leader's reaction should they lose, race with reckless abandon to beat her time. One managed to hit some debris near the end his run, tossing him from his bike and sending the Rodian to become a dark smear on the track; another overheated his engine, causing the bike to explode and crash right at the beginning of the run. He was thrown to the ground, where a few of his gang-mates were needed to pick up the badly-injured racer and carry him off. The wreckage of his swoop was left where it was, the newest addition to the swoop track.

Leaning against the wall, Kohl waited for the inevitable. And it came; after all the racers had run their heats, her time reigned supreme.

The Duros coordinator gestured at her. "We have a winner for this year's swoop race... Kohl, racing under the banner of the Hidden Beks!"

The Bek racers held up their appendages, howling, while the Vulkars snarled. Kohl walked past them, uncaring, to claim her prize.

However, as she expected, Brejik was there to meet her, playing difficult. "People, hear me! You all know that this so-called champion of the Beks, is no Bek at all!" He pointed at her, his face turning darker as he continued his tirade. "The Beks sell us out, to the crime boss of Taris! Because of this Hidden Bek treachery, I'm withdrawing the Vulkar's share of the victory prize!"

She raised an eyebrow, unsurprised. The Duros coordinator was appalled. "You can't do this, Brejik! You know the rules: nobody's allowed to withdraw a victory prize after the race. It goes against all our most sacred traditions!"

The Vulkar leader sneered at him. "You old fool! Your traditions are nothing to me - I am the wave of the future! If I want to withdraw the prize and sell this woman on the slave market myself, nobody can stop me!"

"I might have something to say about that, Brejik."

Every head in the bay whipped about to look at the slave cage. Inside, the prisoner was staring at the Vulkar leader with plain hostility. She raised one hand, and the door wrenched off of the cage with a shriek of metal, flying forward to smash into the guard in front of her hard enough to shatter his helmet. The Vulkar fell to the ground and did not rise. Bastila stepped from her cage, and the double-blade that the guard had carried leaped into her hands of its own accord.

"What? Impossible!" Some real fear appeared on Brejik's face. "You were restrained by a neural disruptor!"

"You underestimate the strength of a Jedi's mind, Brejik," she hissed. "A mistake you won't live to regret!"

Kohl groaned inwardly as the Republic woman proudly announced she was a Jedi to the entire planet via the holocast. Idiot, grandiose Force-users! She pulled her knife from its hidden place in her boot, realizing there was only one possible way that Brejik would react to this...

"Vulkars, to me! Kill the woman! Kill the swoop riders! Kill them all!"

The swoop bay erupted into chaos, as Brejik's group pulled blades and blasters and began attacking any non-Vulkars nearby. Some of the other gang members produced weapons themselves, and met the Vulkars with equal ferocity. The rest scrambled out of the nearest exit, or were cut down by the rampaging followers of Brejik.

Bastila, double-blade in hand, moved toward the Vulkar leader with a grim fury visible on her face. She was intercepted by two gang members, and was forced to engage them, cutting and slashing at them with both ends of her sword. She was unused to the weight of the weapon compared to her lightsaber, and it showed, but she dodged and parried their attacks with expertise.

While the two Vulkars sparred with Bastila, another four, including Brejik, came after Kohl. The assassin smirked, privately pleased that she was still considered more dangerous than the Jedi – though if the woman had still had her lightsaber, she was sure the balance would have been different. Kohl had never fought a Jedi before – that she could remember – and wondered how she'd fare against such. Perhaps she'd get a chance to find out.

First, though, she had street trash to dispose of.

Brejik, the coward, hung back while his three lieutenants came at her. The first swung wildly, and she ducked in and under the swing, her rear foot rising up behind her to pound a heel into his belly as he stumbled past her. He hunched over with a wheeze, and she didn't even bother bloodying her knife, simply smashing him at the top of his spine with an elbow. He dropped like a stone, unmoving.

Holding her knife in a point-down grip, she parried a stab from another Vulkar, slashing at his hand, missing as he pulled back. She kept on him, cutting at him. A blaster bolt passed dangerously close to her from a fight on the other side of the bay; she ignored it. The Vulkar was terrified, and the fright in his eyes was hypnotizing to her. Finally he snapped and lunged; she let the blade pass harmlessly under her arm, stepping inside his grip to plant her knife into the side of his throat. His sword fell from limp fingers.

Brejik had drawn his blaster and was firing; she pulled the dead Vulkar around as a shield, leaving her knife in his neck. She grasped at his blaster, pulling it and firing, forcing the Vulkar leader to dive away. She redirected her aim, and shot the unfortunate Rodian racer who had been trying to figure out how to stab her without getting shot by his own leader.

Brejik came up shooting, this time protected by a shield, and Kohl growled as her own shots bounced off. Tossing the dead body aside, she rolled under his fire, snatching up the Rodian's vibroblade as she did so. His fire followed her as she dove behind the race coordinator's console.

She paused, crouching, recovering her breath. Most of the fighting was done; apparently the Beks and other gangs had run, leaving her to deal with Brejik on her own. Kohl noted that Bastila had already disposed of one of her attackers and was near to finishing the second; she didn't have much time.

She could hear – could feel – Brejik slowly circling the console, looking to get a shot at her. She decided to oblige him... by leaping straight over the console, pouncing down on him like a jungle cat. He got off one wild shot, which cored into the ceiling, before her sword bit into his shoulder, unaffected by the energy shield. His armour stopped most of the cutting power, but the raw force nearly drove him to his knees, and he howled in agony.

