The Edge of Light and Dark

by LMSharp

Aithne Morrigan awoke in her underwear when the Sith began firing on the Endar Spire. KotOR1, Gray Female Revan, AU halfway through. Updated through Ch. 20.

6. Away from the Sky

Two beggars stopped them as soon as they exited the elevator into the Undercity. They stank to high heaven, as if they hadn't showered in months, and they were far too thin. The second- and third-hand rags they were wearing hung off near-wasted frames. But none of that seemed to take away from their ability to obnoxiously demand credits for Aithne and Carth's passage in the elevator.

"Who are you people?" asked Aithne after Carth had expressed his disgust.

The beggars explained, more dramatically than they needed to, that they were Outcasts; that everyone in the Undercity was a criminal or descended from one; and that all Outcasts were doomed to stay in the Undercity in a life of poverty and danger forever, denied access to the world above.

Aithne looked at them for a long, long time. Under her judging stare, the beggars began to squirm. Finally, she reached into her purse and pulled out two ten-credit bars.

"Fine. Here are twenty credits," she said. She knew it'd go a lot further down here than it would in the Upper City, or even in the Lower.

One of the beggars looked to his fellow in disbelief. "Credits?!" He punched his fist into the air. "We have credits, my brother! Now we can buy food and medicine!"

"Save your credits," Aithne advised. "Buy some self-respect. It will take you a lot farther."

Carth eyed her as the beggars ran off. He was still miffed about the Mandalorian sympathies he assumed she had. They had fought in the elevator about it. Aithne guessed she could have explained that respect for a culture that valued family and honor, for Mandalorian ambition, commitment—and somewhat for Mandalorian tactics, and a realistic view of the strengths they'd offered the galaxy that the Republic wasn't too hot on at the moment, did not equate to sympathy with the worse things the Mandalorians had done or a wish that they had won the war and the Republic been absorbed. She had explained that as a person from the Outer Rim territories, she hadn't had the luxury of Carth's automatic Republic citizenship and easy allegiance, that the first formal training she'd ever got had been after her conscription, and so she'd spent most of her life being more loyal to her brain, her belly, and her purse than any high-minded democratic ideals. But since she thought that really should've been both obvious and forgivable, she wasn't inclined to go into the more nuanced points of her stance on Mandalorians or why she'd worked for them just as often as she'd worked against them over the years—though neither had happened very frequently. The more they'd talked, the more she'd felt that if Carth was going to make hasty assumptions about her based more on past trauma and paranoia than on facts and observation, he deserved the discomfort they caused him.

But now, she seemed to have caught him off balance once again. "You could've just run them off, you know," he said, referring to the beggars.

"I could have," Aithne said quietly. "But desperation will drive people to ends you wouldn't want to see, Carth. Maybe if I hadn't given them the money, they would have attacked the next people off the elevator. Maybe now that they have the credits, they'll make something of them—invest in a useful skill they could sell or something."

"Maybe. Maybe it'll teach them harassing visitors really pays," Carth replied. "They're not the first people you've helped on Taris. There was the woman from the bounty office too, and the man you promised to look out for the rhakghoul serum. Even with Yun and the others: we took that route because it meant we wouldn't have to kill anyone."

"There are tactical advantages to avoiding out-and-out murder, when we can," Aithne protested. "We want a reputation for efficiency; we don't want to slip up, become infamous, and get a bounty called down on our own heads."

"I think you might be a good person," Carth said. "You know, behind your hatred of democracy and determination to put everything in the most heartless, utilitarian terms you can."

"Oh, behind that," Aithne jeered. She rolled her eyes. An Outcast woman came up and introduced herself as Shaleena. She seemed anxious to repair the bad first impression the beggars had given Carth and Aithne of her home. She directed Carth and Aithne to Gendar, the village leader, and Rukil, the storyteller. She assured them that those two men could answer all their questions about both the Undercity and Mission Vao. Aithne took a cordial leave of the woman and left to find the two wise men of the village.

Looking about, she was surprised to realize that the village was much cleaner than the Lower City. It was cold, and dark, though, and people were quiet, as if they'd lost their need to talk. Looking around, Aithne saw an emotion calmer than desperation on most of their faces, but somehow, more unsettling. It was hopelessness.

A pair of children walked past slowly. Their cheeks were hollow, their pupils dilated from trying to see in this dark land where the stars never shone. This went beyond hormones, Aithne thought, her heart aching. Every species that wasn't actually subterranean or aquatic should have a sky.

Something of the anger and compassion she felt for these people must have shown on her face. Carth's voice spoke out from beside her, louder than usual in the preternatural silence of the Undercity. "Hey . . . beautiful." Aithne turned and met his eyes, feeling half-wild, and he reached out, almost dropped his hand, then didn't. Instead, he patted her shoulder twice, awkwardly.

Aithne stared at him a moment, then made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat, swung her arm out, and flung it around his back, under his arms, drawing him to her roughly in a strange side hug. Right now, looking out at all of this, into the black, selfishly, she needed the human contact.

He was surprised at first. He stiffened. Then his left arm came up around her shoulders, and he squeezed. Together they stared out at the ramshackle, threadbare tents that served as these people's excuse for houses. They saw the citizens' bare feet, their yellowed toenails and cracked, broken heels. They smelled a soup on a fire, or rather, didn't smell it, because it was little more than water. And in the silence of the nearly voiceless residents, they heard the weight of gravity, the concrete bottom of the world of the rich and privileged up above. It was the ceiling to all who lived below, a roof to hold them back from any sky. It felt like a trap, a tomb. These people had been literally buried alive, and now, so were she and Carth.

She guessed he probably needed the comfort too.

After a moment, she pulled away, but as they walked through the sparsely spaced tents of the Undercity, she did retain his hand, and what was more, Carth let her.

As they neared the part of the village where Shaleena had told them they could find Rukil and Gendar, Aithne saw a man clap the shoulder of another man, whose eyes were shadowed with grief. The second man held a tiny child in his arms, and the first ruffled her hair. He looked back at the tent he had just finished helping the other pitch, then started to walk away.

Aithne let go of Carth's hand and went after the man. She nodded back at the other guy and his daughter. "Who are they?" she murmured.

"Cale," Gendar the village leader answered. "His wife and son were killed in a rhakghoul attack yesterday while out scouting for supplies. I just moved him and his daughter to a smaller family tent. I am Gendar, leader of this village."

Aithne shook his outstretched hand. "Aithne Moran."

"Carth," said the pilot.

Gendar asked them how he could be of service, and then he was. He confirmed Gadon's story of the day before: the Black Vulkars had indeed been the first to Bastila's escape pod, and they had taken her with them when they'd left. When Aithne then asked about Mission Vao and Zaalbar, Gendar told them that the two could usually be found in the sewers and gave them directions.

Aithne took leave of him with a bow, and then she and Carth went to see Rukil, a very old man sitting on a low stool nearby. She knew he was Rukil only from Shaleena's description. When she asked his name formally, he actually just hit her with a load of gibberish about the herald of prophecy and harbingers of false messages. Aithne blinked, stepping back slightly.

"Careful," Carth said, as she nearly ran into him. "This one might be crazy enough to actually be dangerous."

Aithne asked Rukil what he meant, tentatively. The man calmed slightly. He introduced himself as Rukil, and explained his apprentice was missing, that she had gone scouting for information on the Promised Land, a fabled self-sufficient place in the Undercity, free from rhakghouls and poverty, where all the inhabitants of the village could live in comfort. His apprentice, whose name was Malya, had been missing for three days. He asked Aithne if she would look for Malya.

There was literally nothing to be gained from helping Rukil, village elder of the local Undercity settlement. These people had no credits, no power, no connections. The confirmation of Bastila's current whereabouts and situation and a direction to start looking for Mission Vao was all anyone down here could give them, Aithne knew. At least looking for Zelka Forn's rhakghoul serum might bring along a profit, or a supply of the cure if they happened to need it. Aithne found herself promising to help Rukil anyway.

Carth didn't like it. "We don't have time for this!" he snapped, as the two of them walked away.

Aithne sighed. "For a meticulous search for the whereabouts of the young woman, maybe not. That doesn't mean we can't promise to keep an eye out. We don't know exactly where Mission and Zaalbar are, anyway. We'll be scouting around. We can look for Malya. And if we find her, it'll be a relief to at least two people down here and probably more, and that'll make me feel better. Wouldn't you feel better too?"

Carth looked around. "Well, maybe," he acknowledged. "But searching for Mission and the prototype accelerator has to be our number-one priority."

They headed for the gate that that separated the village from the rest of the Undercity, where rhakghouls roamed at free range. An agitated woman stood at the gate, pounding on it in vain.

"Run, Hendar, run!" she cried.

A man, panting, ran up to the gate, just outside the village. "Open the gate!" he called, looking behind him.

Aithne caught sight of a lone creature in the distance, swiftly closing.

The gatekeeper refused to open the gate, maintaining rhakghoul was too close.

"The mutants will kill him if you don't!" cried the woman, tears starting in her eyes, her fists bruised from pounding on the gate.

"And if I open the gate, they will kill us all!" retorted the gatekeeper.

The woman turned to Aithne. "Make him open the gate," she begged. "My husband will die!"

Aithne nodded. "Open the gate," she called up to the guard. "My friend and I've got the rhakghouls."

"You'd risk your life for a stranger?" the gatekeeper wondered, incredulous. "You are brave, up-worlder. I will open the gate, but you must hurry."

