When I spent those few hours alone with the Hidden Bek Race Master, I was as astounded as he at the pace that I picked up riding the bike. I tried to attribute it to my experience with flying. Once the engine was on and I was surfing through the tunnels, nothing felt quite like it; the warm, exhaust-filled air rushed past me and every turn felt like a new adventure.
But the truth was, it was completely different. Most single-person or tiny space-flying ships allowed for some sort of in-atmosphere control that let a pilot land safely on the ground of a planet, but in space there was nothing to drag against. Some engineering company had long ago decided to include a manual set of controls to make it feel more like the pilot was able to influence the twists and turns of the ship by creating its own 'drag' with tiny thrusters that would send jets of fuel in opposite directions to stop an inexperienced pilot from sending the ship into a continuous spiral of movement.
This was nothing like that. The swoop bike hummed underneath me like a living, breathing animal and responded to every push or pull with no resistance. Even in the clunkiest ship I'd piloted to date, the passage was a thousand times smoother than the jittering hunk of metal beneath me. My teeth were chattering underneath my closed mouth. Every turn I made, the bike tilted ever so slightly to the ground and I felt like a simple shift would send me tumbling to the ground if I didn't get caught under the bike itself.
That was one of the rules the Race Master — a portly old man with multiple scars across his face and arms — had given me. In order, the rules were: don't turn too fast, don't turn too slow, don't let up even if you are worried the bike will blow up, don't stop the bike in the middle of the race, and don't fall off the bike. Each of those would lead to certain death, either by my own swoop bike or a contestant's.
He had given me the other rules of course. When to go, when not to, and other tips on avoiding obstacles and using them to my advantage against other contestants.
Now, with the swoop bike humming underneath me and several bikes in front and behind me, with the crowd roaring all around us, I began to see the appeal of a racer's life. The lights switched in front of us. Red. I glanced up at the crowd, imagining that I could see the orange of Carth's jacket next to Mission's blue lekku. Yellow. I ran my eyes over the docking area for bikes. A Duros stood behind a semicircular desk taking last minute additions to the race. Beside him, well under guard and in a tiny electric cage, was a young dark haired girl that I assumed was Bastila.
And then the light switched to green and the race started.
Swoop racing apparently had several iterations throughout the Core Republic and Outer Rim worlds. Some versions were on singular tracks that wound around and around with areas reserved for hidden debris or speed bumps that would change after every run. Some were open to the public and allowed the spectators themselves to become as much of an obstacle as the rest of the debris on the course.
Taris, home of swoop racing, offered several different options for swoop racers that varied by location, race and the time of year. This particular race consisted of a large route that was hidden within a tunnel. While viewers could spectate from the multiple cameras and angles, they were largely kept out of the race itself on Taris. Here, it was each swoop racer for themselves. There were no guns in these primitive metallic blocks that we rode, but the mind games and obstacles on the course were just as deadly.
I was somewhere in the back, several people on a variety of bikes in front and behind me. My bike groaned with the pressure as it struggled to rise to the speed I was trying to get out of it.
I threaded my way through the others, picking up speed as best as I could. In order to use my accelerator, I had realised early on, I needed to have room to accelerate to. Using the boost while behind another racer — while definitely exciting to the crowd — wasn't something I was willing to lose my life to test out.
My plan had been simple; force the movement on the track such that my speeder had an open track in front of it. Unfortunately the way the track was built, and with the amount of other racers on the track with me as well, that meant that I had to push past to first. And I was sure there was no way I could do that without the accelerator in the first place. It seemed almost like a vicious redirect loop. There was no way I could get that far ahead without experience.
Or a sheer amount of luck.
One of the strategies in swoop racing was to force your opponent into debris fields. Some parts could cling to the swoop bike and mess with the aerodynamics. And for every section of debris, there was a charged speed platform that was essentially clear of all obstacles for a short section of tunnel. I switched gears from trying to push the others into the fields to securing those stretches of free tunnel for myself. I may have thought my bike was clunky, but it seemed that racing for one of the top swoop gangs had its perks; the bike I had was clearly one of the best the Beks had had to offer. I was able to slip through small enough gaps between speeders and angle the bike just so to miss narrow entryways enough to gain speed on some of my rivals. But these were seasoned swoop bike racers and soon they had begun to anticipate my moves and cut me off to the delight of the crowd.
We may have been cut off by sight to the crowd around us but I could hear them loud and clear. I passed the first bike in front of me with barely a hair's breadth of space between the older Togruta's bike and mine, and I heard the collective gasp of the crowd over the roar of the bikes' engines. A cheer rose as I slipped in between two other bikes, twisting out of the path of debris quickly enough to send one rider spinning confusedly behind me in the other direction and forcing the other rider to bank to a hard stop or face death.
The crowd was abuzz by the time I caught up with the lead racer, but I noticed the finish line far too late to kick in the prototype accelerator. We both sped past the line at almost the same time, but the other racer — a Rodian in mismatched armour — drove past the line just a few inches before I did and the time went to him.
I cursed in my seat and pushed my bike a few feet forward on direction of one of the coordinators making hand signals on the top of the track. Every racer got to run as many times as they liked, but special privilege was given to the ones placing in the first few top runs. Since this was my first run I hadn't qualified yet to get a seat right in front of the queue of racers, which would have let me boost with the accelerator and beat everyone's speed regardless of their riders' skills, but my current time was good enough to at least place me in the front half of the first quarter of racers. We waited for the rest to finish the lap and decide if they wanted to try again or leave the track. A few minutes later, we were off again.
