AITHNE
Carth's low-profile idea wasn't going to make it past the complex corridor, Aithne thought as she emerged from the apartment. A Sith and two droids were holding two Duros at gunpoint.
"Okay, you alien scum," the Sith shouted. "Get up against the wall! This is a raid!" One of the Duros raised his hands in exasperation.
/There was a patrol here just yesterday!/ he complained in the native Duros tongue. /They found nothing! Why do you Sith keep bothering us?/
And that was all it took for the Sith to escalate from insults to flat-out murder. The Duros was on the ground with a smoking hole in his skull before an instant had passed. "That's how we Sith deal with smart-mouth aliens!" the Sith declared to the other Duros, with all the confidence of a man who knew he wouldn't be held accountable for his actions. "Now, the rest of you, get up against the wall before I lose my temper again!"
He turned to Carth and Aithne, and Aithne realized he'd seen them come out of the apartment. Seen—but not acknowledged. When he looked at them full-on, he stopped. "Hey, what's this?" he asked himself. "Humans hiding out with aliens?" Then the pin dropped. He gestured a command to the droids. "They're Republic fugitives! Attack!"
With no cover in the hallway, the only thing for it was to rush them. So Aithne did, closing to a range where the droid blasters and the Sith's rifle would be effectively useless. She beheaded one of the droids, severing its central processor from its torso, and thrust the chassis back to Carth as a shield. He caught it, thrusting an arm under each arm of the droid and firing from behind, a blaster in each hand. It took skill to do that, Aithne thought, blocking the Sith's attempt to dive behind his second droid. Most Republic soldiers could only fire a single blaster at a time with any precision, but Carth's shots were as sharp as sword thrusts—pinpoint accuracy to the joints of the other droid while she focused on the Sith. Nice he hadn't tried to back her up by firing on the Sith too, putting her into the blast zone. She'd run into that once or twice, fighting with partners. One advantage of fighting with a vet.
In no time, the Sith and droids were down. Aithne turned to the remaining Duros. /Poor Ixgil/ he remarked, staring down at the corpse of his buddy. /He should never have talked back to that Sith. Thankfully you were here to step in and help us, humans. This isn't the first time the Sith have come in here to cause trouble for us, but hopefully it will be the last./
Frankly, Aithne doubted it, but she was nice enough to leave him to his hopes. She jerked her chin at the Sith and his droids. "Will someone come searching for this patrol?"
/Don't worry about the bodies./ the Duros assured her. /I will move them so it looks like they were killed elsewhere. That should throw the Sith off the track. With any luck, they won't be bothering us again for a while./
Aithne lifted a hand in farewell, privately thinking that with that attitude, with any luck, the Duros would still be alive this time next week. "Come on," she told Carth. He followed her, face grim.
She didn't like it either—the Sith free to gun down anyone they wanted, purposely discriminating against aliens. But the attack told them what they were up against. They were going to have to be careful.
They left the apartment complex and headed through the streets. The silence was tense. Aithne felt awkward. Aside from the fact he was a major in the Republic, a good shot with double blasters, and the kind of guy who didn't leave people behind, she didn't know a whole lot about Carth Onasi. He'd talked more than once about her service records; she hadn't had the same advantage. So, to put them on more even footing, and to break the uneasy quiet, she spoke up.
"So. Onasi. Tell me about yourself."
He seemed surprised she'd even asked. "Me?"
Aithne rolled her eyes. "No. The Chancellor."
His nose wrinkled at her sarcasm, then, hesitantly, his mouth turned up at the corners. "Well—I've been a star pilot for the Republic for years," he started. "I've seen more than my share of wars . . . I fought in the Mandalorian Wars before all this started."
Aithne considered. That had been an ugly business. The Republic was still half crippled after the fighting. It had left them vulnerable to all the Jedi who turned, and fifteen and twenty years ago, they hadn't been prepared for the total war tactics the Mandalorians had used. Onasi was old enough to have seen a lot of it, and to have picked up the consequent scars. Probably how he knew to stay calm in a crisis and about stealth advantages when the enemy was focused on alternate objectives. He'd impressed her back at the apartment.
