I hear that there was some confusion as I jumped a year ahead...Chapter One was a teaser, people, and was only meant to establish some vague concepts and unease around that Twi'lek woman, and her organization. Also, please keep in mind that this is all a rough draft. I have a terrible writer's habit of going back and editing the work while still writing rather than try to write it through and then go back and edit it. So this time, I've decided to just go ahead and write it through, then go back and enact the suggestions given by you guys and girls as to editing that needs to be done. One person mentioned that I tend to be verbose as well, especially in my descriptions...I apologize, guys, but I love the background details! lol That is what makes the original Star Wars so great and gave it such a realistic feeling. But I do tone it back a little after this chapter or the next. Just bear with me, please. I appreciate everyone of you who continues through.
Plus, bonus: Those of you who like my novel (because that is what this will be) can get a free copy once I've done the final edit, though that might be a year down the road, and I will give thanks to all my fans and those who contributed feedback by name somewhere in the front of it. Let's call this "crowd-editing," or "crowd-critiquing" because I will read every piece of feedback and consider it.
Chapter Two
One year later…
Located in the seamy, twilight depths of Denon's planet-wide cityscape, in the heart of a district known by locals as the Gnaw due to its high scurrier population, the Blue Nebula Cantina was well-known in the criminal underworld as a discrete hangout for all manner of scum and villainy. It was a place where business could be conducted without fear of eavesdropping or interruption, and almost as important, the glasses in which refreshments were served were clean. Owned and operated by a Black Sun operative named Beriska, a tall, muscular Feeorin woman, the cantina was just one of countless such business-fronts owned by the criminal syndicate scattered up and down the Corellian Run.
From the outside, there was no sign it was a cantina, just a square, glazed black tile painted with an electric blue spiral galaxy above the door. Inside, however, the door was guarded by a hulking Barabel named Sala, and was shadowy and crowded with a motley assortment of rogues and scoundrels drinking and talking quietly. Illumination came from the lumi-lamps in the booths along the right wall, the soft white glow of the tops of the tables in the middle of the oblong cantina, and from the blue neon tubing above the bar along the left wall. Streamers of blue t'bac smoke wafted through the air, mingling with the smells of alcohol and unwashed bodies.
Drifting in and around the crowd were numerous serving girls of varying species, all of whom wore slave collars and rather scant outfits. One tall, statuesque togruta stood behind the bar, serving drinks to the thirsty customers. She wore a tiny leather jerkin with a low-cut front and lace-up sides that looked strained to keep covered her considerable assets, which she flaunted outrageously as she leaned over the bar to flirt with the patrons.
Schutta, Mika thought disdainfully, shaking her head at Danya Kotaro's shameless behavior. Given a choice, she would never wear the white one-piece body stocking that hugged her own slender form. Its fabric was nearly sheer, and it was open on the sides from under her arms down to the garment's thigh-cuffs, and in the front, a deep V dipped well below her navel, showing off far more blue skin than Mika was comfortable with. Danya, though, seemed to relish the attention from the drunken, leering abos that patronized the Blue Nebula.
Scowling, she flicked her lekku at the togruta dismissively, then loaded the three mugs of beer onto her tray and headed to the table with a trio of balosars already in their cups.
A pair of humans grinned at her as she glided past, not bothering to hide their leers.
Her face grew hot as she studiously ignored them—stang, she hated working in the bar area. She'd insisted on outfits which covered her back, though, and thankfully, Beriska had agreed to her wishes—no need to flaunt that disaster; she would die of embarrassment if she had to come out with her back exposed. It was an ugly reminder of a past that she was doing her best to forget about.
The balosars were laughing about something as she came over; probably me, she thought self-consciously. They smelled of machine grease and starship fuel, but it was a sure bet that they weren't mechanics—she'd yet to meet a balosar who did an honest day's work. Judging by the bulges of hold-out blasters in their jacket pockets, they were probably thieves or smugglers, though in this cantina, such professions weren't mutually exclusive.
"Here's your drinks," she said, setting the mugs down. "Six credits."