I should say at this point that none of this was happening at the speed with which I am detailing the race. I barely had time to process half of what was going on, though time and conversation with Carth and Mission on what they saw that day gave me a completely different perspective. What I was aware of was the sounds. Roars of differently styled engines, each with its own pitch rose and fell as the bikes passed one another. Above it the riders' ululating calls and taunts rose just below the deafening thunder of the crowd around us as they watched the saga unfold on gigantic screens above the actual tracks. And the only other thing that registered were the smells; every time we passed an exhaust vent my nose would wrinkle with a memory of the sewers we had trudged through to get here. Exhaust fumes spread across the track in mere minutes like a noxious cloud of warm dense air. I had a gas mask on before I ran the second race, already coughing in little fits each time I passed behind a speeder.
Despite that, by the fourth run — I'd placed third and first in the last two races — I was starting to feel the bike heating up underneath my seat. I knew I was only one or two more races from losing my bike, and I couldn't shake the image of the scoreboard past my head.
Points were tallied on a per-run basis but the goal was to get the least time over all races. I was third right now, but even if I finished first again I would have no luck in getting Bastila. I needed to beat the first person's time. And so far — apart from my last narrow win — the Rodian I had raced against in the first match had beaten all of my times.
But I had my final trick up my sleeve, and for the first time in the race I was ready to actually use it. My score had earned me a spot in the front row, which meant I could use the accelerator without worrying about clipping into another rider and liquifying my bones. And the second the light switched to green and the bell pealed, I twisted the dial on the bike and turned the accelerator on.
This must be what it is like to ride a spaceship without all the contraptions. I felt the wind tear at the tiny parts of my exposed face painfully. My eyes were streaming underneath the goggles from my mask. The tunnel around me formed one dangerous long line of dashes and dots. I didn't veer off center too much — any incorrect angle shift could have sent me careening into the wall — but I smoothly navigated around the obstacles on the track. Even when I did hit a pile of debris, I blew right past it so quickly that I barely noticed.
Everything else around me — sound, smell, even thought — vanished as my speeder flew past the track. I vaguely heard a dull roar as a colourful display of lights flashed in front of me, indicating that I was almost at the finish line.
My fingers tightened around the handlebars in anticipation. A quick glance at the mirror in front showed me my Rodian adversary bearing down on me with purpose. My breathing stalled and I had to force myself to inhale and exhale underneath the gas mask. I had assumed that if I made a run with the accelerator that no one would be able to match my time, but I knew instantly that if the Rodian rode again without me to trip him up, he could easily reach my score. And I could feel the scorching metal through the thin material of the speeder bike seat; I was not going to be able to make another run on this rust bucket.
As my bike sped through the end of the track and past the line that designated the track from the end, I realised that if this was only for my pride, I could have just as easily taken that score and left with it. With my experience and know-how, I was honestly amazed I had even gotten this far without riding into a wall.
But this was not just for a medal. I didn't take this race for a personal achievement. And I needed Bastila in order to get off the backwater reject that was the planet Taris.
I grinned at the sound of the horns blaring as I crossed the line, announcing that a new record had been set. Even as my bike slowed I turned it around in a semicircle, taking just long enough to ensure it was lined up correctly. I loosened my feet from the footholds on the bike and somersaulted off the back as it sped through in a straight line in the direction of the other racers. My hand burned sharply from its quick brush over the back of the speeder bike as I flipped over it.
I deserved at least that much, especially for what I was trying to do.
The Rodian shrieked in terror but he was too close to move in any helpful direction. My bike caught on a piece of debris and flipped over, careening into both the Rodian and another racer behind him. At that speed, the collision was immense and they both died on impact.
Several other racers slowed down behind the remains, veering madly out of the way of flying debris. Metal shrieked as it was torn apart, loudly echoing over the roar of the crowd. I quickly found a foothold on the side of the track and jumped up onto the platform with a little difficulty, favouring my burned hand. Almost everyone on the platform was over on the other end, looking at the destruction on the track.
I felt the rush of air as a speeder swooped past me, and one or two others followed. They had carefully navigated through the debris but most other riders weren't so lucky and there were a few more crashes as I lifted myself onto my knees on the platform. The commentator ran over to me and helped me stand up.
"Nice trick with the bike," he muttered, impressed, "No one's gonna beat that time now."
I watched the scoreboard shift as it calculated all the times of the finished track. The letters of the first line sped through the alphabet while the totals were calculated and finally spelled out the pseudonym the Hidden Bek Race Master had given me.
"Mysterious Stranger in the lead!" A voice roared loudly over the comms. Gadon Thek's Race Master hadn't exactly cared to think of an original name.
The crowd cheered and booed. I walked to the side and sat down slowly as the Duros explained that I still had to wait until the end of the full race before they announced me as the winner. Technically if someone beat my time the prize would go to them. He congratulated me again for getting rid of the only real competition I had, saying I should be proud of my accomplishment.
"I've never seen anyone more ruthless than since Bendak Starkiller joined the arena on the upper levels," he crowed happily.
I felt sick to my stomach. Pain was shooting up my arms from the burn on my hand and when I closed my eyes I could see the Rodian's eyes grow wide underneath his mask, his hands scraping the bars on his bike to turn quickly but ultimately failing.