"But with all that," Carth continued, "I've never experienced anything like the slaughter these Sith animals can unleash. Not even the Mandalorians were that senseless!"
Aithne made a face. "Torching targets that could have military value," she agreed, "sometimes just to watch them burn. Murder without any tactical or strategic advantage. The Mandalorians have some honor. The Sith are out for power and violence: that's it. I've seen some of the worlds they've left behind."
"Yeah," Carth agreed. "My homeworld was one of the first planets to fall to Malak's fleet. The Sith bombed it into submission. Rivers vaporized, cities obliterated, entire ecosystems destroyed. And for what? There wasn't a damn thing our Republic forces could do to stop them."
Aithne was quiet a moment. "I'm sorry," she said.
"We did everything we could," Carth said. "I did everything I could. I followed my orders and did my duty. But I—look. I'm not accustomed to talking about my past much. At all, actually. I'm more used to taking action: to keeping my mind focused on the business at hand. So, let's just do that. If you have more questions, ask them later."
Aithne held up her hands. "Subject closed. I get it. I didn't mean to step on your toes, Carth. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I just wanted to get to know you a little. I didn't have access to personnel records on Endar Spire."
Carth ran a hand through his hair. He had a full head of it, for all the fine lines on his forehead and around his eyes, and there wasn't a gray thread she could see among the brown. Most of it was gelled back, but his bangs had one stubborn cowlick that resisted and fell down toward his right eye. He forced a smile. "I know. I'm sorry. You probably mean well with your questions, and I . . . I get the feeling we'll be spending a lot of time together over the next little while. It's just . . . kind of a sensitive subject."
"We've all got those," Aithne answered. "It's stellar, Carth. Whatever. We'll talk when you want to talk."
Carth Onasi had a story, obviously. That but was interesting—like he had some reason to think that as the fire rained down on his homeworld, there was more he could've done. Something he could have done to stop it. She wondered who all he'd lost that day. She didn't have any family. Hadn't since her dad when she was nineteen years old, long enough to have forgotten his face, if not the way he smelled or told her That's my girl when she'd been smart. And sometimes it still hurt so bad she couldn't breathe. Carth had only had half the time to recover and might have lost a whole lot more—in a way a lot more traumatic than a sickbed in a hospital.
There was a transit station up ahead. Aithne gestured at it. "You said you thought Bastila crashed in the Undercity?"
"Yes," Carth answered.
"Let's see if we can get down there."
Turned out they couldn't. When they reached the shuttle to the Lower City, an armored Sith stopped them. Apparently, in addition to the blockade around the planet, the Sith were controlling the population by restricting access between the levels. Only individuals with the proper clearance papers could take the shuttles.
Leaving, though, Aithne noted something. The Sith had stopped them, not because they had no papers, but because they were not dressed as Sith. "We need armor," she told Carth as they walked away.
"Not papers?"
Aithne shook her head. "Have to track down a forger or go through proper channels for those, and I'm guessing they don't lease to Republic fugitives. Easier to part an off-duty Sith up here from their armor. Back there, the guard didn't care we didn't have papers. This is the Upper City. Not much goes on the Sith can't handle. Security's lax. I'm guessing if we look like Sith, he or one of his friends will let us through. There's got to be some place around here the Sith relax."
"If we'd known about the guard twenty minutes ago, we could've stripped the Sith back at the complex," Carth mused.
Aithne considered. "That Duros will have hidden him by now. Anyway, there might be some damage to that uniform I wouldn't want to explain. The Sith really make some shoddy equipment. Well. At least they get it."
She slid her eyes sideways toward Carth, and he made a face. "Budget cuts," he explained. "The Republic tries to keep riot armor in its cruiser armories for firefights, or at least a store of energy shields—"
"Carth." Aithne told him, meeting his caramel brown eyes with hers. She smiled. "I get it. I'm messing with you. Exchange or private security gear's usually better than Republic or Sith issue anyway."