The balosar on her left grinned and tossed a ten-credit note on the tray. "Stay 'n keep us company, and there's more for ya," he said drunkenly.
She tucked the ten-credit note under her chan'dar, or headdress. "No, thanks."
"Aw, c'mon," the balosar on her right said. "Nothin' wrong wi' a pretty girl in yer lap!" He reached to grab her, but she stepped sideways.
"Keep your kiffing hands to yourself!" she snapped, her anger bubbling up to the surface. She started to turn away and jumped with a yelp as the balosar on her left slid a hand through the side opening of her body stocking, grabbing her backside and pulling her towards him.
All three of them laughed uproariously.
Mika, however, felt her face burn as tears welled up in humiliation. Then, rage took over. Snarling, she grabbed one of the balosar's antenna-palps and twisted, making him cry out in pain.
"Ow, you—" he began to howl.
"Shut up!" she hissed, squeezing the antenna. "Take your hand off my ass before I rip this off and feed it to you!" She yanked once for good measure.
The balosar, eyes squinted in agony, withdrew his hand.
Through her tears, she could see Danya at the bar, looking at her and shaking her head. Several other patrons were watching, too, adding to the embarrassment. "You kiffing lizard!" she spat, shoving his head away and stalking off. The sound of the other two balosars laughing and making snide comments followed her, only adding to her sense of humiliation.
She stormed into the employee's refresher unit, locking herself into one of the stalls, then sat on the lid of the commode and covered her face. There, she wept silently. That filthy rycrit! she raged, wanting to shred that blasted balosar like she should've shredded that zabrak so long ago. They had brought back all those horrible memories, especially the memory of feeling unclean for so long.
Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and she wiped them away as fast as she could, both ashamed of, and angry at, herself. She hated the feeling of being weak and powerless. She'd been with Beriska for a year and had no friends, no one she dared trust. If they knew what she really was, they would hate her just as much as she hated them, so she had no one to talk to and relieve the awful loneliness and fear.
Just then, the door to the refresher opened, and Mika lifted her feet off the floor and held her breath as someone walked in. Please, don't let it be the balosars, she prayed silently, feeling her panic rising.
"Mika?" a familiar voice asked.
She exhaled wearily and set her feet on the floor. "Go away, Danya."
"Beriska wanted to know if you're okay," she said. "You've got to learn to handle those situations better."
Her eyes bulged in rage. "Me?" she snarled. "Get out, you bantha!" She punched the stall door, shaking the walls that it was attached to. How dare she try to pin that on her!
"Whatever," scoffed Danya, quickly leaving.
She screamed and punched the door again for good measure, then cried out softly at the pain in her fist. She just wanted to slap that stupid togruta! The only reason she was working behind the bar, safe from the customers and their roving hands was because of her impressive chest. Put her out among the patrons and let's see how long she goes without getting groped!
Taking several deep breaths, she sought the center of calm within as she'd been taught. She unclenched her fists and wiped away the tears. Even with having to deal with sleemo customers, she was still better off with Beriska, who didn't beat her or humiliate her, or try to break her as others had. She had her own bed, not some filthy, lice-ridden mat in a dark corner; she could bathe whenever she wanted, and had clean clothes; and she was well-fed on real food, not scurrier-on-a-stick or something equally repulsive. Plus, she was paid a modest salary, and was given a modicum of freedom to go out and do as she liked on her free time. It was far better than things could've turned out, or how things had once been.
She looked at the six, five-centimeter long scars in a row on the inside of her left forearm. One of the scars was still scabbed over. She was half-tempted to add a new one, or deepen an old one, but she didn't have her knife with her. Looking at them, she could feel the heaviness settle over her shoulders again. Unlike the ruined mess that was her back, these scars were made by her choice, not forced upon her, a pain delicious and terrible at the same time because the temptation was always there to keep going deeper, to feel that pain just a little keener. When the dark crimson would well up and her arm throbbed with a high, thin, thrumming note of aching pain, it was a reminder of all that she'd endured, and she was still alive despite it all.