After a few failed attempts at getting me to respond, the Duros ran back to his station at the signal that the track had cleared and the next race was to start while I held a quickly melting ice pack over my injured hand. Both the Race Master and the announcer had failed to mention that I needed to bring healing supplies with me onto the track.
While the Duros went to announce the next few races I leaned back against the wall and took in the rest of the platform. Bastila was off to the side, imprisoned behind a static cage, mostly hidden from view by two large, hulking guards that stood in front of the cage. Brejik must have had to dose her with a heavy sedative to stop her from breaking free. Even with the measures Brejik had taken, Bastila's two guards turned every now and then to make sure she was not trying something, gripping their weapons tightly each time they did so.
The turnout for the next few heats was abysmal and by the third run everyone had realised the time the accelerator had gotten me was too short to beat. The crowd booed loudly as the Duros claimed me the winner when no one had shown up for the fourth run. I couldn't blame them; they had expected more of a show.
The Duros grabbed my burnt hand and I grimaced as he held it high in front of a roaring crowd — this loading area had no roof and was open for the crowd to see — and placed a medal over my neck.
"And the reward," the announcer said, his voice booming into the mic. The two guards in front of Bastila raised their weapons — one held a gun and the other an electric pike of some sort — and keyed in the code to release the electric field.
Before the field shimmered down, a human male ran in front of the cage, gun held out and a scowl on his face. "Hold it right there," he snapped, pointing the gun at me, "or I'll shoot. This racer's a lousy cheater. She used an accelerator to win that she stole from me and killed all of my racers. You don't deserve this reward, and I'll have you dead before you get it."
The Duros announcer shrieked and pointed the end of a long digit at the man. "Brejik! You can't do that! Rules is rules, and she won!" His complaint died out as he stared at the smoking hole in his chest. The alien shuddered, long digits drooping, and dropped to his knees before faceplanting to the ground, crowd had been too stunned to silence by the echoing sound of the shot to even react to the clatter of the announcer's mic against the ground. Feedback echoed through the speakers until it raised a cacophony of sound over the system.
Brejik shot the mic, and the sounds stopped as the receiver cut out. He shifted his arm to point at me and glared over the smoking barrel of his gun. "Now I take care of you," he snarled.
Before I could do anything Brejik jerked back suddenly, a shot echoing loudly in the arena as he pulled the trigger in surprise. It flew harmlessly wide and bore a hole in the wall twenty feet to my side. Bastila emerged behind him, arm wrapped around his throat, "No one's taking me for a prize," she said, eyes blazing in anger. The two guards turned to shoot at her and I acted quickly, grabbing the medal off my neck and throwing it at one to distract him while I jumped at the other, grabbing his pike and pulling it out of his loose grip. I twirled the staff and struck him across the temple, pushing him back off the platform and onto the track below. The second one recovered but Bastila had kicked his gun out of his hands, still choking a struggling Brejik with one arm. I slammed the electric end of the pike into Brejik's chest and he shuddered as the current ran through his body. Bastila let go of him and knocked the other guard out faster than I could follow.
Brejik crumpled to the ground, dead, and I stood back up, tossing the pike away and grinning at Bastila, "We're a good team," I said, stopping in my tracks almost immediately once I got a good look at her face.
Since Taris I've come across more coincidences and odd happenings than I could count, but at that time it was something I could barely fathom. I was standing in front of the woman I had dreamt about several days earlier, down to the last detail. Her hair was slightly longer, and her tired eyes had bags underneath them, but I had no doubt that it was the same person. With a speed faster than I could follow, Bastila grabbed the pike before it hit the ground and held the business end against my throat, "If you think to take me for a prize, you'll meet the same end as your friend here," she snarled. It took me a second to realise the predicament I was in, and I yelled as her thumb hovered over the current switch, pushing the staff away from me. Her hold was strong.
"I'm … here to ... help," I choked over the staff. I took a deep breath and with a final wrench I pulled it from her grasp and tossed it into the track. An arc of electricity sparked from the end of the pike and danced across the track to the guard trying to lift himself out onto the platform. He screamed loudly and fell back down.
Bastila looked at me like she was seeing a ghost. There was something akin to recognition in her eyes, but if I hoped that would solve anything, I was wrong. It only seemed to make her more confused. She mouthed something wordlessly, her gaze slipping between me to the pike I threw onto the track. I was still a little shocked by how much younger she was than I was expecting. When Carth had said we needed a Jedi to help us get off Taris, she was definitely not what had come to mind.
"My name is Yevana Mar," I said, stepping back and showing her my empty hands to say that I was no threat. "My friends and I are here to rescue you."
I cannot imagine what was running through her head at the moment when I stepped forward and noticed the recognition in her eyes. Bastila muttered my name after I introduced myself and there was a brief moment of relief in her expression.
I started to say more about my impromptu team and our plan to save her, but Bastila cut me off before I could continue, her shock replaced by anger, "Rescue? Rescue! I am not some princess for you to go and save! If you hadn't noticed, I freed myself from that cage and I took care of those men while you danced around with that stick. Now you listen here-"
"I'm with Carth Onasi!" I snapped in a furious whisper, vaguely aware that a crowd had finally begun to form and the edges of the platform. Most of them were calling to the now-deceased Brejik, which I didn't take as a good sign.
The message finally seemed to get through to Bastila. Relief flooded her face, "Carth? So he's alive then? That's good, that's very good. You said you're with him? Wait, yes, I remember you from the Endar Spire. I'm surprised he isn't here himself. Why were you in charge of this shoddy attempt to get me out of here?"