He opened the gate, and Carth and Aithne raced forward. The rhakghoul was already within three meters. It was a slavering, white, sinuous mass. Its teeth stuck out of its wide mouth at odd angles, gleaming with poison in the dark. Its eyes were dark and overly large in a lumpy head. They contained not a trace of either mercy or intelligence. Aithne raised her blades to guard, and the creature sprang. But before she could kick out and connect with its body, putting those foul teeth as far away from her as possible, something else connected first. Three shots rang out.

Aithne blinked at the bleeding, oozing mess centimeters from her feet. It was dead.

"Thank you," she murmured. "Somehow, I think blasters are the way to go down here."

"Yeah, let's keep those teeth and claws at a distance," Carth agreed. Aithne strapped her vibroblades to the back of her pack and got out her spare blaster, as well as a belt she'd been stocking with grenades. She fastened it over her shoulder, staring out into the blackness of the Undercity's eternal night. The worst part of it was that it wasn't actually ongoing—there were sickly little lights hanging here and there across a jungle of rebar and concrete, drilled and screwed into the walls: proof the architects of Taris had always intended for people to live down here, or intended they should for a long, long time, anyway.

Behind her, she heard the sound of the gate being raised once more, joyous exclamations of Hendar's wife, whatever her name was, reuniting with her husband. Aithne ignored them. Instead, she raised one hand to the gatekeeper and started out into the dark.

"The rhakghoul disease," Aithne said, keeping her voice low, just in case. "It isn't airborne, is it?"

"No, it can be spread through fluid contact with a rhakghoul's teeth or claws," Carth said, "or picked up as a fungal or bacterial infection from too close a proximity to rhakghoul dens or droppings. They aren't sure whether the mutation is introduced through a fungal or bacterial infection, but if it were airborne, every man, woman, and child in the Undercity would turn."

"So—"

"Stay away from dens and nests," Carth answered, "and don't let them touch you. It's probably harder than it looks out here; you saw back at the gate: those things are fast."

They turned in the direction Gadon had given them for the sewers, but suddenly something else was running at them out of the black. Aithne almost fired before she realized who it was.

Mission Vao bowled into her at top speed. She gripped the front of Aithne's combat vest, looking up into her face. Her gray eyes were swimming in tears. "Please!" she sobbed, panting as she did it. "You have to help me! Nobody else is going to help me. Even the Beks won't help me. But I can't just leave him there—he's my friend! You'll help me, won't you?"

Aithne gripped Mission's wrists, pulling them down away from her collar but holding them, allowing for physical contact, an anchor point to stave off the kid's obvious panic. "I can't do a thing if you don't slow down and tell me what's happened," she said. "Mission. Breathe. In through your nose, and out through your mouth. Now. I'm going to count up and down from twenty, and I want you to just keep breathing. When I'm done, you're going to tell me what's wrong, and we'll see what Carth and I can do."

Mission nodded, starting to relax. Aithne counted, using Huttese instead of Ryl on a hunch. She wanted a language that sounded like earliest childhood to Mission, like warmth and safety and whatever guardians she might have had once upon a time. It worked, too. Mission Vao's eyes went even wider, and by the time Aithne was finished counting up to and down from twenty, she was breathing slow and easy, and her hands around Aithne's wrists had relaxed from a frantic, desperate grip to something much more trusting.

"Now. What happened?" Aithne asked.

"Th—thanks," Mission stammered. "Anna, wasn't it? And Carth?"

"Close," Aithne said, "It's closer to Ahn-ya. Or Moran. Or 'hey, you.' Now. The trouble?"

"It's Zaalbar," Mission told her. "The two of us were wandering around here in the Undercity. You know, looking for stuff we could find, just kind of exploring. We do it all the time."

"I guess with a Wookiee at your side you've got to figure you can handle the odd rhakghoul attack," Carth said. His words were inconsequential, but his tone was what mattered: casual, unworried, like the three of them were right back together at Javyar's, and it worked too. Mission relaxed even more.

"Only this time, they were waiting for us," she went on. "Gamorrean slave hunters. We didn't even have a chance to run. Big Z threw himself at them, and he roared for me to run." Tears started in her eyes again, sadder. The panic attack was over, but the kid was still distraught. "I . . . I took off; I figured Zaalbar would be right behind me. But there were too many of them; he couldn't get away. They're going to sell him to a slaver, I just know it!"

She bent her head and laid her forehead against Aithne's shoulder and just sobbed. Aithne squeezed the girl's arms, forcing her attention up again. "Listen here, no one's selling your friend. Do you know where they took him?"

Mission shook her head uncertainly. "I don't know for sure, but those Gamorreans like to hang out in the sewers. The stink reminds them of home, I guess. That's probably where they took Big Z."

Aithne nodded. "Okay. Now, the three of us are armed. Carth's a soldier, and I've been in places just like this one more than once. Together, we can get him back. But Carth and I are down here for a reason too. We actually came here looking for you. So, once we help you get Zaalbar back, we're going to need your help to get into the Vulkar base. It's important."

Mission nodded. "It's a deal," she promised. "As soon as we get Big Z back, I'll show you a way into that Vulkar base! Now come on—we have to find Zaalbar before they sell him to slavers, or worse!"

"Seems Priority Number One just shifted into rescuing a Wookiee from the sewers, flyboy," Aithne noted to Carth.

"I'll keep up somehow," Carth muttered wearily. "Mission, do you need any more supplies? I've got an extra blaster, if you can use two, and we both have a spare change of clothes. Neither one would fit you too well, but either would give you a bit more protection than what you've got on now."

Mission looked at what they were wearing. "Those are standard-grade combat suits," she observed. "They're designed to be one-size fits all, to stretch or shrink for whoever needs to wear 'em. They aren't, and since both of you are so big and tall, any of your stuff's liable to pool around the ankle and wrists and bunch at the pits and crotch. But you're right. Better than going in my regular clothes. Thanks." She looked both Aithne and Carth up and down and grimaced. "Don't know if stretch marks for a big barrel chest or a proper front and rear end'll be worse, but I think I'll grab Aithne's spare anyways. Guessing it might smell a little better. You think you could turn around? Keep an eye out for the rhakghouls?"

Carth and Aithne did. Mission swapped Aithne's spare combat suit for her street clothes, complaining about the night air as she did it. When they turned around, the kid looked different, and she hadn't been wrong about the fit of the suit. But she'd punched an extra hole in her belt with a knife to take up some of the extra slack in the pant seat Aithne had left in the elastic with her larger hips and cuffed the sleeves and pant legs to accommodate her shorter limbs. She still looked every bit a third-rate thug. Aithne had to repress her smile.

"I'll stick to my own blaster, though," Mission told Carth. "Had it since I was ten. We know how we work together. Your stuff's probably a whole lot nicer, but we don't have time for me to practice with it. Thanks anyway, Carth. I can take one of your packs." Carth was carrying two today; they'd stocked up heading for the Undercity and even brought an extra pack to do it.

"Thanks," Carth said, handing one over, "and don't worry about the gun. It's better to use a weapon you're familiar with well than it is to misfire a higher quality gun. There's a lot of second- and third-year service personnel in armies that don't know that."

That actually got a smile out of the kid. She led the way to the sewers, where they were immediately confronted by no less than four rhakghouls. Rhakghouls didn't allow for firing from cover, so the three of them dodged around the room, trying to keep a meter and a half between them and the rhakghouls at all times within the close confines of the sewer, which, while spacious as sewers went, hadn't been designed with this activity in mind. Still, after a couple of minutes, the rhakghouls were dead, and Carth, Aithne, and Mission checked each other for injuries. They'd got out unscathed.

"You two are pretty good in a scrap," Mission remarked then.

"You should see Moran when it doesn't have to be blasters," Carth said. "With sword in hand, she's about as fast and accurate as any Jedi that I've seen."

Aithne wrinkled her nose. "You speaking as someone admiring the vanquishers of the Mandalorians or suspicious of traitors to the Republic?" she wanted to know.

"No, neither," Carth assured her. "Just a career man who's seen a lot of combat. You're good, Aithne. You've probably saved my life a couple of times these past few days, fighting from the front the way you do."

"So, what, you Republics?" Mission asked. "Survivors of that big crash over the planet, or of the takeover of that Upper City base? If Carth isn't crazy about traitors to the Republic, I mean."

Carth and Aithne looked at one another.

"It's okay if you're Republic," Mission rushed to tell them. "I like the Republic. They're the good guys, right? A whole lot better than these Sith animals."

"Carth's Republic," Aithne confirmed. "Big-time war hero. I'm a recent, reluctant—and therefore, to him—slightly suspect conscript from the Rim."

"She talks a lot of nonsense," Carth told Mission. "But we were both in the battle over Taris, yeah. We crashed here not quite a week ago. Now our objective is to find anyone who might've survived with us and break out of the Sith blockade."

"And to do that, you need to raid the Vulkar base, 'cause they were first to the pods that crashed down here," Mission finished.

"Well, no," Aithne admitted. "Actually, because they stole the Hidden Beks' prototype accelerator, and that's the only guarantee of winning the Republic officer the Vulkars are putting up as their share of the prize in the big swoop race in the next couple of days."

"And I thought this adventure was complicated," Mission said. "So, what do you think? Door Number One, Two, or Three?" she asked, looking around at various corridors in the Tarisian sewers.

Aithne considered. She looked at Carth, who shrugged. Aithne took a guess and went right. A Gamorrean sentry proved her guess accurate. After they'd dealt with him, they dodged the sound of several heavy feet to a door to the right and went through a door on the left.