"Yeah, unfortunately," Carth agreed. "But it can be damn expensive." He thought a moment. "Let's head to the cantina," he suggested. "We can get a drink, something to eat, and maybe some information. All sorts of people hang out at the cantina. We'll see if we can't pick up a lead on that armor."
"Good idea," Aithne agreed. "I'm parched."
In a matter of minutes, they were in the cantina. Aithne noticed an old man watching her. Their eyes met, and he beckoned. After a brief conversation, Aithne returned to Carth.
"What was that all about?" Carth asked.
"He's giving up pazaak," Aithne explained. "He asked me to buy his deck."
"Did you?" Carth asked.
"Of course. I'm a fair hand at pazaak. Figure I can earn back my investment and then some in an hour or so."
Carth raised his eyebrows. "Oh ho, think you can, can you?" He pointed at the man across the room from them—a sleazy-looking sort in a red tunic. "That man over there swears he's the reigning champ on Taris. I'll bet you the price of our meal here that you can't beat him."
Aithne grinned. She did like a challenge. "Get out your credits," she told him. "You're buying."
He did, too, once she came back in another fifteen minutes. And since he had been such a good sport, Aithne didn't even tell him she'd told him so. She lifted a glass of fruit juice and tipped it back, toasting him.
"That all you're drinking, beautiful?" Carth wanted to know.
"You trying to get me drunk, Onasi?" Aithne responded. "When there's Sith in the cantina, yes. And are you sure you should call me that?"
Carth stilled. "I see the woman at eleven," he said, keeping his voice low, as his eyes locked on the brunette nearly to the rear of Aithne in the cantina's main room. She was alone and looked jumpy, and in plainclothes, but her military bearing was unmistakable. It was driving everyone else away. She was the first one Aithne had spotted too. "There's another one?"
"Almost directly to your right, in a side room," Aithne confirmed. "A man, this time. Looking frustrated with an empty glass already on the table and another in his hand. Don't look. He'll know you've seen him. Just act natural. Don't call me 'beautiful.'"
He took the cue and adopted a social tone. "Is there something else you'd prefer I called you?"
Aithne shrugged. "'Moran,' 'Aithne,' 'You with the face,' anything so long as it isn't sexist and condescending boy's club claptrap."
It was just something to talk about that wasn't the Sith in the room, which they would need to talk about or preferably to eventually but couldn't approach too quickly without raising suspicions. She didn't really mind, and she thought Carth knew it, but he fell into the banter easily enough. "Don't get yourself in a twist over it, gorgeous. I didn't mean anything by it."
No, Aithne thought, regarding him with something like regret. It would have been interesting if she could think he did; he was a pretty good-looking specimen, with the thick brown hair and the cowlick and the caramel-colored eyes. A nice few-days' stubble around his mouth and chin. And he was taller than she was by several centimeters; nearly half a handspan. That was hard to do. But even though she was calling him by his first name for security purposes, Major Carth Onasi had professional military man all over him. He'd banter for a distraction, banter for the game, but there wasn't any real intention behind it. Not that she necessarily wanted there to be. He was at least ten years older than she was, and she could see the baggage all over him like a Coruscanti starport, even if he didn't want to talk about it.
Still, she played her part. "There you go again!" she complained, pouting at him like she didn't know the difference between harmless banter and actual sexual harassment.
"Oh, for crying out . . ." Carth started. "Fine. If it'll make you feel better, you call me something. Go ahead. Come on: I can take it."
Aithne considered. There were so many options. "You really want to leave yourself open like that, hotshot?"
Carth crooked his fingers at her in a playful challenge. Aithne was having fun now, and she thought he was too. Better yet, they probably looked just they wanted to right here: like two friends, coworkers, or would-be lovers out to kick back after a hard day's work. Not like Republic fugitives with an agenda.
"You have the maturity of a twelve-year-old Huttlet," Aithne decided. The fact that Hutts lived for centuries made it worse. "And all the fashion sense of a color-blind supernova." She blinked at his flight jacket, which really was the worst, most garish shade of orange.