Beriska had found out about the scars early on from Isara, a small human woman with short, spiky blonde hair who worked nights displaying her chest for the customers to leer at. Mika had wanted to bash her head in when she'd found out that Isara had been the one to snitch on her. Beriska had been furious, and threatened to bear her if she caught her cutting her arms again. So Mika had stopped, but the drive to feel that cleansing pain was getting strong again.
She would train tonight, she decided. She'd push herself hard, and if she did well, she'd reward herself with the knife. She'd bleed for the ones she'd lost, the ones she'd loved and had vowed to one day find again—her parents, her sister—the ones she'd give anything to see again.
She listened to make sure no one else was in the refresher, then unlocked the stall and went over to the sink. She rinsed her face with warm water, then looked at herself in the mirror. Her dark eyes were red from crying, though since she never wore makeup, she never had to worry about it running.
She examined her hand, and it was a little swollen, but luckily, nothing too bad. It didn't hurt to move the fingers, so she ran it under some cold water until she couldn't take it anymore, then dried off and exited the refresher.
As she made her way through the kitchen to pour herself some cold gizer ale, she could hear the jukebox blaring out "The Corellian Boogie." At least it wasn't "Dance of the Barefoot Twi'lek." If she had to listen to that stupid song one more kiffing time—
"There you are," Beriska said, stepping out of the hallway to her office. "What were you doing in there?"
"Using the facilities, or isn't that allowed?"
"Don't crack wise with me, girl. I'm concerned, and you should be thankful that someone is."
Mika was about to continue on past Beriska, but then Danya stepped out from behind the feeorin. The togruta looked at Mika as if she were a feral animal. She sidled by and glanced at Mika's arms, and sighed.
Instantly, Mika's rage exploded; she knew that Danya had snitched her out. "You kiffing schutta!" she snarled, lunging at the togruta with a speed that surprised even Beriska.
Beriska, however, was faster still, and snatched her up in a bear-hug before she could get to the frightened Danya. She spun Mika around, putting her against the wall to pin her, but Mika fought like a Corellian sand panther, trying to kick free and managing to knock some pans off of a metal rack which clanged loudly on the floor.
"I'll kill you," Mika screamed. "You fat nerf! You scurrier! You—"
"Enough!" Beriska shouted. "Stop it! Hey! Knock it off, Mika!"
She almost managed to twist free, and shouted, "Don't even look at me anymore, you filthy rycrit!"
Danya fled around a corner.
"Knock it off, girl! Stop it!" Beriska grabbed her by the collar and slapped her.
Shocked, Mika sagged and held the side of her face as tears welled up. The pain was nothing compared to the humiliation of letting someone see her cry, especially Beriska.
"What in the flaming void has gotten into you, girl?" She grabbed Mika's arm and pushed her into the office, then closed the door behind her. "Sit down!"
Mika sat on the soft, bantha-leather couch as told, and angrily wiped away the tears. The office had always been a place she'd enjoyed visiting, with its large aquarium behind Beriska's desk filled with an amazing variety of colorful fish, and the soothing, muted earth colors of the walls. Now, though, she just wanted to run away. Worse, the fear of consequence grew in her and she began wondering if Beriska was going to sell her off to be someone else's problem.
Beriska leaned back against her desk and crossed her arms, focusing her glare on Mika. "What am I going to do with you? What should I do with you?"
She just looked away, wrapping her arms around herself as the fear gnawed at her. She'd learned long ago that when your owner was deciding your fate, it was better to make yourself as small as possible.
"Let me see your arm."
She darted a glance at Beriska, but said nothing.
The feeorin sighed and grabbed her arm, but not too roughly, and inspected the scars. "I meant what I said, too. If I find fresh scars on your arm, I will take you over my knee."
"I'm not a child," she finally said, her voice sullen.
"No, but you act like it sometimes." She released her arm. "And when you do, I'm going to treat you like one."
"I haven't done anything, no matter what that lying schutta says."
"That's enough!" the older woman snapped suddenly. "I'll not have you running around calling her a whore. She is no such thing, and is probably the best friend you could have in here, if you'd only give her a chance." She leaned back against the desk and crossed her arms once more, though her glare had softened.