Aithne stopped up short, seeing a rusted droid standing useless in the middle of the room. She grinned then, inexpressively relieved. Gamorreans were big, and it sounded like there were a lot of them next door. "And here I was thinking we were about to start hurling grenades like we were in a food fight or play some long, complicated game of tag with our piggy friends next door," she remarked.

"You can do something with that hunk of junk?" Mission asked, skeptical.

"Should be," Aithne answered, fishing in her pack for the smaller bag of repair parts she'd been hoarding and adding to since Endar Spire. She crouched down next to the droid, opening the panel on its belly. "I'm good with droids. Always have been. And if I handle things right . . . it'll take care of all those Gamorreans in the next room for us, and the three of us can have something of a breather."

She spent a few minutes tinkering with the droid, which then left to attack the Gamorreans next door to them. Aithne heard the sound of grunting pig-men and turned to Carth and Mission. She smiled brightly. "Anyone for a sawdusty ration bar?"

They took up positions leaning against the rusted walls of the sewer passage, avoiding the streams of . . . well, sewage, that leaked from pipes overhead. They ate and shared out some water from Carth and Aithne's canteens between the three of them.

"So, what was that before?" Mission asked, "when you said Carth don't trust you? Just because you're from the Rim? Cause that's not right."

"It's not like that, Mission," Carth protested. "Look, it's complicated."

"Not too," Aithne disagreed. She gazed at the pilot speculatively. "To his credit, I don't think he's classist or elitist," she admitted. "That was just me, talking nonsense, like he said. He's pretty democratic with his paranoia. Claims he doesn't trust anyone at all."

Mission looked wary. "Is this some kind of . . . thing between you two?" she asked, making a vague but somehow perfectly descriptive gesture. "Because I don't want to get in the middle of anything."

"It's a thing for her, not me," Carth complained. "As far as I'm concerned, we only need to depend on each other far enough to get off this planet, but somehow, she seems personally offended I happen to be cautious."

"Couldn't be because you basically insinuated I might have sabotaged our ship and killed a cruiser's worth of people," Aithne murmured.

"I didn't!—Look," Carth said. "You're probably one of the most skilled women I've ever met. Your ideas have gotten us this far, and I'm lucky you're here to help me, no question. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop watching you or being wary. I'm just not built that way. Period."

"'Not built that way' is something you say when someone asks why you can't speak Wookiee," Mission offered. "Not when you can't help accusing your partner of what? Murder? Treachery?" She looked at Aithne for confirmation.

Aithne sighed. "There was no outright accusation. He doesn't have the proof, because it's nonsense, and he knows it. And he's right that we don't actually have to trust one another to get off Taris together. But if he can't help 'watching me or being wary,'" she said, putting on a mocking, Carth-like tone, "I can't help needling him about it because it's ridiculous. You're a new way to pick at him, and I like that. But it isn't fair or particularly kind to either of you. So. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"And I'm not trying to offend her," Carth said, "but I've been betrayed before by people I—" he shut his mouth like a trap then, and his cheeks reddened. "Well, it won't happen again, that's all."

"It's not fair to make me pay for that but on your homeworld," Aithne said. "The past can be a lesson or predictor for the future, but a lot of times it ends up completely irrelevant."

"Maybe you're right, but it isn't always," Carth insisted. He seemed to have forgotten Mission was still in the room. "There are no guarantees. Not for you, not for me. Just . . . could you try not to take it so . . . so personally?"

"Could you try not to tell me how I should take things?" Aithne retorted. "Ungrateful, idiotic little . . . monkey lizard," she muttered under her breath.

She knew it was a mistake the moment she said it. Carth took one look at her and laughed. "Is that your idea of an insult? I know you don't go in for cursing, but come on, sister! Take your best shot!"

Aithne tossed her head back. "Fine!" she snapped. "You schizoid, trauma-ridden, split-personality lunatic! You've got yourself some medals and commendations, nice rank, nice hair and arms, and nice manners. You have twenty-so years in the service, so you've seen a thing or two. You can shoot a gun and purportedly fly, so you think you can sit back and let what you've seen and a raging case of paranoia fly your brain. Well, you can't. Your fear and your past are ruling you, Carth Onasi. They aren't teaching you; they're in the cockpit. Now, I couldn't care less if you tell me what you've been through or not; I'm not your therapist. I only care what you think of me because your whole back-and-forth schtick is exhausting. I'm exhausted! After three days! And because I think if it wasn't for the raging paranoia, we might actually really get along."

Carth's face had gone rigid. "Feel better?" he asked simply. "I think you might have hurt my man feelings with that rant. For someone who claims not to be a therapist, you can do a hell of a lot of analyzing."

"You asked," Aithne spat, as much because even now in a sewer, with both of them out-and-out furious at each other, Mission staring in riveted fascination at them both, her half-eaten ration bar forgotten, halfway to her lips, and the sounds of the droid pounding on the Gamorreans next door, she was ridiculously attracted to him. And she knew it was mutual. Honestly, she thought she was getting a worse case of unwarranted suspicion off Carth Onasi because they did get along so well, because he did want so much to like and trust her.

"I did," Carth admitted finally. Something in him seemed to come undone then, or to relax. "That'll teach me, then, won't it? We do get along," he said. "You—you aren't half bad, even when you're about ready to bite my head off."

Aithne tilted her head, as if to say, See?

Carth turned back to Mission abruptly. "It isn't always like this," he apologized. "It's been . . . it's been a hard few days. Hell of a first impression, huh?"

"You're telling me," Mission agreed emphatically. "Sheesh! That was better than a matinee drama holovid! Hey, take a look at this." She held out a datapad to Carth. "Found it over there on that Outcast skeleton."

"What've we got?" Aithne asked him after a second.

"It's a journal," he said after another few seconds' skimming. "Apparently belonged to Rukil's grandfather. He was hunting down clues to the Promised Land. Puzzles, guesswork. Nothing that really makes a whole lot of sense."

"Still, Rukil might like to have it," Aithne said. "Give it back to Mission. She should have some room in her pack to carry it."

Mission put it away as ordered. "Time to go?" she asked.

Aithne listened. The sounds of bludgeoning and furious squeals still rang down the hall. "Not quite. We've got a few more minutes. I think you've heard enough about me and Carth. Why don't you tell us something about you?"

"Really? You want to know about me?" Mission repeated. "Nobody's ever really been interested in me before," the Twi'lek said in wonder. "What do you want to know?"

"Why don't you start with how you met Zaalbar?" Carth suggested. "The two of you make a bit of an odd pair."

Mission looked out into the hallway. "Big Z's my family, you know?" she answered. "I know I told you I had parents, but that was just because I didn't know you guys, you know? I didn't know what you wanted. The truth is, I think my parents are probably dead. It was just me on my own for years until the day I saw Zaalbar in the Lower City. I could tell right away he was in trouble. This was before the gang wars were out of hand, but even then, the Vulkars were scum. A few of them were hassling Big Z, trying to pick a fight, but he wasn't looking for trouble."

"Who'd want to pick a fight with a Wookiee?" Aithne asked.

Mission rolled her eyes expressively, laughing a little. "Hey, no one said the Vulkars were smart. But there were three of them, so maybe they figured they could handle him. I don't know." She continued. "Anyway, I don't like the Vulkars at the best of times, and when I saw them picking on this poor Wookiee, all alone on a strange planet, overwhelmed by the big city, I just lost it. I screamed out 'Leave him alone, you core-slimes!' and charged right at them. One of them saw me coming and slapped me so hard he just about knocked me cold."

Aithne tensed, thinking about it. If this was three or four years ago, Mission would have been eleven at the very oldest. "You're lucky he didn't fry you with a blaster."

Mission stiffened. Her eyes went flat like a rock. "Hey, I don't need a lecture from you. You ain't my mother! I knew what I was doing. Those Vulkars didn't scare me. They're nothing but cowards! I knew how to deal with them. Of course, I never got the chance," she admitted. "I guess Zaalbar didn't like seeing me get smacked around. He let out this howl and yanked that Vulkar a meter up off the ground and held him there by his throat!" Mission chuckled, remembering the expression on that Rodian's face.

"What did the other two do?" Aithne prompted. Mission laughed.

"The other two screamed and ran off. Can't say I blame them. The first time you see an angry Wookiee up close it isn't a pretty sight." She shook her head. "I thought Zaalbar was going to rip that punk's arms off and beat him to death with his own fists. The Vulkar was so scared he fainted. Or maybe Big Z's breath just knocked him out." She giggled. "I keep telling Zaalbar to brush those choppers of his, but he never listens." She patted Aithne on the back, adopting a mocking maternal expression. "Just stay upwind when he's speaking, and you'll be fine. Anyway, I knew those Vulkars would be back with friends, so I grabbed Zaalbar and we took off. Ever since then we've been a team. We look out for each other, you know?"

She shivered and glanced toward the door. Aithne patted her on the back. "We'll get him back, Mission, don't worry." She changed the subject. "How did Zaalbar end up on Taris?" she asked.

Mission shrugged. "He was fleeing some kind of trouble back on Kashyyyk. That's all I know, really. Big Z doesn't like to talk about it. In case you didn't notice, he's the strong, silent type."

"Oh, we noticed," Carth chimed in.

Mission smiled. "It doesn't matter to me, though. I accept him for what he is, not what he was. Me and Zaalbar like to live in the present."

"How'd you survive before you met Zaalbar?" Aithne asked.

Mission's smile vanished. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, offended. "You think I can't take care of myself? I've got street smarts!" she declared proudly. "I know how to get by on my own. In fact," she informed Aithne, "I look out for Zaalbar more than he looks out for me, you know? Big Z's a bit too gullible to make it alone on the mean streets of the Lower City."