Carth laughed. "Ou-ou-ouch! Wow! Well, I bet 'beautiful' doesn't sound so bad in comparison, now, does it?"
Aithne laughed too. "I'll allow it," she conceded. "What will you pay me for the privilege?"
Something about that stopped him, and suddenly he looked wary. "Depends. What did you have in mind?"
Aithne searched his face, trying to figure out what she'd said to change the mood, or if it was that Carth had just started enjoying himself too much. "Chores around the house," she mused. "Sexual favors, information. Again, the options are just staggering!"
"Well, given those options . . ." Carth started, then grinned at her. The grin didn't reach his eyes. "Interrogate at will."
Aithne frowned, uncertain, but tried her own smile. "Excellent. Soon all your secrets will be mine."
And that was it. The banter fell to the table around them like so many pieces of shattered, shoddy Sith issue armor. "All my secrets are purely of the mundane variety, unfortunately," Carth told her. "Nothing worth extracting, though you're welcome to try."
Sithspit, he thought she was prying again, or trying to draw him past the bounds of whatever he imagined their working relationship on Taris should be. Aithne didn't want to get into all that again, and would've changed the subject, inventing some gossip story at a fictitious day job or something, but before she could, Carth had changed the subject himself. "Let me ask you something, though. I've been going over . . . the day before yesterday . . . in my head, over and over again since it happened. Maybe you could tell me what happened. From your perspective."
Aithne looked around. "Here," she returned. The hum of music and talk in the cantina was pretty loud, and they were pretty far away from the nearest tables or groups of cantina-goers. She didn't think they would be overheard if they talked about it. So long as they kept straight faces.
She was really bad at that.
"I wasn't really in a position to know what was going on, really," she said carefully.
"Neither was I, to tell the truth," Carth admitted. "They brought me onboard as an advisor, for the most part. Everything happened so fast, it's anyone's guess as to what actually happened. We lost a lot of good people . . . and for what? I'm just surprised either of us are still here to talk about it."
He was being very careful, Aithne realized. Everything he said could just as easily refer to some sort of corporate takeover as to the battle of the Endar Spire, and he meant it to. But he also clearly wanted an answer to his question. Whatever that question actually was.
"But a little more surprised about you," he admitted. Now they were getting somewhere. "You don't claim to be a part of things—or not officially. Just what was your position a few days ago?"
Aithne rubbed a finger along the inside of her glass. She didn't like where this was going. "I've been a freelance scout and surveyor for years now. I was . . . brought onboard for my skills. The . . . contract . . . was indefinite. But solid, for the foreseeable future."
Carth hummed. "That makes sense. Still, it seems a bit strange that someone who came on last-minute's still here, you know?"
Aithne's face went hot. She scowled. "I didn't . . . arrange to leave my contract early, if that's what you're saying, maj—" she caught herself before she gave them away, after all his careful maneuvering. "Carth. I'm here because some no-nothing kid up and took the axe. After I specifically warned him not to." She clenched her fists upon the table, remembering Ulgo, snatching her sword and running bodily into that Dark Jedi, blasting the door to slow him down, even after he'd finished with Trask himself.
"Wait," she said. "What's so odd about my being added to the . . . to the team last-minute?" she asked, on a hunch.
Carth spread his hands. "You were the only one. Not to mention our friend downstairs was the one to specifically request your transfer."
Bastila. Aithne's stomach flipped. "Why?" she asked, voice flat. She didn't like this. She'd assumed her assignment to Endar Spire was random, or that the mission the crew was on specifically required her skills. If it was the Jedi crew that specifically required her skills, though . . . she did not like this.
Carth shrugged. He obviously wasn't too interested in that side of the question. "She and her people asked numerous things when they came onboard. Hell, they practically took over, as far as I could tell. Look: I'm sorry about your partner, but considering . . . everything . . . your presence here, whether you know it or not, seems a little convenient." He raised his hands again. "I'm probably wrong, and this is probably nothing, I know. I learned a long time ago not to take things at face value, however, and I hate surprises."