"Shoddy? I won an entire race to get you back!"
"Might I remind you that I was in a cage and I got myself out," she started again.
"Look, I don't have time for this," I said, finally losing my patience. "We're going to go see Carth and then after that we'll-"
I went to grab her wrist, ans I don't quite remember if I ever finished my sentence. My fingers encircled the bare skin of Bastila Shan's wrist with the intent of dragging her off the platform by force if I had to.
And then everything went black.
Strikes.
Each strike brings her closer to her goal. She finds relief in the rhythmic buzz and blur of the weapon in her hand as it strikes true to its target.
Something falls to the ground in front of her, she hears the thuds of several things falling around her, hears the buzz of her companions' weapons as they ready their weapons to fight alongside her.
But her eyes are fixated on the robed figure in front of her, standing calmly amongst the chaos, arms crossed and no weapon bared, as if she is a mere joke and not even worth attention.
Irritation flares — very unbecoming of a Jedi, yet she feels the emotion nonetheless. She brings her blade behind her in a ready stance, lifting her hand in front of her and pointing at the figure in front of her. Words, her words, echo off the silence of the bridge as the floor shakes and rumbles beneath them.
"You will never win, Revan."
I awoke in the room of our borrowed apartment. Something heavy was tightly wrapped around one hand and I distinctly remember the feel of being covered by a thin scratchy blanket. My eyes searched around in confusion as I tried to remember where I was. With a jolt I sat up and looked around, horror growing at the realisation that I did not have any idea how I had gotten here.
I shakily threw the blanket off my legs and lifted them off the couch and onto the floor. At once Carth, Mission and Zaalbar appeared at the edge of the couch.
Carth heaved a sigh of relief, "We were worried when you passed out back there at the race. But your vitals are good and you're awake, and that's what matters." Mission grinned as Zaalbar roared a greeting. "Man you really musta been tired. It's been hours since we dragged you back up here," she said.
Carth looked at me as though he wasn't sure if he should be happy or extremely worried. "You are feeling okay?" he asked. Mission wrapped an arm around me as I felt my legs shake a bit.
"What-" my voice was raw, and my throat hurt. Carth stepped back and quickly walked over to the sink, grabbing a cup and rinsing it under water. "We got Bastila," he said over his shoulder, "We found the other soldiers. Now all we have to do is find a way off this planet." He made it sound so easy, so simple. "Bastila can tell us how we'll get out of the Sith blockade."
"Bastila?" I frowned at Carth as memories of the race flooded back. I remembered the girl I'd saved. "She's a child! All this time you talked about some great Jedi about to win the war — I thought we were going to get an experienced leader."
"She's a Jedi," Carth said, as if that explained everything. "She'll know what to do. I trust her."
"No, she's a kid. And stupid enough to be caught by Brejik. Did you see him? He barely had two brain cells to rub together. How'd he capture her if she's such a great Jedi?"
"There has to be an explanation and I'm sure if we let her explain it to us, we wouldn't be standing here discussing this."
Mission, still keeping me standing, glared somewhere at the area behind Zaalbar and put in her own opinion, "She wanted to leave my friend to die after she risked her life to save her. Some Jedi."
"She what?" I asked hoarsely. I shot Carth a betrayed look as confusion ran through my mind, unable to fathom what Mission was trying to say.
Carth shook his head and studiously stared at the empty cup he was wiping dry. I heard a soft drip as the smell of caf slowly filled the air. "It was probably just a small misunderstanding. Bastila didn't mean anything by it. Jedi work in their own way," he added.
"She's got to be the worst Jedi I've ever heard of!" Mission said at the same time that I snapped, "Well in my experience, Jedi are all assholes. We're better off without them." Carth glared at me.
"You told her I was a Jedi?" A soft voice sounded from the other side of the room. A small, dark-haired young woman — just a girl really — slowly walked into my field of vision. Bastila seemed worn and tired, but it struck me how young she really was. I had to have at least ten years or more on the girl. This was the Republic's salvation?
Carth had turned and was explaining something about Mission finding Bastila's lightsaber in Brejik's bag after they ran over to find me unconscious. I carefully unwrapped the medpak from my hand.
"Did you try to leave me with the Black Vulkars?" I asked, keeping my eyes trained on my hand. I flexed my fingers, checking for any scars. There were none.
Bastila was silent for a moment. "They offered to let us go without harm if we gave you to them-"
"To kill," Mission cut in angrily.
"-as compensation. You did kill their leader. And I heard something about an attack on their base as well."
"I did that to save you," I said. I turned to Carth and pointed to Bastila "Are you serious?" I asked him as he walked over to us, two cups of steaming caf in his hands. "This child is what we've come all this way to save? She's barely old enough to be a soldier let alone a Jedi. I'm not taking orders from her." Carth handed me a small cup of caf that I sipped gratefully from.
"Look, I know you're not used to the way the Republic does things, but I've worked with her before. I trust her with my life." Carth said at the same time that Bastila snapped, "You did a piss-poor job of saving me then. You blew up an enemy base with no prompting and almost started a turf war after publicly plastering your face on every Tarisian screen — and many more within the Republic. Even if Malak didn't have you on his radar before you can be certain he'll be watching you closely." Bastila crossed her arms and frowned at Carth, "I disagree entirely with your decision to let her run the race."
"It was my decision, thanks." My voice was stronger now, clearer. I strode over to the singular table, now covered in ration paks and datapads, and slammed my mug onto it. "Everything we did since we got here was to set you free. You could be a little more thankful you know."