Aithne did believe that Mission certainly contributed to her partnership with the Wookiee, but she also was sure that without him, Mission would probably run into more trouble than she could handle pretty quick, especially with her seeming penchant to go looking for it, and now that she was getting older. She also saw that mentioning it to the kid was probably a bad idea. In any event, she didn't hear sounds of combat down the corridor, which meant the droid she'd repaired had been torn apart and whoever was left was their problem, or that it had taken care of all the bad guys.

"Come on. Break's over. The way should be clear now—or clearer."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Mission agreed. "Like I used to tell my brother, fast talk and slick words don't get the job done."

Aithne stopped where she had just been starting forward toward the door. So, there'd been a brother. "I didn't know you had a brother," she said in a neutral tone.

Mission suddenly shifted. "My brother's a touchy subject, you know?" she said. "It just so happens I don't really feel like talking about him right now. Nothing personal. Let's just get back to the business at hand, okay?"

"Yeah, watch that 'nothing personal,' Mission," Carth said. "Aithne doesn't tend to believe those."

"Let's not get into that again," Mission said in an emphatic voice.

The three of them crossed to the room next door. Now and then, Aithne had to dodge streams of green, foul-smelling sewage that cascaded from the ceiling in a rush and through the grating below her feet. Aithne looked down at the droid that she'd repaired. All around the room, Gamorrean bodies littered the floor, bruised and bloody and very, very dead. The droid, still blue-shielded and on patrol, passed by them in total innocence. Aithne smiled.

Suddenly, Mission halted. "Hmm," she said, in a tone that also stopped Carth and Aithne. "Look at this." She gestured toward a door on their left. "This is one of those old-style manual locks," she explained, noting her companion's confusion. "No computer codes or nothing. The sewers is the only place you'll see one of these on Taris. You can't use conventional security spikes on these old locks, but don't worry. I've come across them before. I've rigged up a device that should do the trick."

Aithne raised an eyebrow. "Handy," she remarked, as the teenager pulled out a little metal contraption from a pocket in her borrowed combat suit. Aithne didn't know she'd moved personal effects in. Mission fiddled with the lock for a moment, the door opened, and out rushed a tall, hairy, nasty-smelling, but very much alive Wookiee.

/You're a sight for sore eyes, Mission!/ growled Zaalbar.

Mission beamed, rushing forward to embrace her best friend, who returned the hug with a care not to crush her but with obvious warmth. "I'm glad to see you, too, Big Z!" cried Mission. "You didn't think I'd forget about you? Mission and Zaalbar—together forever!"

Zaalbar smiled with his eyes, the way Wookiees did, and caught sight of Aithne and Carth. His expression changed to one of curiosity. /I remember these two, from the cantina,/ he said. /What are they doing here?/

Mission stepped back and indicated Carth and Aithne. "These are my new friends, Big Z. Without them I never could have got you out."

Aithne bowed. "Just a few dead rhakghouls and a reprogrammed droid," she murmured. "I'm surprised you noticed us at the cantina, Big Z. You seemed elbow-deep in your dinner at the time."

She couldn't form the sounds to speak Shyriiwook herself, but just the fact that she'd referred back to his statement alerted Zaalbar to her understanding of it. He'd have to be sensitive to that, as a Wookiee far from home. /You know the language of my people. That is rare, among your species. I am impressed./

He looked at her for a long, long moment. Then, slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself to kneel on the filthy sewer floor. Maintaining eye contact with Aithne, he said /You have saved me from a life of servitude and slavery. There is only one way I can ever repay such an act: I will swear a lifedebt to you./

Aithne swallowed. The planet seemed to twist under her feet a moment, and then she felt the oddest sense of déjà vu, as though she'd been here before, standing and looking down at a person swearing an oath to follow her forever.

Ridiculous, she thought. She'd never had a dependent in her life, much less anyone vowing some kind of formal loyalty. And honestly, she didn't want that now. A vow like the one Zaalbar was trying to make was an honor that couldn't be refused without conferring great shame and insult on him, but it also conferred a great deal of responsibility upon the recipient. If she wasn't mistaken, the Wookiee was trying to give her his life, for as long as it coincided with the duration of hers—he'd outlive her by several centuries, and by the time she died of old age, Zaalbar would still be in his prime. But even just giving her his youth was a huge commitment. And why her? Why not Carth? He was senior officer.

Not that Zaalbar knows that, one part of her thought, and another: Of course, it's me.

Mission knew exactly what her friend was trying to do. "Are you sure about that, Big Z?" she asked, concerned. "Think about it carefully. You better be sure about this."

Zaalbar looked at Mission without rising. /I am sure, Mission. This is an issue of great importance to me/ he continued, now addressing all of the people in the room. His voice rose to fill the space. /Because of our great physical strength, Wookiees are being used as slave labor on our own homeworld. They see us as brutes and animals to be exploited. Over the years slavers have taken many of my people; we must always be on guard against raids against our villages. When the Gamorreans captured me, I thought I was doomed to a life of servitude./ His eyes found Aithne's again, and he met her gaze with a weight of gratitude and seriousness in his eyes that nearly crushed her. /I have been saved from such a fate, and the only way I can repay that is through a lifedebt./

Carth was silent, aware that something heavy was going on, even if he understood nothing of Zaalbar's speech. Mission was silent for a moment too, then she looked directly at Aithne, her eyes hard with challenge.

"Big Z swearing a Wookiee lifedebt to you. Wow—this is major. Do you realize what this means?"

"The meaning's in the word, isn't it?" Aithne responded. Her voice came out high and brittle, nervous-sounding. She cleared her throat.

"A lifedebt is the most solemn vow a Wookiee can make," Mission said. "It means he'll stay by your side for the rest of your life—wherever you go, whatever you do, Zaalbar will be with you."

Don't mess him up, Aithne heard as plainly as if the girl had said it. She screwed her eyes shut and closed her fists, but this felt right. Not only did she not want to scorn Zaalbar's freedom and his right to do what he chose with it, or make a mockery of his oath, it felt like she was meant to accept some other way, like she couldn't do anything less.

Hoping she was doing what she was supposed to, she opened her eyes and nodded. She stepped forward and placed her right fist over her heart, and while it might not have been precisely the correct cultural gesture, Zaalbar seemed to glow.

/In the presence of you all, I swear my lifedebt,/ he said. /Forever after will I be by your side, Aithne Moran. May my vow be as strong as the roots of the great Wroshyr trees of Kashyyyk./

Aithne nodded again, filled with respect and a little bit of awe for a being who could kneel before someone else and swear such a vow and only increase his dignity and the value of his personhood by doing so. "I . . . accept," she managed, "though reluctantly. I do not feel worthy of such service or such a trust, but in turn, I vow I will do my utmost to honor it. Forever after, you have a place at my table—or a fistful of ration bars inside my pack. Forever after, you have a berth inside my house—or a bedroll in whatever foxhole I happen to be in. Forever after, you shall be as family to me."

The words were awkward, off the cuff. She didn't know what one said on occasions like this, but saying nothing didn't seem like an option. But Zaalbar seemed satisfied, and he accepted her hand up.

Mission ruined the moment, swinging her arm around Aithne's waist. "I guess this means you're stuck with me too," she said, sounding not at all apologetic. "Wherever Big Z goes, I'm going. I almost lost him once. It's not going to happen again."

Aithne started. She hadn't even started to think of that. She extricated herself from Mission, staring down at the kid in horror. "Mission, I don't want to break up your family, but—"

"You did hear back there that we're fugitives on this planet and trying to fly into a war?" Carth said, much more plainly.

/What's this, Mission?/ Zaalbar asked. /Aithne?/

"They're Republic, Zaalbar," Mission explained. "Survivors from one of those pod crashes a few days ago. I'm helping them get into the Vulkar base after the accelerator they stole from the Beks, so they can win the big race in a couple of days and win that other officer. See?" she told Carth. "I was listening just fine, before. I know what we're going into."

"You may think you do, but this is a little past swoop gang wars and Exchange deals in back alleys," Aithne said. "War is—it's a whole other ballgame, Mission. We're not playing with dummy rounds here. There are a whole lot of people who want Carth and I dead, and even more who want our friend, Bastila. It's like your gun, that's safer to shoot even if Carth's might be better. I don't want to take you someplace where you aren't prepared for what could happen."

Not to mention school, Aithne thought, and university or apprenticeship to a trade or some kind of higher education. Not to mention boys—or girls, or other. Not to mention periods and mood swings and reproductive health—or other kinds of health. Inoculations and citizenship and paperwork. Sithspit, she wasn't ready for a kid! Let alone a nearly fully grown one that thought she was but wasn't and all the trauma she might've accumulated all these years that she'd been on her own. All the catching up she would have to do on stuff ordinary kids had learned and done but she hadn't. She wasn't ready for the fiscal or the moral responsibility of preparing Mission for a life within the bounds of some kind of galactic law and society.

"So I'll learn what I need to know," Mission said. "You and Big Z aren't leaving Taris without me, and that is that." She folded her arms across her chest. Her jaw was set, but there was enough fear in her eyes that Aithne suddenly knew Mission's brother had done just that.

"Okay," she said finally. "Okay. We'll make it work. Somehow."

Mission squealed and hugged her. Aithne hugged her back, staring at Carth over the top of the girl's headdress, completely nonplussed.

"Congratulations," he murmured.

"Help!" she mouthed.

He looked sympathetic. "Later," he mouthed back.