She'd hated Danya even before this. The togruta was about forty-five centimeters taller than her, and was always talking down to her. "Whatever she said was a lie."
Beriska scoffed. "What, that you were in the refresher, punching the stall because some sleemos groped you? Don't give me that look, either, because that's exactly what she said."
"Why are you covering for her?" she said. "I know she came running in here to tattle like a little girl." She jumped when Beriska slapped the desk with an open hand.
"Don't insinuate that I'm lying to you! So help me, girl, you're this close to getting it! For your information, Danya came in here to tell me that those balosars were a little too free with their hands, and that when you ran into the refresher, she went after you to see if you were okay, and you became violent." She grabbed Mika's arm again. "She didn't say anything about these. I asked because for some inexplicable reason, I actually like you, though the Divine knows that you don't make it easy!"
Mika glowered down at the floor. She found it hard to believe that the togruta wouldn't snitch her out, just like Isara had done.
Aasha, a younger, green-skinned twi'lek slave, knocked on the door and poked her head into the office. "Um, Beriska? We need to replace the kegs on a couple of the taps." She darted a glance at Mika, who shot her a hateful glare.
"Then, have Sala help you."
"Sure thing." She closed the door.
She sat next to Mika and wrapped an arm around her. "Look, Mika, I don't know much about you because you won't talk about your past."
Mika stiffened.
"Relax, will you? Your secrets are your own. I'm only saying that eventually, you're going to have trust someone. You've been here a year, and you've yet to make a single friend."
"Friends are overrated," she muttered.
She chuckled. "Sometimes they are a pain in the rump, but just remember that Danya and the others aren't your enemies. I don't want to hear about you fighting with them anymore, especially Isara of Danya. Izzie doesn't need another black eye."
Mika laughed scornfully. "She should've kept her mouth shut." She would've done more than blacken Isara's eye if she hadn't run away.
"No, she shouldn't have!" she said angrily. "I don't want you scarring yourself. I mean it, Mika. Do we have an understanding?" She lifted Mika's chin with a finger to look her in the eye. "Well?"
She met the feeorin's care-worn eyes and sighed. "Fine, but I still don't like 'em."
"If you gave Danya half a chance, you might change your mind."
"Never."
It was Beriska's turn to sigh. "It's the end of your shift, so go upstairs and relax." She stood up and opened the office door.
"Can I go out for a while?"
"Go on," she said, nodding towards the door and turning her attention to the stack of flimsiplast on her desk.
Mika went upstairs using the back staircase. She knew exactly where she wanted to go, but she wanted to shower first and dress in something a little more appropriate for what she had in mind—dark colors so that she'd blend into the shadows of the city nightlife.
On the second floor were a series of rooms arranged around a circular central room with a holoprojector at its center. Around the holoprojector were several couches and overstuffed chairs, and there were several girls lounging in them, including Aasha. They all quieted as Mika came in—she hated that. She knew they'd been talking about her by the guilty looks on their faces. She ignored them and walked around the periphery of the room, past a billiards table, and through a door to the dorm, flicking her lekku in a rude gesture as she exited the room. Schuttas, she thought bitterly.
Their dorm was long and narrow, with a large refresher room at the far end and a bank of high, curtained windows on one side that admitted the wan gray light of the fading day. Two rows of bunk beds ran down the length of the room, each with a double locker at their feet. Several girls were asleep, snoring softly and trying to catch up on slumber on their off days. Mika's bunk was the one in the corner near the refresher room door.
As Mika prepared her things to go shower, Danya came out, a towel wrapped around her. She froze when she saw Mika, who studiously ignored her. The togruta hurried to her bunk several beds down.
She shot a glare at Danya's naked orange back as the woman dried off, then dismissed her and donned her robe before shrugging out of her body stocking. No need to put her backside on display and invite ridicule. It would only give those catty nerfs more to talk about.