"Your decision?" Bastila's eyes narrowed. It seemed almost like she only ever heard what she felt like hearing at the time.
"Carth didn't tell you he thought I was part of some secret Jedi plan to keep you alive?" I asked innocently.
"And I take it you never thought to correct him?" She snarled back.
I walked close by her. We were similar enough in height that she didn't have to crane her neck to look me in the eye the way she did with Carth. "Ask him yourself," I said softly. Carth stepped in, pushing both of us a few feet apart.
"Whatever the reason, I gave her the reigns and she freed you Bastila," he said reluctantly, sending me a look that made me think this conversation wasn't over. "We wouldn't be here without her."
"Oddly coincidental then," she said.
"Just like you leaving me behind with the Black Vulkars?" I asked. We still hadn't stopped glaring at each other. There was a tension in the air I could almost reach out and feel. I wasn't sure if it was a combination of my overactive imagination and the kolto still running through my veins, or just extreme tiredness, but I almost thought I could see Bastila's skin grow faintly for a few seconds.
"Look that's enough," Carth clapped his hands together in the space between us, the sharp noise bringing us both out of our trance.
"I don't care what your issues are, you both gotta work it out as we go along," Carth said.
"Well why don't we start by telling random Tarisian citizens every detail of our secret mission." Bastila jerked her head in the direction of Mission and Zaalbar.
"Lady I was the one that picked up your dumb glow stick from Brejik's bag after Eva saved you," the Twi'lek growled.
"Why did he have your lightsaber?" I asked Bastila. "I want to know exactly how a Jedi like you got captured. Carth evaded the Sith the whole time and I was knocked out. How'd you get caught by some third-rate criminal when you had your lightsaber on you?"
"That is none of your business," she snapped in response. Bastila drew herself up, "Not that it matters but they caught me by surprise."
"Wait, you were awake?" Carth asked, "How'd they catch you then? A few criminals like that couldn't have been a problem for you. I've fought with you before."
Bastila's face flushed red. As innocent as the intent of Carth's question was, she was taking full offense.
"My lightsaber just must have rolled under my seat. I was just trying to see where it was-"
"Hold on," Carth said incredulously, shocked enough to interrupt her. "Bastila did you lose your lightsaber?"
"I did not!" Her face flushed an even deeper, angrier red. "How dare you insinuate-"
"I don't think there was a need to insinuate anything," I said, crossing my arms. Mission threw her head back and cawed with laughter. Even Zaalbar — who had remained largely silent throughout this — snorted. Carth was doing his best not to laugh, but he couldn't keep the mirth out of his tone, "Bastila we all make mistakes," he said gently, "Yours was a bit costly it's just … I'm sorry, what happened was horrible but ... I thought the Jedi treated those things like their lifelines."
"I need to shower," Bastila said coldly. She shoved past me and slammed the door, ignoring us as we called out after her. A few minutes later we heard water rattle noisily against the metal showerbox on the other side.
Carth sighed. "You really ought to be less harsh on her, you know."
"Me?" My jaw dropped, "You brought up the lightsaber."
"I mean about this whole thing. Sure, maybe we've got a decade or so on her, but the Jedi wouldn't entrust the fate of the galaxy to someone that wasn't ready." He glanced over to the bed. Bastila had made a small neat section for her belongings. Her lightsaber poked out underneath a pale yellow shirt. "They were ready to go to war to ensure that didn't happen the first time," he added darkly. "Revan paid the price and Malak will too."
"Okay," I said, "let's first just think about how we're getting out of here. If Malak saw me save her—"
"Most people think you were killed by Brejik. They saw you fall down after fighting him. Cameras cut out a little bit after." He shot me a worried glance, "This seems to be pretty common. Is it medical?"
"I don't know," I said, frustrated. The image of Bastila in my mind played over and over. Her details were much too sharp for some misplaced dream. I could understand the strange dream I'd had just before I woke up minutes ago. Seeing Bastila and fighting alongside her definitely could have placed that scene in my subconscious. But how could I explain seeing her in my dreams before we'd even met? A calm, logical voice whispered that I must have seen her somewhere on the Endar Spire. It watch a big ship and she was important. Even if I didn't directly remember it, we must have walked by each other or something. But I think even then a part of me sensed that wasn't the whole truth.
"Well he knows she's free and he knows she's working with someone. If I were Malak I don't know that I'd leave things to chance anymore. Now that she's free, he's probably sent out the best of his army. It's not going to be easier just because she's here."
Carth shrugged, "It just means we know we're going the right way."
"Carth, I don't know how they do things in the military but I don't consider having multiple assholes continuously trying to kill me a good sign of anything," I said, rummaging through the datapads laid out on the table. They'd been looking for blindspots on the Taris flight route. I saw a few illicit ads for ships listed on one datapad.
"No way we're getting this kind of money," I muttered, waving the datapad at Carth. He took it from me and frowned before speaking.
"That's the least of our worries. We can't go anywhere with that Sith blockade."
"Well we don't have a way of doing that from the planet. Unless you're suggesting we go into their base and somehow commandeer one of their own ships."
Carth gave me a look that had me violently shaking my head, "That was a joke. We're not doing that."
"I don't know what other option there is."
"Finding a ship for a decent price shouldn't be hard if you know any decent merchants down in the Lower City," Mission added, "which I do."