"Well. Just when we were getting along," Aithne retorted.
"I mean I have to expect the unexpected, just to be safe," Carth told her, like he was trying to apologize.
Aithne forced a laugh. "Thought you were pilot program, not security," she said. "Make a lot of allies with that attitude, Onasi."
Carth looked genuinely defensive now, not like he was faking it for any spies in the room. Real-life, actual spies, not the ones he'd dreamed up in his head. Aithne guessed they looked like a fighting couple now: boyfriend and girlfriend or husband or wife in a spat. At least they still wouldn't look like conspirators. "Look. It has nothing to do with you personally," Carth told her. "I don't trust anyone, and I have my reasons."
"That but back when the Sith shot up your homeworld," Aithne guessed, "when you did your duty but."
"Yeah, what happened to 'we'll talk when you want to talk'?"
"That was before you flipped on me in the middle of a perfectly normal conversation and started accusing me of spying or sabotage," Aithne pointed out. "Look, if there's some reason you can't work with me here, Carth, that's something I should know about."
Carth tossed down his fork and glared. "It won't be a problem," he said.
"Sure?"
Carth cursed under his breath. "You must be the most damned persistent woman I've ever met."
"Say what you want in conversation, Carth, but please don't curse at me," Aithne told him. She wasn't fond of vulgarity in general, and particularly not when it was spoken in anger.
Carth seemed to realize he'd overstepped. "Right. Sorry. We'll talk about it, but later. Think we've sat here long enough to make a move in this cantina?"
Aithne rose. "To get more credits, maybe. Still need about half an hour for the Sith. Fine. I saw some dueling viewscreens coming in. I'm going to go sign up to duel."
"Why the he—why in the galaxy would you do that?" Carth demanded. He was still annoyed, but he was trying. Aithne gave him credit for that.
She shrugged. "Being nobodies to the Sith is one thing. Being nobodies to everybody else is another. We're going to need allies if we want to make it offworld eventually. The best way to get allies in a hurry is to have a reputation as a person who gets things done."
"And getting shot and cut up in the ring's the best way to do that."
"There are huge crowds back there," Aithne told him. "There are energy suppressant fields in most recreational dueling rings on civilized worlds. They keep blasters and vibroblades from doing any major damage. Besides. You got a better idea to get us some credits fast?"
Dueling in an arena was at least better than raiding the apartments like the Sith, she thought. She turned on her heel and marched away, leaving Carth to his own suspicious thoughts. Behind her, she heard him call for the waiter and asking for a double.
In a couple of hours, she was back, sweating and a little sore from the sting of the dulled vibroblade impacts. She slid into the chair opposite Carth again. He looked much better, and like he'd managed to stay sober getting his head clear. "Sith still here?" she asked.
"The woman is. Not sure she has anywhere else to be. Or maybe she's waiting for someone. The first guy left. Another woman came in and left, and now there's a second man watching the band." Carth reported.
"Great." She slid thirty credits over the table. "For dinner," she told him. "And a little bit extra."
"I don't need—" Carth started.
Aithne shot him a look. "We're neither of us rolling in credits. You can afford to turn down free money? I'm not giving you half of my winnings—pazaak or my share of the dueling pots. But . . . we are allies, and you did save my life. So you get 10 percent."
Carth pocketed the credits with a grimace. "You earned us three hundred credits just now?" he asked.
"Fought the first two duelists on the ladder," Aithne explained. "The first guy was a pushover. Name of 'Deadeye Duncan.' If I'd stopped at him, we'd have been laughed out of town. Because I beat Gerlon Two-Fingers too, we have some credit, and not just the monetary kind. I used the stage name 'Mysterious Stranger.'"
Carth blinked. "That was a good idea," he complimented her. "We could use the money and the notoriety, but there's a possibility the Sith have come across a copy of the crew manifest someplace."