/I would like to hear a full explanation of what it is we are doing,/ Zaalbar said.

Mission, Carth, and Aithne worked together to give him one. /And what is your plan once you have found Bastila?/ Zaalbar asked after they had finished.

"We plan on somehow breaking the Sith blockade and leaving the planet," Aithne answered. "Carth and I will escort Bastila to a place where she can regroup and receive new instructions. Carth at least will have to do the same with his own superiors. As for me, I don't know. Maybe the Republic will let me resign my commission. Maybe we'll renegotiate, and I'll contract for them on a freelance basis. That'd be my preference. Or—it would've been. With the two of you—I don't know."

Zaalbar, she thought, could probably handle whatever scouting or reconnaissance missions she chose to go on. Mission had certain skills that would translate well to the work too; she'd seen that. But with her along, Aithne would feel limited in the jobs that she could take, and she didn't want Mission working full time with them, not at her age. But she also knew she couldn't in good conscience separate Mission and Zaalbar for long. It was a problem. It needed a week's thought, and she'd only had three minutes.

"This'll be fun," Mission said confidently, completely oblivious to the massive bomb she and her Wookiee best friend had just dropped on Aithne's whole entire life. "I always wanted to see the galaxy, go on adventures. But I guess now I still owe you one secret path into the Vulkar base. That was the deal, wasn't it? Don't worry! I know a backdoor into that scum den!"

"Good," Carth said, comforted by the return to business. "The sooner we get there, the better."

"I better come with you," said Mission, beginning to pace in thought. "The Vulkars put up a force shield to keep the sewer dwellers out. I'm one of the only non-Vulkars on Taris who can get you past it. I can't remember exactly how to get there," she added, "but I know it was somewhere here in the sewers. Over to the . . . northeast, if I remember right. I just hope the rancor monster isn't still there."

Carth blanched. Aithne said slowly, and very calmly, "I think someone forgot to mention that tiny little detail, Mission."

Mission looked apologetic. "There used to be a rancor monster that made its nest there in that part of the sewers," she informed Aithne. "Pretty much eats anything it can get its claws on. That thing is huge!" Aithne suddenly had a vivid image of a rancor beast the size of their Upper City apartment chewing on a bloody blue headtail, a ripped orange jacket at its feet. Mission held up a hand, "Wait to panic, Aithne. Luckily for us, rancors aren't too bright. I was able to sneak past it before, so I'm sure we'll figure something out. That is, unless you want to change your mind." She looked at Aithne, challenge in her face.

Force, she couldn't wimp out in front of a teenager. Mission was going to be very bad for her, Aithne thought. "Let's go," she said.

"Okay then, off we go. Like I said, somewhere to the . . . southeast. Just look for the force shield, and we'll know we're there."

Carth looked at Mission. "Well, which is it?"

"Which is what?" asked Mission in confusion.

"First you said we need to go northeast, then you said we need to go southeast. Which is it?"

/She also said she didn't know,/ Zaalbar remarked.

"He just made a sarcastic comment," Aithne informed Carth. "Like we didn't have enough smart alecks in the group. We'll head east. See what we can do from there."

So off they went. Zaalbar took the lead. It was now his own personal mission to protect Aithne, and to do that, he felt he needed to be in the front, the first to see and fight off what would harm her. Carth tailed the line, providing a rear guard and ranged support with his blasters. Mission and Aithne filled in the middle, Aithne with vibroblades again. She wasn't going to let Zaalbar face the rhakghouls in melee combat on his own.

"Now, you understand that when we run into trouble, I want you back with Carth," Aithne told her. "In cover if you can find it, and always at least a meter and a half from any enemy coming at us. Use that stealth field generator if you have to," she added, with another nod at Mission's gear. She hadn't realized at first, but Mission had swapped out Aithne's borrowed belt for one of her own. "Glad to see you have one and know how to use it. That's never been one of my particular talents."

"So, what's with you and Carth?" Mission asked, completely ignoring her instructions.

Aithne took in a breath. The sewers were loud, full of running water and other flowing liquids, as well as echoes off the metal walls from their various unsavory inhabitants. But that didn't mean Carth wouldn't hear from where he walked three or four meters back. Then again, she'd hardly hesitated to talk about him with Mission right in front of his face before.

That didn't make the argument they'd had before right, though, she thought.

"We shouldn't have pulled you into that fight," she said. "I'll try to make sure nothing like that happens again. Carth's and my disagreements are Carth's and my disagreements. They have nothing to do with you, and the way we both tried to use you back there was, frankly, inexcusable. Excuse me anyway?" She glanced at Mission and tried a smile.

Mission laughed at her. "Sheesh, it was more fun than any talk I've had in a long time. Big Z's not much of a conversationalist. And watching you go off on him?" She whistled. "Did he really accuse you of blowing up that ship you guys were on?"

Aithne grimaced. "No. Not in so many words. But I was the newest recruit to the ship, and Bastila and the Jedi requested me to be there—something I had no idea about until he told me, by the way—so he thinks it's suspicious that I was one of the survivors. Frankly, from what he said, he might have just as easily been insinuating I'm special forces on a secret mission he doesn't know about or something, but the point is, he doesn't trust me, and it's almost entirely because of some crap that happened in his past that he won't tell me about but lets dictate everything he does and feels anyway."

"And it's frustrating, because he's cute and nice, and when he's not out thinking you're about to stab him in the back, you really like him," Mission summarized.

Aithne looked at her. Mission shrugged. "You said it, not me. The guy's old enough to be my father. Probably about ten years older'n' you. He does have nice hair. And I guess he's taller than you. Does it get at you worse because he likes you when he's not out thinking you're about to stab him in the back? Because he does, you know? All that stuff he said about you being the most skilled woman he's ever met and you guys getting along, even after you'd had that massive fight."

"Yeah, that's pretty much it," Aithne agreed. "It's like I said before: it's just exhausting. I don't have time for it, and I don't want it. I'm good with Professional Military Man with Trust Issues. I'm good with him being my friend. I'm not good with this back and forth. But that's what I've been stuck with the past few days. Leaves me a little bit crazy. Meaner than I want to be. I'm working on it. Guess one advantage of getting off Taris is I'll be done with Major Paranoia."

Mission's lekku twitched. "Aithne?" she said.

"Yeah?"

"Keep working on that meanness," Mission advised.

There were several skirmishes before they finally reached the blue force shield Mission talked about. Aithne found another Outcast journal, this one even older than the last. She gave it to Mission to keep with the other. She had a feeling it would be important. But she had still seen no trace of Rukil's lost apprentice.

When they did reach the force shield, Mission shut it down just as easily as she'd retrieved the mines in their path. The Upper Sewers smelled slightly better than the Lower Sewers and seemed somehow older. The passages were eerily quiet, aside from the dripping of sewage, and Aithne was more than a little creeped out. She felt like the bantha when the hunter is near.

There were a few skirmishes in the Upper Sewers as the company trudged on through the gloom and muck, but not nearly so many as below. The company, too, was quieter, more aware. Aithne could feel Mission beside her grow more and more uncomfortable, and assumed they were nearing the lair of the rancor monster. Finally, Mission spoke into the silence.

"Hey, Carth," she said in a forced light tone, calling back to the pilot, who'd drawn closer since they'd entered the Upper Sewers and things had gone quiet. "You're a pilot for the Republic, right? You've been all over the galaxy I bet, right? So, tell me, how would you rate Taris compared to other worlds you've seen?"

Opening a conversation with Carth had been the exact right thing, Aithne thought, as his voice came back, warm, steady, and calm. Just like on Endar Spire after Trask's death, it put her almost instantly at ease in the eerie silence and the building apprehension over the rancor monster.

"To be honest, Mission, Taris would rate pretty low," he said. "The prejudice, the rich spoiling themselves while the poor are crushed beneath them: not a pretty picture."

Mission forgot her fear as she rose in defense of her home of nine years. "Yeah, but that's only since the Sith occupation. Before that . . ." she thought for a moment. "Well, I guess it wasn't all that different, really. Hmmm. Maybe Taris ain't as great as I thought, you know?"

Carth had drawn level with them now. He reached out and put a hand on Mission's thin shoulder. "Trust me, Mission. Honestly, I think your leaving here with us is for the best. There are a lot of worlds better than Taris. There are worse too," he added. "But Taris is no place for a kid to live on her own, even a kid who has a Wookiee to look out for her." he finished with a glance at Zaalbar.

Ooh, bad move, flyboy, Aithne thought. Massive tactical error. Mission turned violet. She threw Carth's hand off her shoulder, furious.

"Hey, I ain't no kid! I look out for Zaalbar as much as he looks out for me! Big Z's my friend, not my babysitter, and I ain't looking for someone to fill the position! Geez," she complained, "I come ask you a question, and you give me a lecture!"

Carth stiffened. "Don't you snap at me, missy! You want a lecture? How's this: only bratty little children fly off the handle because of a simple comment."

Aithne tilted her head at him. "Then Mission isn't the only bratty kid we have around, is she?" she said.

Carth's ears went red, but Mission seemed to see Aithne's remark as a defense of her position rather than a criticism of Carth's short fuse. "I don't have to take this from you, Carth! You ain't my father! So, keep your lectures inside your withered old head, 'cause I don't need 'em!"

Carth looked up again, incensed, "And I sure as hell don't need this. Let's just drop it and go back to what we're doing."

Aithne looked between the two of them, bemused, then to Zaalbar. The Wookiee met her eyes, and she could see he was smiling. She fell back beside him. "Now why didn't you swear your lifedebt to him?" she murmured under her breath. "Then Carth would've acquired a teenage ward. Sounds like he's prepared."