"We had this conversation while you were out," Carth explained. "Bastila thinks if we get a fast enough ship we can outrun the blockade. Her Force ability is supposed to help in a situation like this."
"Unless her Force ability is bringing down cruisers with a look, including whatever in space Malak has, I'm not sure how that will help us. You're a pilot Carth, this isn't something we would've attempted in our wildest dreams of we had a choice."
"We don't seem to have one," he shrugged, "I'll say it's a chance to prove our skills, how about that?"
I frowned at him. Mission and Zaalbar had gotten comfortable on the couch and were discussing which dealers they could trust to get us a half decent ship. I leaned back against the table and cradled the cup of caf in both hands.
"You trust her that much?" I muttered, doing my best to keep the conversation out of Mission and Zaalbar's notice. Carth dragged one of the chairs to my left and sat beside me, facing the table and occasionally looking at a datapad, the bright blue screen shining off his face for a few seconds before he switched to another one.
"I worked with her several times. I'm not saying she's easy to get along with," he sent me a poignant look, "but she's a good person with a good heart. She means well even if she doesn't know how to articulate it." He paused for a moment, then added, "What Mission said was true but I don't think Bastila really meant to just leave you there to die. She must've had a plan.
"I really think you need to give her a chance. If we get out of this at all, it's by working together like a team, the way we've been doing so far. The Sith will spot any issue in our group and exploit it. We all have the same goal of getting off Taris don't we?"
Sipping bitter caf in an old dilapidated apartment on a planet I didn't want to be on, it was hard not to see the wisdom of Carth's words. Whatever Bastila had done or tried to do, I was here alive, and that gut feeling I had that we couldn't stay on Taris much longer was growing stronger. The shower door opened and Bastila slowly walked out, her dark hair framing her face in tight, wet ringlets. Before I could open my mouth, Bastila addressed the room. "We have much to discuss. I would prefer to do it privately." Her eyes locked on mine.
Carth stood up immediately. "Mission, Zaalbar, I think we should go look at that place down by the cantina that had the Tarisian special."
"I don't want to leave-" Mission started to voice her concern for me but her words died as she looked at Carth's face. He sent me an assuring glance and pushed my other two companions to the front door. Zaalbar seemed fine with leaving but Mission sent me a glance before looking. I nodded and sent her a reassuring look. The sweet Twi'lek smiled faintly and turned into the hallway. She really was growing on me.
"We'll be back," Carth grunted before shutting the door behind them.
They left a wake of awkward silence. I dragged my eyes from my cup of caf to stare at Bastila's face, and we both began to talk at the same time.
"I just wanted to say I'm sorry-"
"I've been too harsh on you and I shouldn't-"
We paused, then both started up again. Bastila finally held up a hand and spoke.
"I misjudged you. You did your best given the circumstances and I let my pride get in the way of acknowledging your hard work. Without you I'd probably be the prized possession of some idiot slaver gang. I owe you my thanks."
Her apology was more sincere than I was expecting. "Bastila," I said, taken aback, "I appreciate it. I didn't mean to get so defensive about our work to get you but it's been a rough few days. Which, I'm sure you know," I added quickly.
She smiled at me and moved to sit down at the table.
"Now," she said, arranging the table and clearing off a good chunk of the datapads, "Carth told me what happened on the Endar Spire. He also went over what you told him of your escape as well. Not that I mistrust either of you," she said delicately, clearly trying to navigate a situation that was over her head, "but sometimes important details get missed. I would greatly appreciate if you could relay your tale. And leave no detail out."
"Of course." I turned a chair to face her and sat down, finishing the last of my caf and setting the cup down on the table.
I told her everything. From my daily tasks on the ship to waking up to Trask running in the room. I didn't leave out the part of leaving him behind, or the Sith that had attacked us. Bastila was very intent on my description of the Sith and our personal encounter. I'd thought it inconsequential that he'd tried to hold me with the Force since he had been weak enough that I escaped with little issue. Bastila's worried expression told me there was more to it than that, and I found myself second guessing everything that had happened since then.
I detailed our Taris trip to Bastila who nodded encouragingly. My take can't have differed much from Carth's at that point, except for the last few hours.
"The girl seems to have taken great interest in your well-being." Bastila looked at the door and I glanced over, expecting to see them enter again. It remained closed.
"I saved her friend. The Wookie, Zaalbar. I guess he owes me a life-debt now."
"That's a rare thing," Bastila said, watching me. I shrugged, "It probably wasn't a normal situation. Sith on Taris?"
"Hm." She seemed lost in thought for a moment before changing the topic. "You've lost consciousness several times then. Is it medical?"
"No." I wondered if I should explain the dreams to her. I hadn't mentioned it for either black-out.
"Interesting," she said, eyes drawn to the table in thought. "Are you conscious at all during these episodes? Maybe seeing things? Dreams?"
Her voice was deceptively casual but her eyes cut through the table like daggers. I dropped my gaze and studied the worn markings on the palm of my hand.
"It's nothing important."
"You said you'd tell me every detail," her voice was almost blatantly accusatory.
"Alright. Fine. I had a few weird dreams. You were in both of them I guess. Except I didn't know who you were the first time. It must have just been from some subconscious memory of having seen you in the 'Spire."
"What was I doing?"
I looked back up. Bastila was staring at me intently. I remember the feeling of being subjected to a very large, invisible microscope at the moment and wondering if Jedi could read minds.
I slowly explained her role in my dreams, watching her grow more and more troubled with each passing detail. Finally she let out a long breath once I'd exhausted every inch of my memory to countless probing questions from her.