He kicked out, planting a foot into her belly, and managed to knock her back. His left arm hanging limply, he dropped his blaster and pulled out his sword, a good quality Zabrak blade. He snarled at her over the tip, meeting her cold, emotionless gaze.

She swung; he blocked. He stabbed, she parried. He attacked with a powerful diagonal swing, which she barely blocked, trying to use his raw size and mass to drive her down. When their blades locked, he didn't let up, pushing down with all he could bear. She met him with equal force, pushing back, and the two snarled at each other over their blades, faces a hand's breadth apart.

Her blood sang in her ears, and it was all she could do not to laugh.

"When I'm done with you and the Jedi," Brejik growled over their locked blades, "I'm going to take special care of that little blue Twi'lek, don't you worry."

"Brejik, you never did know when to shut up." Suddenly she dodged aside, and he stumbled forward. In a split second her blade swung around and buried itself into him, just above his hip, below the protection of his armour. He uttered a choked gasp.

She kicked his legs, and he fell to his knees, his sword clattering to the floor. Tearing loose her blade, Kohl seized his neck, leaning in close to whisper into his ear. "You wanted everything. Now you'll have nothing. How fitting." He looked up at her, eyes wide, and his mouth gasped at air. Tilting his head back, the assassin slit his throat.

With a shove, she knocked him onto his side, and Brejik died as leader of the Vulkars... the gang of corpses.

The last Vulkar choked his last breath as Bastila impaled him with the double blade. She was appalled that it had taken so long to finish him. He had been competent, yes, and his fool partner with the blaster had complicated things, yes... but she was a Jedi! Grubby criminals should have fallen easily, whether she had her lightsaber or not. She decided that she was still out-of-sorts from the damnable neural disruptor... but she was feeling better each moment.

She turned, looking for Brejik, feeling a very un-Jedi-like anticipation for fighting him. Instead, a strong hand snaked over her shoulder to seize her throat, and the muzzle of a blaster jammed into her back. She was pulled backwards, off balance, until she found her back pressed up against a feminine chest. A face pressed against the side of her head, and a voice growled into her ear.

"Don't move. No Force tricks. Understand?" She struggled anyway, but the hand on her neck was like iron, and the blaster was dug into her back painfully. "Do. You. Understand?"

She stopped moving and nodded, on the verge of tears. She'd been so close to freedom! Who was this person, anyway, to be able to sneak up on a Jedi?

"Drop the blade." Bastila let the double-blade fall to the ground with a clatter. The woman's head shifted closer, and the Jedi could feel lips brushing against her ear. Neither the hand nor the blaster budged from their positions, and her captor kept her rocked back, her back arched, unable to find purchase to throw her off. "Good. Now, we've got cameras aimed at us, and half the planet is watching. So if you want to get out of this intact, you'd better play along and try to repress your Jedi penchant for theatrics. I promised to take you to Carth Onasi. I didn't promise that you had to be in one piece."

Bastila blinked. "Car-" The hand clenched, choking the name before it could leave her throat.

"Shut up. You're my prisoner, and you'd better act like it until we're out of here." The hand released her, and she felt the blaster removed from her back. "Turn around," the woman said more loudly.

Bastila did so. And when she saw who had captured her, a face from her nightmares, her heart nearly stopped in her chest. Revan!

"You're coming with me," the other woman commanded. "You're going to walk in front of me, and you're going to behave. You may be fast, but try anything and you'll find out if you're faster than a blaster bolt. Understand?" Speechless, terrified, Bastila could only nod. "Good." She gestured with her free hand. The hand holding the blaster wavered not a millimetre.

Obedient, Bastila moved, walking in front of the former Sith. She was confused; Revan seemed to show no sign of recognition. And Carth Onasi! How did she know she'd arrived at Taris with him, unless he'd told her? How much did she remember? What had been going on since she'd been captured?

She was shocked by the bodies strewn around the swoop bay. Whatever Revan had lost, she'd certainly retained her combat skills. As they passed Brejik's body, Bastila had to quell the urge to spit on it.

Revan did not guide her through the main exit of the swoop bay, instead gesturing her to a side door, marked as an emergency exit. No alarm tripped when the door opened, and Revan was quick about forcing her through and shutting the door behind them, jamming the locking mechanism with the butt of her weapon. A set of metal stairs extended up as far as Bastila could see, a dark and decrepit path upward.

"Good. We're out of view of the cameras here. Come on." She slipped past Bastila, holstering her blaster. She bounded up the first flight of stairs, bending down to grab something off the floor, tossing it to the Jedi. Bastila looked at the item in her arms, a set of all-purpose coveralls. "Put those on, and be quick about it."

"You... you were sent by Carth Onasi?" she asked, scrambling into the clothes, grateful to be wearing anything more covering than the joy-girl outfit Brejik had forced her into.

"In a manner of speaking. You and him can discuss it later. My name is Kohl." As Bastila zipped up the coveralls, she looked up to see Revan – Kohl – watching her with a curious expression. "Do I know you?"

Bastila's mouth went dry. She doesn't remember! She fought to keep any hesitation or stuttering out of her voice. "You've probably seen me on a holocast or something. I'd be surprised if you haven't."

Kohl watched her, and those grey eyes seemed to pierce her soul. It took all of Bastila's will to not fidget, to not quiver with fear that she would remember and would decide to finish what they'd started on the bridge of the Leviathan, so many months ago.

"Keep up," she finally said. "We've got far to go on foot, and I don't plan on waiting for you." Bastila nodded, and followed the other woman as she began to climb the stairs.

This mission has just gotten much more complicated...