"I thought so too," Aithne agreed. "Name's a bit cheesy; wouldn't have been my choice. But Ajuur over there seemed to think it sounded good. So. Time to exploit and corrupt some Sith. Which target, do you think?"
Carth considered. "If the woman's not waiting for someone, she's waiting on an opportunity," he said. "Looks pretty miserable, if you ask me. It can't be fun for ordinary grunts out for a paycheck in the Sith ranks. But after a couple hours here, she's also sober. Man in the other room might be a softer touch, particularly for you."
Aithne looked up at him sharply. He was right, but it wasn't something she would've thought that he would comment on. "Could say the same thing about you and the woman," she suggested.
He shook his head. "Impossible to tell," he told her, "But I've seen the man eyeing the waitresses, and you're a sight better than anyone working this place."
"Huh. Maybe I should go after the woman," Aithne observed. All in all, she wasn't too fond of con games, especially when it meant laying a honey trap, like they seemed to be talking about doing here. But in the end, she did go for the man. If Carth's report was accurate, they had a better shot with him, and they needed that set of armor.
She sighed, shrugged off her vibroblade sheaths, and passed them under the table to Carth. Then she fisted her fingers in her hair, pulling out a handful of pins, and let it fall around her shoulders and down her back. She combed her fingers through it a couple of times, hoping her hair opted to go sexily tousled instead of frizzy today, bit her bottom lip, and pinched her cheeks.
"Right. How do I look?" she asked.
Carth looked amused. "Nice," he remarked drily.
Aithne clicked her tongue, rolled her eyes, and rose. Then she worked her face into a wide-eyed, ditzy expression and sashayed over to the mark. She engaged him in conversation, pretending to find the sallow skinned, weak-chinned fellow impossibly attractive. She had talked to him maybe seven minutes before he'd invited her to a Sith party that night. He obviously was lacking female companionship. Just to be safe, Aithne asked with much fluttering of the eyelashes, if she mightn't bring her friend along too, explaining how he wasn't all there and didn't get out much. The Sith, Yun, agreed, confident such a stupid fellow as she described wouldn't ruin his plans to enjoy Aithne's company tonight.
He left after another three minutes to make preparations for the party, and Aithne rejoined Carth. There was a faint smile on his face, but his eyes had gone shuttered and guarded once again. "You were . . . um . . . very convincing."
Aithne sighed. "I believe that was the point, wasn't it?" she asked. "Look. It's not hard to act stupid, or to be attractive to someone desperate for a date. Little easier than faking a genial conversation to divert eavesdroppers or making sure they don't hear things they shouldn't in conversations about something substantial. Just another game, Carth. Like the others. We've been invited to a Sith party in a couple hours. My friend Yun said Sith will be drunk, and dropped they aren't going to bother locking up their uniforms. He didn't know I was listening to that bit, but he said it. Let's go. We need to find something to wear."
Carth made another really sad attempt at a smile. "You telling me we're going shopping. Sister, just shoot me now!"
An hour and forty-five minutes later they were back at the apartment. Carth had been surprised when Aithne had gotten exactly what she wanted in twenty minutes and left the store. Aithne had not been surprised when Carth had taken a similarly short amount of time choosing his own party clothes. He was out in the main room now, already dressed, while Aithne dressed and prepared for the party.
His voice rose up in a growl from outside. "C'mon, Moran, we'll be late!"
"The less time we spend around sober Sith who can identify us later, the better, as far as I'm concerned," Aithne answered. "But keep your shirt on. I'm ready."
She left the fresher, and Onasi gaped. Second time today, Aithne noted in the back of her mind. Maybe his professionalism wasn't without remedy, she thought, at least up in his head. In the poor man's defense, she'd committed to the honey trap by now, and she supposed a single-shoulder A-line navy dress with an asymmetrical hem was a ways from a combat suit or five-year old scouting fatigues or a woman covered in escape pod debris.
Carth had made similar efforts, though. He'd shaved, and his clothes were crisp and neat, and best of all, a very becoming dark red. Made a nice change from the glaring Orange Jacket of Doom. "You clean up well, flyboy," she noted.