"It's happening." She glanced at me quickly and stuttered, "Hu-happened. I mean."
"What's wrong with me?" I asked, "And why in all the bloody galaxy are you acting like I'm your worst nightmare come to pass?"
She shot me an insulted look. "First of all, nothing is wrong. This is perfectly normal, and we Jedi are trained to deal with it all the time."
"Deal with what?"
"Sometimes when someone has more than a modicum of Force sensitivity, coming into contact with a Force sensitive can jog certain things into place for them. Memories, tricks, various uses that the Force sometimes presents itself in. It's been well documented in the past. Usually it doesn't present itself as a problem so long as the Force sensitives aren't near these people for too long."
"Okay," I said, "where do I fit in?"
Bastila looked as if I was dragging the answer out from her by use of long, torturous screaming.
"You're clearly a Force sensitive. You wouldn't have gotten away from the Sith if not. And it explains your luck with the race. Carth was sure you weren't lying about never racing before. And your effectiveness at passing all the obstacles to get through to your objective."
"That's a little derogatory to non-Force sensitives."
"It usually tends to manifest itself in other ways," she continued, ignoring me. "Little tricks like turning a room cold, or always catching things from an insane trajectory. Or being really good at shooting."
"None of that really sounds like me," I said truthfully.
"Whatever it is, I think what little part of the Force you can unintentionally reach out to connected with me and you were able to see some of my most prominent memories."
"Memories? Those were your memories?"
"It was when I defeated the Dark Lord Revan. Everything you describe is as it happened. The bridge on the ship. The others. Revan. My attacks. You have it all down."
"Why would it show me your memories," I asked irritably, "that makes no sense! Why couldn't it show me mine? Do you even know what you're talking about?"
Bastila frowned. "The Force works in mysterious ways. As I said, it manifests differently in different people. Carth mentioned your...amnesia. I assume there was nothing in your past to remember."
"Well, can I learn to use it to see my own memories?" I remember feeling a spark of hope for the first time in months at the thought of repairing my damaged brain.
"That's not what the Force is used for!" She snapped, bursting the bubble of hope that had risen. "Honestly, I tried to work with you but this whole thing is ridiculous. I will not remain here to be made a mockery of."
I opened my mouth to retort but a loud knock sounded outside our door before I could. The door opened to admit Mission strolling in with Zaalbar, tailed behind by Carth. He caught both of our glances and shrugged guiltily.
Mission came over and dropped a small bag on the table. "Turns out the Tarisian Special is about as special as whatever they make in the Under City." I gagged at the smell. "I think they were honestly surprised someone was buying it," Mission said, "so they gave us extra." I glanced at Bastila to see a similar expression on her face. "I'll take care of it," I muttered quickly and grabbed the bag, running out of the suite as quickly as I could. There was no way I was going to leave it inside our place. I searched around for some garbage deposit of some sort.
I had finally found a chute and tossed the offending bag when a voice called out behind me in an easy tone. "Su cuy'gar."
I recognised the phrase; a standard Mandalorian greeting. Shutting the lid tightly on the duct, I turned and stood up slowly when I recognised him. It was the man we'd met down in the Under City. Ordo.
He had no visible mandalorian armour to speak of; I had no idea that they moved anywhere without it. Ordo slung his gun casually over his shoulder and coming to stand in front of me.
"Yeah," I said shakily, "so are you."
Ordo chuckled. "Name's Canderous. Formerly of Clan Ordo. When I saw you down in those slums, I thought for sure there would be two more rakghouls for me to clean up the next time I went down there. What do I know, barely a day later and you're killing the Black Vulkar leader on screen. I was impressed. Very impressed."
"Thanks," I said. I surveyed the empty hallway around us. He didn't have any friends that I could see. "How'd you find me?"
"Oh," he jerked his head in the direction of my apartment. "I saw your friends leaving some third-rate cantina up here a little while ago. Figured they'd lead me straight to you."
"You were looking for me?"
"Of course." He held out a datapad. "I've got something you and your friends are going to be very interested in."
It was going to have to be incredibly interesting to impress Carth and Bastila. "And what is that?"
"Ah ah ah." He shook the datapad, "We're about to enter a deal. That deserves a round of ale and some serious conversation, don't you think?"
"I appreciate it," I started, "but really I think my freelance work on Taris is done. I'm sure there are other bounty hunters you can contact for-"
"I only need you." His gaze bored into me. "And you'll be interested in this 'freelance job'. It comes with a ship and a way off this backwater dung heap."
I'll admit I was impressed by his conviction. My curiosity got the better of me. "All I have's shitty coffee," I offered. Canderous thought about it for a moment and shrugged, "That'll do," he replied. "But you'll owe me a drink."
"This works out and we get off planet? I'll buy you a whole damned bar."
Canderous grinned at me, "Careful what promises you make to a Mandalorian."
"We'll make it a drink," I amended. He laughed and followed me as I turned back to the small suite we'd been staying at. "Everyone," I said, gesturing to the man behind me, "this is Canderous. Of Clan Ordo. He has an offer for us that he'd like to discuss."
"Mandalorian!" Carth had his gun out, the barrel pointed straight at the other man's head. Bastila quickly got a hold of his arm and pulled him away to the other side of the table. He didn't drop his arm.