/They sound like parent and cub,/ Zaalbar agreed. Then he handed her a datapad. /From the dead one,/ he said, pointing at a severed arm at his feet. /I also found these chemicals within the pocket of its sleeve./ He produced three vials of green fluid.

Aithne read the datapad. Then she cleared her throat, projecting so the fuming Carth and Mission could hear. "Playtime's over, children. According to this, our rancor monster's just next door."

"Any bright ideas?" Carth asked.

"These vials contain a formula that smells like dinner to the rancor," Aithne explained, gesturing toward the glass bottles in Zaalbar's claw. "This Bek here'd planned to douse something toxic enough to destroy the rancor with it. It's a good plan, so far as it goes. Unfortunately, he wasn't fast or sneaky enough to feed the rancor before the rancor fed on him."

"I can do it," Mission volunteered. "Gimme a grenade or a mine or something. I'll pop it right in that rancor's ugly mouth and get out of there before it even knows I was there."

Aithne eyed her stealth field generator again. "From what this datapad says and the evidence of this poor guy, the rancor will come after whatever we put the chemical on pretty quick. I don't want it coming after you."

"Look, you said if I'm coming with you, I'm coming into a war," Mission said. "There's a whole lot of things out there worse than rancor monsters. If I'm coming, I'm a part of your team, you know? I'm not a kid. I can do this."

"You sure?" Carth asked. "You've picked us up a lot of mines down here. We could leave that formula corked. Have you set up a bunch of traps instead, and me and Aithne could lay down a crossfire outside."

"It'll smell me one way or the other," Mission argued. "No guarantee it won't think I smell like dinner anyway, right? At least with the formula, we'll only have one explosive to deal with. Trust me: I can handle this."

Aithne hesitated. "Alright," she agreed finally. I'll wrap the grenade in an extra shirt after I've doused it, though, just in case. Be sure you hurry."

/And be careful!/ Zaalbar roared.

Aithne prepped the grenade and wadded it up in an extra shirt they'd picked up down here. She gave it to Mission, who all but faded from sight. The door behind the place she'd been seemed to open of its own accord. From the place she stood, Aithne could see the rancor beast. To her surprise, true to her imaginings, it was nearly as big as their apartment in the Upper City. Long, yellow teeth hung over its heavy jaw. Its long, leathery arms hung at its sides, tipped with long, bloodstained claws that reminded Aithne of rusty knives. She closed her eyes and said a prayer to whatever powers existed for Mission. A few long seconds passed, then Aithne saw the rancor lurch forward with surprising grace. The grace of a predator about to kill. Aithne held her breath. The rancor snorted, opening its mouth, then roared in pain. A bright light shot out of its mouth, and blood flew everywhere inside the neighboring room, a disgusting, thick, greenish black. When the carnage cleared, there lay the rancor monster, dead.

"Well, that's entertaining, ain't it?" came a voice from beside her as Mission deactivated her stealth. She stood there, unharmed and confident, smirking at the astonishment on her companions' faces.

Aithne reached out on impulse and dragged the teenager to her. "You're alright," she gasped.

"Geez, don't go all sappy on me," Mission complained, squirming away. "I told you I could handle it."

Carth was staring. "You're the best stealth op I've ever seen," he said.

"Gee, thanks," Mission retorted. "That a soldier of so many years' experience would say that to a kid like me might be the best compliment I've ever had."

"Play nice with the other kids, Mission," Aithne told her.

"Hey, you're the one with hang-ups about being mean," Mission answered. "I got no problem with it."

Aithne hugged her around the shoulders again for that, and Mission groaned and pushed her away—but not too hard. They crossed the rancor room, past a pile of bones and foul-reeking offal, and into the next passage.

Opening the door, they were confronted with two Vulkar guards.

"Finally," Carth growled, drawing his blasters.

In no time at all, Mission had sliced them into the Vulkar base. The smell was immediately better; the Vulkars had their own air recycling system. And clearly weren't channeling refuse through canals. For a moment, Aithne just sagged against an empty wall. Zaalbar joined her.

/Yes, it's good to get away from the smell of the Undercity,/ he agreed, though Aithne hadn't said anything at all. Aithne held up her closed fist, and Zaalbar tapped it with his own.

"Just carbon emissions; pollution; and stale, cold fish, instead of the urine and dung of a dozen species, rust, and rhakghoul droppings."

Mission snorted. "C'mon, you babies. Let's get that accelerator for Gadon."

They fought their way through the base, which, surprisingly, was mostly occupied by droids. "They must all be at a party or something," Mission commented at the third sentient-free room. About halfway through the base, Aithne called a rest.

"I trashed the cameras a while ago," she explained. "The Vulkars won't see us taking a breather here. Besides, we just freed that waitress. I'd rather rest feeling good about myself than after a mass slaughter."

Her companions nodded. Zaalbar and Mission locked the doors to keep them safe from interruptions, and all of them flopped down on the floor, which, like at the Bek base, was clean. Aithne and Carth passed out the ration bars again, and then Mission and Zaalbar went off by themselves in a corner to talk, presumably about Zaalbar's imprisonment, his lifedebt, or what the future might hold with Aithne.

That left Aithne alone with Carth again. Aithne sat with her right arm around her right knee, holding her canteen and swirling the water inside.

"I apologized to Mission about that fight we had in front of her at lunch," she said. "I owe you an apology for that too. I didn't have any business dragging all of that out in front of her. Didn't have any business saying a lot of what I said, and in the end, I went way too far, even though you did egg me on."

"You did," Carth agreed. "But like you said, I did ask for it. And I'm not certain anything you said was actually wrong." He wasn't looking at her. Instead, he stared at the blank back wall of the base like it had the most fascinating artwork he'd ever seen on it—or like he was just that determined not to look at her. "Can't say I've been called out that way in a while. You get to a certain place in your career, when enough people outside it are gone, and—well. People stop second-guessing you, at least out loud. But here you are, probably the least professional soldier I've ever met—which isn't surprising, seeing as you never asked to be one and only just got started—saying things I never thought about before. You're really something, Aithne Moran."

"You like women who fight with you," Aithne observed softly. Carth's eyes flicked to hers, then away. "Guess it shouldn't be a surprise, twenty years in the service. Had to be some reason you thought it was worth it. Don't worry," she added. "I'm not after anything like that. Part of why I've been so frustrated. Mixed signals."

"Yeah, I'll raise my hand to that," Carth admitted. "It's the circumstances, I think. We've been alone in this crazy situation, depending on one another for survival, away from all the dress and protocol that makes frat regs work during a military assignment. Emotions are high. Fears are too. And you're one hell of a woman. I never meant for—you know."

"I know," Aithne murmured. "All that about the circumstances—it's what I thought too. This," she gestured between them, "isn't real. But your issues are."

"That's just it, though," Carth told her. "My 'raging paranoia.' I was thinking about it today, and it's not because I don't respect or admire you. Just the opposite, in fact."

"Yeah, I thought that too," Aithne agreed.

"Five years ago, the Jedi had just finished the war with the Mandalorians," Carth explained. "Revan and Malak were heroes. I was proud to have served in their fleet. It was completely unexpected when they turned on us, invading the Republic while we were still weak. Nobody knew what to think. Least of all me."

Aithne took a drink of her water. "Don't feel so special, flyboy. It set everyone's head on end."

"I mean, our heroes had become brutal, conquering Sith," Carth continued, "and we were all but helpless before them. Think about it . . . if you can't even trust the best of the Jedi, who can you trust?"

Aithne raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the wall. "Actually, I think the Jedi would say Revan and Malak were less than sterling examples of the Order even before they turned to the Dark Side."

Carth looked at her then. "What do you think of the Jedi?" he asked, distracted. "I mean, I get the feeling you aren't wild about saving Bastila, or that her party ordered your transfer."

"You'd be right," Aithne agreed. "Sure you won't be shocked if I tell you, Republic?"

Carth recognized the jibe at his reaction to her views on Mandalorians. "Hah. I'm sure I might be," he said. "But I'd like to hear it anyway, if you don't mind."

Aithne shrugged. "I don't mind. I think the Jedi are mystical and out of touch when the galaxy needs practical solutions. I think all their preaching about peace and harmony is a crock when they take kids away from their families and train to repress every natural good emotion they have, and that their compassion is a joke if it doesn't translate to mercy missions when the galaxy is burning and innocents are at risk. I think the Revanchists were right. Before they turned all evil."

Carth was staring at her again. But this time, unlike his reaction outside the Lower City apartments, his eyes were soft and approving, and he was smiling like he could hardly help it. "I couldn't agree with you more," he said.

"Anyway. So what? I remind you of Revan and Malak?" She spoke it sarcastically, but Carth answered seriously.

"You have a few sentiments in common," he pointed out. "But no, that's not it. There were . . . there were others. Good, solid, trusted men who joined them. Malak and Revan and the Sith deserve to die for what they've done." Carth's voice was gaining passion and momentum, and Aithne decided now probably wasn't the time to point out that Revan was already dead. "But the men who fled the Republic and joined them are even worse. The Dark Side has nothing to do with why they joined with the Sith. They deserve no mercy!" Carth's face had grown darker and darker throughout this speech, and for the first time, Aithne could see the Dark Side in his eyes—not the mystical power that turned Jedi into parodies of themselves, saviors into brutal, superpowered war criminals. The angry and ugly passions and motivations that were somewhere inside every sentient being. For all his paranoia, Aithne hadn't seen them in Carth before. It was a big part of why she liked him: all in all, he was simply a good person. She'd known that from before they'd ever met face to face. Good people were rare enough, and Carth was good to a degree that was even rarer. But she supposed no one could be completely good.