He blinked, and the moment was over. There he was, iron-clad Professional Military Man. "Let's go."
They walked over to the other apartments in silence. In a short time, they were opening the door to the apartment where the Sith bash was located.
The atmosphere was hazy with smoke, and the entire place smelled like alcohol. Music pounded through the speakers, and Sith swayed awkwardly on the dance floor in what was less of a dance and more of a mix of lust and too much to drink.
Yun the Sith came forward to meet them. "You made it!" he said, slurring his words a little. "Wait, whoo's zthat?" he asked, confused, gesturing at Carth.
Aithne widened her eyes innocently. "You said I could bring my friend, Yun! First time he's been to a party in months, poor dear!"
Carth glared at her but didn't say anything, and after a moment, Yun shrugged, dismissing her silent, unfriendly companion. "You've got to try some of this Tarisian ale!" he told Aithne. He swung an arm around her shoulders, gesticulating expressively toward the makeshift bar. His hand hung a bit too low for comfort. At first, Aithne wasn't sure if it was drunkenness or stratagem. Then she looked at Carth's dark face and knew.
"Careful, Yun," called a Sith from a few feet away. "A couple more bottles of this and we'll all be passed out on the floor!"
That's the idea, thought Aithne in satisfaction. Yun laughed at the other Sith giddily. "Aww, Live a little, Sarna. We don't have work tomorrow, anyway!"
Aithne was only able to keep an eye on Carth for the first few moments: long enough to see him stalk over to a couch and rebuff an amorous Sith woman with an expression more intimidating than an angry gundark's. But then she was too busy warding off Yun to pay Onasi much mind.
This was why she didn't like playing the honey trap, Aithne thought about ninety minutes later. There was a limit to how many times a girl could turn her face to the side, smile playfully, and wag her finger. There were also limits to how far she was willing to go for a set of Sith armor. Prostituting herself to get down to the Lower City had never been on the agenda, but Yun had obviously invited her to the party in hopes of a hookup, not simple company. Everyone had their preferences, buts she was not that kind of girl. She hadn't even meant to play that kind of girl.
Finally, she ran for Carth. "Help," she said. "This game's gotten just a bit out of hand."
"Yeah, I called that one as soon as we got here," Carth snorted. "Think you should've gone for the woman. She's here too—the one your friend calls Sarna. Seems a bit nicer than our pick."
"No kidding," Aithne agreed, darting her eyes across the room. Yun was headed back her way, off his rear end drunk but with a confused, determined expression. "So—help?" she prompted Carth.
Carth sighed. "Fine. Just don't freak out."
Then he stood and wrapped his arms around her, just as Yun came into view. "Where have you been, Addie?" he breathed into her ear, using the alias she'd told him she'd been using for her character. "Getting into trouble while you leave me here alone?"
Aithne's breath came out in a stutter. Onasi's arms around her were warm and strong. This wasn't a game she'd been prepared to play. One of his hands cradled the back of her neck. She could feel the callouses on his fingers and palms. The other played in her hair, just above the neckline of her dress. It was high enough, but still . . .
She managed the cue, just. "What, can't do without me for five seconds, babe?" she gasped. That "babe" was a lifeline. Aithne Moran would never say "babe." That was an Addie Fe word, and it kept her from buckling at the knees and falling down into those caramel eyes exactly like the bimbo she wasn't. "I told you: give me five secs with the moron, and we both get all the free drinks we could want."
A lot of other men, confronted with the evidence they'd obviously been used as a patsy and let a couple of cantina flies mooch off their desperation, might wither up in shame and embarrassment. Unfortunately, Yun Genda happened to be a Sith.
Aithne was wrenched out of Carth's arms and forced up against a wall. "Jussht a friend, eh?" Yun hissed, eyes blazing. "Not all there. Hasshn't been to a party for ages! You kark-brained little cantina rat! I'll teach you to mess with the Sith!"