Canderous sighed and walked up to the table like a man with a death wish. "Might as well hold the coffee for now, haven't got the time." he told me, placing the datapad on my table. "I came here because you look like a woman who doesn't mind how the job's done, as long as it's done," he said, addressing me. Carth spat something in response but he ignored him and continued talking to me.
"Rescue that public, the Sith'll be all over you in a matter of a day or so. I bet your captive here is the reason they're on Taris in the first place. So you'll be looking for a way out of the Sith blockade." He pointed to the datapad. "Lucky for you, I know a way. Those IDs will get you my second main bargaining chip in this discussion." He held his arm out in front of him and pressed down on his comlog. A holo of a map of the Tarisian Upper City shimmered into view a few inches above his hand, casting a blue oceanic glow over his face. "You're here," he pointed to a location on the map. "There's a shop here that sells droid parts exclusively. Once you get here, give the owner this," he nodded at the datapad, "and she'll give you a droid. Sold only to Davik Kang's associate. Which you now are."
"Wait, wait. You want me to steal a droid from Davik Kang?"
"More like borrow. Those codes were given to me to get the droid, but I can't bring it anywhere near the Sith base without Davik getting suspicious. He's got the whole base heavily watched. But he doesn't know what the droid's going to look like, and he doesn't know who you are, so you can bring it to the base without issue."
"Why the base?"
"I'm getting to that, woman," he growled. His holo shimmered to a view of what I assumed was Taris from space; large, colourless spherical shape surrounded by large and small red dots surrounded the air between us. "The blockade," he explained. "They've got tons of ships patrolling the routes to and from Taris. But they let their own go through. That base on the Upper City will be the key. If we go there and download their identifier, we should be able to punch through their lines without issue. By the time they notice," the man chuckled, "we'll be well out of their hair."
"Where are we going to get a ship that's that fast?" I asked.
Canderous grinned, "Ships, my employer's got enough to spare. Fast ships? My employer's got one of the best. He's not much of a sharing man though so we'll have to infiltrate his base and take it."
"Seems well planned out for a Mando," Carth snarled. Bastila had convinced him to drop the gun but his knuckles were white from gripping it so tightly. I was afraid he was going to shoot himself accidentally.
"I've been wanting to get out for a while. Don't much care for Sith. And you seemed resourceful enough."
"Yevana Mar," I said, realising we hadn't properly introduced ourselves. "There's Carth, Bastila, Mission and Zaalbar," I added, gesturing to each one. Carth didn't seem too happy to have his name in Canderous' possession, but the others nodded politely.
Canderous inclined his head at each of my companions, "One warrior to another, this is your best way off the planet."
Carth snorted, "Like we'd trust a Mando. Last time we did, they snuck in like cowards and tried to stab us in the back."
"Couldn't stop us until your Revan came along."
The room went deadly silent. Canderous was standing calmly beside me but Carth's finger traced the barrel of his gun, as if he was still trying to convince himself not to use it.
"While you discuss your feelings," Canderous said in a low voice, turning back to me and inclining his head, "I'll be in the Lower City cantina. Come to me when you're done and I'll take you to Davik."
"There's no way in Space we'll join forces with you!" Carth snapped.
Canderous shrugged and walked out of the apartment door after sending me a knowing glance.
The room was silent for a bit. Mission cleared her throat, "He doesn't seem as mean as the Mandalorians that were here a few years ago."
"Carth," I started, already knowing the backlash I was going to get, "we needed an in. That's our way in."
"So … so we take the droid. Get the IDs. Find someone else to get a ship from. Problem solved."
Zaalbar roared in disagreement and Mission nodded at him. "Z's right. It won't be faster than Davik's. He made a big deal about it when he got that thing. It's supposed to be super fast. And the security on it is insane. We'd need an in, like Canderous."
Carth looked between us in surprise, searching for some form of support that he couldn't find. He finally turned to Bastila. "You're okay with this? With working for the enemy?"
"Carth," I said, as gently as I could, "they're not the enemy anymore. Our very real enemy is patrolling the skies and streets right now looking for us. And if they weren't on full alert before, they sure are now. I've just ... I've just got a feeling that we won't make it out of here if we wait too long."
Carth frowned and looked at Bastila again, who gave me a sharp look. "A feeling?" She asked.
"I can't really explain it." I thought about our conversation earlier, "Can this be how … it … manifests?"
Bastila nodded slowly. "And you have no qualms working with a Mandalorian? You must have some feeling towards them. Anger? Hatred?"
I shook my head and laughed, "I spent most of the 'War the way I spent the most of my life. Outside the Republic and not caring."
"Not caring about the millions of civilians they put in danger?" Carth asked.
I knew he meant it to sting but I honestly couldn't think of any loyalty I'd held to the Republic at that moment that would have caused such a strong hatred for the Mandalorians. They'd left me mostly alone in the small dealings I'd had with them, from what I could remember of my past life.
I shrugged, "You did your job as a soldier. I did mine. I'd sell to whoever had the money for it."
Bastila raised a hand and Carth cut off his response, slipping his gun back into its holster with a snarl and turning away to walk over to the other side of the room and rummage through his belongings. The young woman stared at me with narrowed eyes, "So you're okay to work with a Mandalorian?"
"I'm okay to work with a rakghoul if it gets me out of here," I said flatly.
"I think we should trust her instinct," Bastila said out loud. Mission and Zaalbar echoed their agreements. I could see Carth glaring at me from the corner of my eye but with Bastila's approval we both knew he wouldn't go against it.
"Let's go get us a droid," I said, picking up the datapad.