"You say that with a lot of hatred," she observed. "But I think I get it. Someone you admired before went bad. Betrayed the Republic, betrayed you, without the excuse of a mystical evil Force trigger. Now anytime you admire anyone, you think how bad they can go. It's not healthy."

"I know," Carth said. He looked deflated, old and tired and sick. "Fear in the cockpit, like you said. Shouldn't let it fly me, especially when I might be in an entirely different system. I've become so accustomed to expecting the worst in others, and you've done nothing to deserve that. You make me nervous, sometimes. The things you say, the way you think. But everything you've done has helped us, and more than a few other people. It probably won't be a problem much longer. We'll get off Taris and head our separate ways. But for what it's worth, for however much longer we are working together, I'll be working on it." Without looking at her, he extended his hand to the side, and Aithne shook it.

"Then I think we can call a truce. If you help me figure out what to do with a Wookiee and a teenage Twi'lek when we do part ways, I'll even owe you," she told him.

"Yeah, that one's gonna be interesting," Carth agreed. "When we get back to the Republic, I can pull some strings. Fast-track approval on some family benefits to help you provide for Mission. Maybe get Zaalbar approved as a Republic attache or consultant. Whether he thinks he should or not, he should get a salary for helping you. Otherwise, his lifedebt is just another form of slavery. I'm assuming you can't pay."

"No," Aithne agreed. Now she was the one smiling at him like an idiot. "I never ran a profit margin large enough for an assistant. But you're right, and if he gets a wage, it'll make me feel a lot better about the whole thing. Thanks."

"Cheers," Carth answered.

Aithne rose. "I'm going to go check on the others. We'll move out in a little bit," she told him.

She walked over to join Zaalbar and Mission. When she asked Zaalbar about his past, he refused to talk, saying it didn't matter to his lifedebt or their future. He wasn't rude about it, and Aithne didn't get a sense of any turmoil within him—just a closed book—so she left him alone with his remaining ration bar and a half and turned to Mission instead.

"Do we need to talk about anything?" she asked.

She'd left the question open-ended, leaving it open for Mission to open a conversation about her role in the team or how she felt about leaving Taris, which seemed to be on her mind, or anything. But Mission seemed to take it as a criticism of the way they'd left their talk at lunch.

"I . . . I was a little snappish at lunch," she said. "I'm sorry about that. I get kind of touchy when it comes to Griff. It's kind of embarrassing telling people about him."

"Rule of thumb with me," Aithne advised her, "you don't ever have to tell me anything you don't want to—even if it's making you act weird and I have no context, I'll deal, or ask you to."

"No," Mission protested, lekku waving fast. "I want to tell you. We're family now, right?"

Aithne realized what she wanted. "'You have a place at my table," she repeated quietly. "A berth inside my house.' As long as you want it, so long as you accept the dangers that come with it and do your best to learn how to keep yourself safe. I'm not separating you and Zaalbar, and I'm not angry you want to stay with him."

"I was worried, you know," Mission said, "after I just said I was coming like that. I know you didn't really want me. But you won't regret letting me come along, I swear. I can look out for you just like I look out for Zaalbar. With the stealth field generator, and the mines, and a lot of other ways too, I'll bet. And it's not just Big Z, either. You know that, right? It'll be nice getting off of Taris. Seeing what else is out there, you know? Also, I owe you big for today. I came at you all wild, after asking everyone I knew for help for Big Z, and they said no. And you were a stranger. But you didn't flinch. Not even for a second. I knew then I'd be your friend forever, whatever happened."

The total honesty left Aithne without defense. Her chest hurt, and her eyes stung. She cleared her throat and drew her knees up to her chest. "I needed to use you," she said.

"Oh, I know," Mission assured her. "You didn't do it because you're a good person or nothing. But that thing you did, with the counting, when I was scared and in a panic? You did that because you're a good person. It reminded me of my brother too, which is probably why I got mad at you a little after that. I never knew my parents. My brother always looked out for me. He's the one who brought me to Taris. I was just a kid, only five, but I remember the trip—if you could call it that." She looked away from Aithne, and her lekku twitched. "We were stuffed inside a packing crate in a star freighter's cargo hold with just enough food and water to make the trip. Not exactly first class, you know?"

"Think I do," Aithne confessed, smiling. "I'm a scout. Over the years, I've probably traveled almost every way you could think of."

Mission smiled back, slightly less nervous. "I don't know the whole story—I was pretty young. But my brother owed a lot of money. Might even have been a few arrest warrants out for him. I don't know." She shrugged. "The only way to get off the planet was to smuggle ourselves out. I mean, I don't want to make it sound like we were criminals . . ." she hesitated. "Well, maybe my brother was." She looked down, flushing. "See, this is why I don't like to talk about it. It makes Griff sound worse than he really was. My brother had his problems, but he always looked out for me."

Until he didn't, Aithne thought. "He's your family," she said, keeping her voice neutral.

Mission brightened. "Yeah! That's what I'm trying to say! Without my brother, I don't know where I'd be. He gambled," she admitted, "and drank. And he was always borrowing money for his latest get-rich-quick scheme. But he had a good heart, you know? He taught me how to survive. He showed me how to slice into a computer's security system, how to get inside a locked door without the entrance codes, and how to spot a wealthy mark for a quick shell game."

It sounded like he'd been leading Mission down a path headed nowhere fast, Aithne reflected. She met Zaalbar's eyes over the space between them. The Wookiee's expression was guarded, and he made a slight gesture with one claw. He didn't approve of Griff either, Aithne saw, but he wouldn't advise telling Mission so. "How long's it been since he left?" she asked instead.

Mission didn't catch Aithne's assumption that he'd left, even though she hadn't actually said so. "Going on five years now," she answered. "I really miss him since he left. I keep hoping he'll come back some day. He promised me he would."

Just from the rough sketch Mission had given her, Aithne figured that Griff wasn't big on keeping promises. "Why did he leave?"

Mission's face hardened. "He fell in with a bad crowd. It's all Lena's fault!" she cried. "She's the one who took him away from me! Just batted those long lashes at him, and off he went!"

"Who's Lena?" asked Aithne, interested but a little alarmed by the introduction of this new character.

Mission crossed her arms. "I don't want to talk about Griff and Lena," she said, putting an inflection on the woman's name so it came out like a sneer. "Just the thought of that space tramp makes my blood boil! Subject's closed as far as I'm concerned! If I'm going to be any help to you," she explained in a somewhat calmer tone, "I can't be worrying about my brother running off with some intergalactic skank! So, is there anything else you need before we go?"

"I did want to talk with you about Carth," Aithne said. "Wait, just hear me out," she added as Mission started to protest. "Look. That back there outside the rancor lair was a sillier fight than him and me outside the Gamorrean hideout. You know it was. He wasn't trying to talk down to you; he was trying to answer your question. When we first met in the cantina, he was the one who believed you could handle yourself. I was the one wanting to charge in and save the teenager. We're both going to treat you like that on occasion. We're old, you're young."

"You're not that old," Mission grumbled. "And you didn't charge in and try and rescue me. He did actually give me the stupid lecture." She made a disgusted noise. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"All I'm asking," Aithne said. She stood. "Everyone done with dinner?" she called. "Great. Because I think we should get out of here with the prototype accelerator before the Vulkars get back from spreading death and terror through the city."

Everyone rose with her, and they headed toward the exit of the room. Before they'd crossed all the way to it, Aithne heard Mission's voice. "Uh, hey, Carth. Can I . . . can I talk to you for a second?"

Quick temper, quick cooldown, and quick apologies, Aithne thought with quiet satisfaction. Better than a sulky grudge-holder any day. It was nice both Mission and Carth had that kind of personality. As long as they were all working together, there'd be some fights, but they wouldn't last long.

Carth kept walking toward the garage. They'd already disabled the elevator security. "Are you ready to have a civil chat?" he asked. "Or is this going to be another childish tantrum?"

Aithne bit her tongue to keep from laughing out loud. She saw Zaalbar shaking beside her and didn't dare to face him dead on for fear they both would lose it. Even her own father hadn't sounded so parental.

"Tantrum?!" cried Mission. "I'm trying to apologize, you nerf-herder!" She looked nervously at Aithne, took a deep breath and said in a much calmer tone, "Uh . . . I mean . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get mad at you. It's just that I'm sick of everyone treating me like I'm a helpless kid."

Aithne saw Onasi melt. The man was really a massive marshmallow, she thought. In his defense, Vao's vulnerability shtick was powerful stuff. "Yeah, I know," Carth said. "And I'm sorry about what I said too. I'm just a little on edge lately. Not surprising, considering all we've been through. But I shouldn't take it out on you."

Aithne felt like cheering. /It is good to see you two reconciling your differences,/ Zaalbar commented.

Aithne translated for Carth. "As for me," she added, "I'd just as soon see another fight. You two make me feel better about my petty, crabby picking."

Both of them blushed and looked annoyed. Also like they weren't fooled for an instant and saw the comment for what it was—her own approval of their reconciliation, and a secondary apology for times she too had been unfair and immature. She still felt bad.

"Mission, you have to know that we don't think you're helpless," Carth continued. "Look at where we are. Look at what we're doing! We need you."

"You really mean it, don't you?" Mission said, in a tone very different from any she'd used before, even five minutes ago with Aithne. "Nobody's ever said nothing like that to me before, not even Big Z. He might think it, but he's not really one for words, you know? Thanks, Carth."