Great, Aithne thought. Now she'd have to kill him. She'd wanted to do this without a mess. But as she tried to decide whether to palm-strike his nose or knee him in the groin first, a man reached out for Genda's shoulder. He turned sluggishly, and his face met Carth's fist, and like all his fellows, he was out.
Aithne regarded the unconscious Sith on the floor. "You wanted things to play out that way," she accused Carth.
"Maybe a little," he admitted. "Got tired of waiting on your diplomacy with the Sith."
"I could've handled him, you know," she informed him.
"Mm. The same way you did the rest of tonight?" Carth asked. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Hey, you asked for my help. Babe."
Aithne pulled a face. "Ha-ha." Force, she still had goosebumps. Less from the body check into the wall and more from . . . whatever that had been before. Her eyes flicked to Onasi's biceps, up and over his lips. She turned away. Her face felt hot, and with her skin and enduring inability to fake an expression, everyone, their mother, and their akk dog knew when she blushed. Carth Onasi the paranoid lunatic, with all the baggage of that Coruscanti spaceport, should not be able to tell when she blushed. He shouldn't be able to leave her blushing. "A few seconds' more warning next time? I'd just thought, maybe we could hide. But thanks."
"Coward," Carth remarked, moving to the back of the room, where several Sith had stowed their uniforms against the wall. He picked up one duffel and tossed it across to her.
"Tease," Aithne muttered under her breath.
He heard her anyway. "Hey, I was just following your lead, gorgeous," he told her. She awarded him another point inside her head. He was right. "You might want to check the nametag on that backpack there."
Aithne did. Yun Genda. She smirked. "Flyboy, you have an evil streak." she noted. "I approve." She didn't know if it offset or matched the raging paranoia, but the chivalrous shade to it was oddly touching.
"I do what I can," Carth said, affecting modesty. "Like to be there when he explains how he lost it." He looked sideways at her as they left the apartment and the drunken, snoring Sith behind. "I didn't want things to go the way they did tonight," he told her, "But it probably saved us a fight and some heat from the Sith."
"And if Yun Genda's looking for a mooching cantina rat and her boyfriend mad at him for assaulting her, he probably won't come up with why we actually wanted the armor," Aithne said. "So there's that."
They made it back to their apartment without any trouble. The streets were almost clear, this late at night. Side effect of their part of town, along with the Sith presence throughout the city. Without a word, Aithne went to the fresher and removed her makeup and dress, dressing in her scout's uniform, which she had washed and left to dry earlier. She emerged and checked.
Carth had elected to sleep in a plain tee and shorts. A very tight tee and shorts. Nothing really immodest, but . . . she eyed the arms that had held her earlier, then looked away. Now she was the one ogling him. Great.
What's worse, he'd caught it, she realized. There was an insufferably smug little smile on his face as he turned away and climbed into bed, and since neither one of them had sheets to put on the apartment-issue mattresses, he wasn't about to cover up, either. Even better. Aithne's jaw tightened. She stalked across the room and hit the light, then walked back over to her twin bed, foot-to-foot with his.
So, he was attractive, she thought, and attracted to her. So what? He wasn't going to act on it. She wasn't going to act on it. He thought she was a Sith spy or saboteur. She knew he was an overcareful head case. Things were just weird, here alone in an apartment, trying to outsmart the Sith quarantine and escape Taris together, unable to comply by the rules of rank and protocol without giving themselves away. They were in each other's pockets, that was all. She'd never been on a job like this, and if she was any judge, he hadn't had a woman in years. Too devoted to the Republic for one thing. There was the tragic past. And he wouldn't trust her enough, once they'd got past first-date how-are-yous and the first five minutes of flirtation. No wonder, really, that it might be hard for him to maintain Military Man Professionalism on the ground like this. As for her, she simply didn't have any, just Freelance Professionalism, which was a good bit looser.
Still. It had been One. Single. Day. One!
Aithne squeezed her eyes shut. They needed to get off this planet. Soon. She opened her eyes and turned over to lie on her stomach. "Your feet stink, flyboy," she muttered.
He chuckled. "Good night, beautiful."