After luxuriating in the sani-steam, she dressed in an outfit consisting of a plum-colored durasilk shirt; tight, black durafiber pants; a clean but worn pair of sneakers; a black leather jacket she'd picked up in a thrift store; and a soft, brown leather chan'dar to hold her long and shaperly lekku in place.
Checking to make sure no one was watching, she reached under the frame of the bunk where she had a vibro-knife with a fifteen centimeter blade in a leather sheath taped to the underside. She tucked the blade into the back of her pants; she never went anywhere without it. Weapons were prohibited by Beriska, but Mika had lived on the streets of Nar Shadda, and knew better than to go unarmed in the Gnaw, especially at night.
Outside the cantina, night had fallen, and the Gnaw was lit up with street lights and gaudy neon signs advertising all manner of diversions meant to appeal to the senses, from cheap booze to live shows featuring exotic dancing girls. Airspeeders whisked past above and below the level of the sidewalk, just beyond its edge. A good number of pedestrians were out and about, some walking like her, others that had stopped to talk or window shop. The air was chill and reeked of airspeeder exhaust and fried food from the greasy spoon diner up the block. Worst was the constant dampness that was ever present, adding the aroma of wet pavement to the mélange of city smells.
Mika walked past numerous hawkers selling everything from fake expensive chronometers to burn-out credit chits. Anyone fool enough to use them deserved to get busted by the Imperials, she thought, looking at the shoddy fakes. She moved on, blending into the crowd again and leaving the Blue Nebula behind. Her collar barely raised an eyebrow as slaves were common enough this far down, though in the higher levels, the Imperials had banned the practice. At least, where humans were concerned; aliens they didn't give a flying nerf about.
She stopped at a street vendor selling roast bantha sandwiches, her stomach growling in anticipation. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and it wasn't good to train on an empty stomach. Plus, the smells were mouth-watering. "How much?" she asked the besalisk vendor in accented Basic.
"Two credits," he rumbled. Two of his hands were busy preparing extra sandwiches and setting them aside while the other two wiped themselves on a towel. "Three for five."
"Deal." She pulled out a bill-fold from her pants-pocket and handed him a five-credit note.
"Good bantha," the vendor said amiably. Besalisks loved to chit-chat. "I've got a connection with an importer top-side." While he tucked the money away with one hand, the other three went to work bagging up three sandwiches in a white paper sack for her, along with a wad of napkins.
"Thanks," she said, accepting the bag and moving on. She doubted that the besalisk had any such connection top-side, or even anywhere near the upper reaches of Denon's cityscape. The higher one went, the more affluent the neighborhoods became. Still, the sandwiches smelled tantalizing, and while she didn't like spending her hard-earned money as she rarely got tips, she hadn't wanted to hang out to eat in the cantina's kitchen where she would undoubtedly run into Isara, who was working the night shift.
She ducked down an alley and climbed a fire escape, sitting on the stairs and remaining motionless for several long moments, watching to make sure there was no one around. Old habits die hard, and she didn't like eating where other people could find her. Back in the depths of Nar Shadda, the Smuggler's Moon, she'd lived as a teenager in a disused storm drain and learned to hide her food when she ate so other vagrants wouldn't try to steal it or take it by force.
The sandwiches were indeed delicious, and the bantha surprisingly high-quality. She made a mental note to visit that besalisk again as she licked the juice from her fingers. Much better than the scurrier kabobs she'd steal from a toydarian who lived two storm drains over. She tore into the second sandwich and grinned as the juice ran down her chin. She was glad the besalisk had included napkins. The short order chefs hired by Beriska had nothing on these sandwiches.
She froze. Something had rattled below her, a can, maybe. She slowly glanced down and squinted. A grubby human girl came into view, dressed in rags, unaware that she was being observed. She looked around cautiously, then lifted the lid off a dumpster and poked around inside.
How often had that been her? Mika thought to herself. It was all too easy to remember how she'd done the same, half-crazed with hunger and paranoid of any sudden noise. Shaking her head, she hissed.
The girl's head shot up instantly, quickly gazing around for a threat.
"Hey, you hungry?"
The girl looked up at her, fear in her eyes.