Wonder when they teach that course in officer training, Aithne mused. Winning allies and influencing individuals. You just got yourself a friend forever, Carth Onasi. Not that Mission Vao was particularly difficult. The kid was so lonely and had been so overlooked and unappreciated that the slightest expression of gratitude, attention, or kindness could win her over. It made Aithne shiver a little, and she was suddenly really grateful for Zaalbar's presence in the girl's life. He had probably kept away the kinds of people who would have manipulated the love-starved girl for their own ends, even without actively trying to.

Carth shrugged, embarrassed by the girl's emotion. "Ah, it's no big deal. I know how it is. Sometimes you just need to hear a few words of encouragement." He paused. "Kids are like that."

Aithne chuckled as Mission fell for it hook, line, and sinker. "Kids are like that!? Listen here . . ." she began, then stopped. She laughed. "Oh, I get it. Okay, you got me. You're pretty funny, Carth, for an old guy. Come on, you geezer, let's get back to what we were doing."

The lower level of the Vulkar base was as depopulated as the upper, and Aithne was able to obtain a pass card after taking out the garage head that she suspected would take them to where the Vulkars were keeping the accelerator. She was even able to find a workbench, and she stopped there to upgrade their armor and weapons with some parts she'd found lying around.

Carth grumbled about the delay, but he got that Brejik would probably have some of his best men guarding the accelerator, and that after the day they'd had, any gear advantage they could get would be a good idea to offset the exhaustion. And Mission was excited that the workbench provided Aithne with the tools to cut down and fix her stretched out borrowed combat suit so it wasn't so uncomfortable. The upgrades took another twenty minutes where Aithne was dead to anything that wasn't mesh, metal, and circuits, but when Aithne keyed them into the last room of the Vulkar base, she thought it had probably been worth it.

There were two Twi'leks waiting, armed to the teeth, and behind them, two Rodian guards.

The green male Twi'lek, who appeared to be in charge, spoke once he registered his surprise. /Looks like we have some visitors,/ he sneered, addressing the female Twi'lek on his right. /Lackeys conned by Gadon Thek into trying to steal Brejik's swoop engine accelerator, I bet!/

Mission glared at the Vulkar, lekku twitching angrily. "Brejik stole that engine from Gadon! It was never yours to begin with!"

The Twi'lek male glared back at her. /Well, I didn't go to all the trouble of acquiring this prototype just so you could steal it back for that old fool./

The female Twi'lek brightened. /Would you like me to dispose of these Bek spies, Kandon?/ she purred.

/No,/ said Kandon, /hold on a second. I see you aren't wearing the Hidden Bek colors,/ he said, addressing Aithne. Aithne cursed mentally. He could probably tell she was heading this operation from how the others had pressed in toward her when confronted with the oncoming fight. Now she'd get saddled with speaking for the group and making whatever decisions Kandon threw their way. /I'm guessing you aren't a part of that feeble old man's gang. You must be a freelance mercenary./

"I'm not one of the Beks, if that's what you mean."

Kandon smiled in what he seemed to think was a friendly way. /Instead of stealing the prototype for the Beks, why don't you come work for us? The Black Vulkars could use someone like you./

Aithne put her hands on her hips. This had the added benefit of putting them near her vibroblades, though she didn't draw them yet. "I must've killed more than a dozen of you by now, and almost that many of your droids. I've let your slaves run away, blown up several of your consoles and one of your bikes before the big annual swoop race, and you think I might be a good recruit? A lot of loyalty to your people there, Kandon."

/You say disloyal, but I know strength when I see it. Do you?/ Kandon reasoned. /Be smart! Gadon Thek is old news! He's a blind fool in more ways than one. Brejik is a visionary—soon he'll control the entire Lower City! Don't shackle yourself to a losing team./

"Strength to me doesn't equate to attacking strangers in the streets and harassing others in the cantina just 'cause you can," AIthne said. "Strength is being the people strangers and the harassed can go to. And vision isn't stealing the innovation of others; it's being the person making the innovations. Now. Hand over the Bek accelerator."

"You tell 'em, Aithne," Mission said, pleased.

Kandon scowled. /I can see there's not much chance of convincing you to come work for us after all. Most unfortunate./

The Twi'lek bodyguard leaned forward eagerly, an attack dog on a leash. /Now can I kill them, Kandon?/ she asked.

/Yes, darling,/ Kandon said in a hard voice. /Kill them. Kill them all./

Aithne unsheathed her blades in less than a second. Mission and Carth ducked behind the doorframe, blasters out, and Zaalbar joined Aithne at the front. He attacked the Twi'lek woman, clearly the bloodthirstiest opponent. Aithne went for a Rodian.

She'd adopted a sweeping, aggressive style against the Vulkars and their droids, using the cutting edge of her vibroblades to scythe down enemies quickly. When they had energy shields absorbing the force of her blows, small counterswings or swift thrusts after the main blow usually worked to sneak past or overload the shield she'd mostly overwhelmed on that first swing. She didn't necessarily bother with a clean kill, so long as she disarmed and incapacitated the enemy. She knew it might be cruel, leaving some of her enemies to die slowly or spend days, weeks, or months recovering, but making sure every enemy died quick and clean in open battle was time-consuming work, when what Aithne wanted was a quick, clean total victory.

But at the end of this fight, when the Rodians and the Twi'leks lay dead upon the floor, Aithne found Mission bent over, braced on her knees, so pale, almost all the blue had bleached from her skin. Carth, beside her, was looking lost and helpless. Tears were leaking out of Vao's eyes, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Mission," Aithne said quietly. "What's happened?"

Mission nodded at Kandon's corpse. "I got him," she said. "He was—he was the first one. The first one I know was me. I mean, rhakghouls and droids are one thing, but—Aithne, I just killed that guy! I murdered him!"

Aithne, Carth, and Zaalbar all looked at one another. Guilt and awkwardness hung heavy in the air. "I said war was different," Aithne said finally. "That was really your first kill?"

Mission nodded, unable to speak.

"Mission, that Twi'lek probably killed a lot of people, and for far less reason than you killed him. If you hadn't killed him, he would've killed you, and he wouldn't have thought twice," Carth said.

"I know," Mission said. "But—what, like that makes it okay? Like just because he was a murderer, I can kill him? Doesn't that make me like him? Or that other lady, who was actually looking forward to it, who wanted to shoot us the second we walked in here?" She looked down in distaste at the female Twi'lek.

"No," Carth told her. "Because you're thinking about it. Because you're here. Because you know what it is to take a life. We can't always avoid killing people. But so long as we remember to talk first, so long as we remember to stay responsible, we aren't murderers. Understand?"

"I think so," Mission said, straightening. "Thanks."

"And Mission," Carth added, catching the Twi'lek's eye.

"Yeah?"

"It was a good shot."

Mission almost smiled at that. Aithne walked over to her. In lieu of Carth's fancy words, she just gave the kid another hug. Then she nodded at the prototype accelerator across the room, parked under a fragmentation mine. "Will you do the honors?" she asked.

Mission wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve. She nodded. She walked forward with confidence, and sadly, Aithne noted a new hardness to her face, to her aura. She's really going to grow up on my watch, realized Aithne. And all I've got for her is this. Another wave of despair and helplessness crashed over her, just like it had right after Zaalbar had sworn his lifedebt and Mission had declared she was coming too.

"Hey," Carth said softly, coming up to stand beside her. He was watching her face. "You'll do okay," he told her. "So long as you keep her, let her help, you'll be doing more than anyone but Zaalbar ever has."

"It's not enough," Aithne murmured.

"Well, no, but you'll learn the rest of it, same as she'll learn to deal with all of this. You'll get it," he said again.

That was when Aithne was sure he had been a father. She wondered if his kid or kids were still alive, or if he'd lost them when the Sith had burned his homeworld. He'd be so much better at this than me, she thought, not for the first time that day. But Zaalbar'd sworn his oath to the girl who could understand Shyriiwook, so she was the one who was suddenly a mother, whether or not Mission wanted her to see things that way.

Mission came back with the prototype accelerator. She stowed it in her pack and looked at Aithne, waiting for direction.

"Let's head back to the apartment and get some sleep," Carth suggested. "We'll hand that over to the Beks tomorrow morning."

But looking at Mission, and thinking about the world she'd be leaving behind, Aithne suddenly didn't want to do that. "No," she said. "Tonight, let's sleep in the Undercity. I have a promise to keep to Rukil the storyteller, and another to Zelka Forn. I don't want to head back to Gadon until we've found what happened to Malya and got our hands on some rhakghoul serum."

Suddenly, it was very important no one be left without knowing what had happened to a young person they cared for. Suddenly, it was very important they leave Taris better than they had found it—in good hands, so to speak.

She looked back at Carth, and he nodded, weary, but understanding. Resigned. The four of them left the Vulkar base through the sewers and traversed the vast wilderness of the Undercity in silence. Surprisingly, there were no attacks. Aithne figured even rhakghouls knew enough to vacate an area where so many of them had died. They entered the village and found Gendar on the far side of the village.

"Request refuge for the night, Gendar," asked Aithne, bowing.

"Of course, Up-worlder," murmured Gendar, bowing as well. He rummaged about in the refuse and drew out a spare tent and four bedrolls. "Here. It is not much, but it is all we can offer you."

"It is sufficient," said Aithne. "We thank you for your hospitality."

Together, Carth and Zaalbar pitched the tent. Mission and Aithne made up the bedrolls. Looking at one another in silence, the travelers collapsed without a word. In seconds, they were asleep.