"Here. It's a sandwich." She held up the wrapped food, then tossed it down to the girl, who snatched it and bolted. Sighing in contentment and feeling pleasantly full, she stood up and tossed the bag into the dumpster, then climbed off the fire escape. Moments later, she was just another face in the crowd.
The air had continued to grow cooler, so she turned her collar up and put her hands in her pockets. At a corner, she took the stairs down two levels, then crossed the sky bridge to another block and hurried on. She hoped no one had been in her spot—squatters were almost as numerous as the scurries that gave the Gnaw its name. Her gear was well-hidden, or the important stuff was, at least, but she still worried.
She suddenly felt like she was being watched and darted a quick glance behind her. It wasn't impossible that some would-be stick-up artists might try to bother her, but most would see the collar and think twice. Most slaves down in the Gnaw were owned by Black Sun, directly or indirectly, and taking what belonged to Black Sun was a good way to wind up missing.
Mika didn't see anyone who looked like they might be following her, though the feeling persisted. She changed her route to the warehouse, taking a twisting, turning path until she was sure no one was following her, then continued on.
The warehouse was built into the side of one of the massive buildings that comprised the majority of the structures on Denon. She'd found the place while wandering around one night not long ago after Beriska had purchased her from Drafulla the Hutt, and had been coming here once or twice a week ever since.
On a darkened street, she quickly darted into the inky shadows of a narrow alley, her sensitive eyes adjusting and mitigating the darkness. The alley was little-used, which suited her just fine, and branched off into a small cul-de-sac barricaded with a rusty cyclone fence. She avoided stepping in several oily puddles and hopped the fence, landing nimbly on the other side.
The entrance to the warehouse was a sliding door that she'd recently fitted with a new chain and shielded lock the size of her fist. She pulled out a code cylinder and opened the lock, then removed the chain and went inside, closing the door behind her. It was pitch black inside so she dropped the chain and pulled out a small glowrod.
There was no electricity to the warehouse, but she didn't need it, having long ago searched out and memorized its dimensions. It was approximately fifteen meters wide, thirty long, and twenty high, with a large office complex off to the right along the side. Dozens of empty crates a meter on a side had been left behind and were thickly coated with dust and grime; it had been many years since anyone had been in here but her.
The place just smelled old, like old machinery and dust, and in the distance, she could hear the whoosh of airspeeders, and a siren from the police. Its silence seemed reverential somehow, and as she crept along towards the office off to the side, her footsteps, which she knew were almost imperceptibly quiet, seemed to thunder in the vast darkness. She couldn't help but jump every time she scuffed her shoe on something, or some broken glass crunched a little too loud.
From what she had been able to ascertain, the warehouse had once been used as a processing facility to package droid parts, but had been abandoned decades ago, most likely right before the Clone Wars. It served her purposes well enough, and luckily, the building it was in was warmed by geothermal ducts which passed under the warehouse, keeping its interior warm.
She quietly made her way into the office structure, kicking aside one particularly bold scurrier who hissed at her. "Shut up, Danya!" she laughed in a whisper. The light from her glowrod reflected off the broken glass in the door to the office, which she gingerly pushed open, and was swallowed by the suffocating darkness. Her shoes crunched the glass shards, and she was forced to duck under a broken light fixture hanging from the ceiling by a single wire. She'd left it hanging there to alert her if someone had been in here, because if they had, the light would most likely be on the floor. There was litter everywhere, too—scurrier droppings, clouded flimsiplast that disintegrated at a touch, bits of plaster and broken ceiling tiles, and rusted furniture.
At the end of the narrow hallway with a door on either side was the office she wanted. Inside was more debris, along with a battered metal desk and a couple of chairs. She picked one up after putting the glowrod in her mouth, and set it against the wall under an air duct, then hopped up on the chair and lifted the grate to reach inside. Finding what she was looking for, she then quickly went back into the main part of the warehouse—she hated the claustrophobic darkness of the offices, but it was the best hiding place for her secret treasure, the contraband that risked her life.
Most of the crates had been stacked two and three high by her in the middle of the warehouse floor, forming a ring approximately ten meters across. In the center of it was a smaller crate with a fusion lantern sitting on top. She flicked this on, and a few seconds later, the ring area was lit up. From outside the ring, she knew, there would be only a faint glow to be seen above the tops of the crates.
Inside the crate the lantern sat on were a few supplies—several days of old gleb-rations, a medical kit, bottled water, and some blankets and towels, along with a hold-out blaster she'd stolen from one of the patrons of the Blue Nebula. It was always good to have a back-up plan, she mused, tossing her jacket over the crate; she knew she wouldn't need it with the contraband in her hand.
A flick of her thumb brought forth the green blade of her lightsaber with a snap-hiss.
Before being enslaved a second time, she'd had a chance to spend several years with Master Cal Shara, a human former Jedi who'd studied under the Jedi Master Niko Tyris after he'd left their vaunted order. Unfortunately, their time had been cut short by the attention of the Inquisitorius, and in the ensuing melee, she'd been captured by Drafulla the Hutt, who'd quickly sold her to Beriska. She'd managed to hide the lightsaber hilt, though it was in a rather uncomfortable location, and after being sold to Beriska, retrieved it with more pain and a permanent scar a few centimeters to the right of her navel. It would be the last time she smuggled anything under her skin!
It was something none of them knew about—Beriska or the other slaves; Beriska, because Mika actually cared about the feeorin and didn't want to give her any more to worry about; and those catty schuttas because they didn't need anything else to fuel their disdain for her. Beriska, though, would undoubtedly go into Corellian overdrive if she ever found out that one of her slaves was a Force user with some small skill, and then who knew what would happen? Would Beriska claim the bounty on her? It was unlikely, but Mika couldn't take that chance.
No, the plan was simply to buy her freedom and move on before anyone could discover her secret because if the Inquisitorius ever tracked her down again, her options for escape were pretty limited with a slave collar around her neck; and if the others hunting her found out… She shuddered at the thought of that.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and launched into a series of blindingly fast combat maneuvers, the lightsaber humming as it flashed this way and that. Thrust flowed into slash, slash into block, and block into feint. She back-flipped off of a crate at the periphery of the ring, spinning the lightsaber behind her as she landed and blocking high, then spin-slashing into a downward-angled sweep.
Cal Shara had called the style Ataru, and said it was an ancient lightsaber form that the Jedi had used for millennia to train their padawans, or apprentices. She'd assured Mika, though, that in the hands of someone who'd mastered the form, it could be one of the most deadly styles. Mika, however, found herself drawn to its simplicity and economy of movement—no motion was wasted, and every attack could easily be turned into a defense.
For her, it was a meditation, and with the blade in her hand and the Force flowing through her, she felt more relaxed and less vulnerable. She could forget about the cantina and all of its troubles for a little while. She'd found that becoming proficient in lightsaber combat had come to her far more easily than learning to control the flow of the Force to do other things.
She feared this was because anger came to her so easily, and Cal Shara had warned her that such ease could lead to the Dark Side. The few times she had actually called on the Force, it had been involuntary and had resulted in explosive force being directed at someone, with shattering results. She'd become a little better at it in her time with Cal Shara, but she much preferred using her lightsaber to deal with problems, or avoiding them all together.
A light sheen of sweat formed on her skin as she pushed herself harder and harder. Her focus narrowed until there was only the hum of the lightsaber and its green blade flashing, making the shadows waver drunkenly. Her muscles began to ache, but she pushed through it. The rhythm of movement, the pattern of motion, and her steady breathing all heightened the meditation. Her movements blurred from speed, and all her thrusts and blocks and slashes were flawless.
"Mika?"
Her heart seized in terror as she startled and spun, landing in a crouched stance, lightsaber held in a defensive block. Her eyes widened in as she saw who the voice belonged to.
"Mika?" Beriska asked again, fear in her eyes as well as she stepped cautiously between two crates and into the circle of light on the other side of the ring.
Mika suddenly felt trapped and very much afraid.