A/N: Hey everyone, after a long absence I've heard some interest in this story being continued. So we're back! Sorry it's a short one, but I'm trying to get a feel for this story again.

Chapter 27: Nar Shaddaa

Mira was hunting someone, she just wasn't sure who yet. That was her working theory, at least. It happened sometimes, her instincts, or subconscious, or whatever being one step ahead of her conscious mind.

And boy were her instincts tingling today as she walked past the local spaceport like she always did. And this time, going inside was the right move.

She stepped sideways, deftly weaving through the crowds. But she wasn't leaving. Oh no.

Mira smiled grimly.

She was hunting.

Marina did her best to ignore the others crowded into the cockpit and keep her face impassive as she looked out the viewport, but it was hard. Nal Hutta dominated the scene, its polluted, yellow-tinged atmosphere smeared across the dank, swampy surface. And that was the nicer part of the view.

Nar Shaddaa crouched in Nal Hutta's shadow, the moon cloaked in shadow. While at first glance its massively built-up surface, covered in endless skyscrapers, looked more civilized than Hutta's open hostility, it was a deliberately calculated impression intended to deceive visitors from the moment they arrived in-system. And it only went downhill from there.

While officially the Hutts ruled the moon, in reality they were just the biggest kath hounds in the pack, sitting atop a writhing mass of sentients each desperately trying to claw their way to the top before the place dragged them under and consumed them. Garish neon signs advertised every sort of pleasure imaginable, all available for a price. Huge carrier ships arrived daily to sell off refugees from the last two wars, adding new meat to satiate the endless grinding demand that kept those signs glowing. There was no law there, and all the most dangerous criminal cartels in this part of the galaxy had at least some representatives there to take part in the illicit trade where millions of credits flowed like water, often changing hands with violent suddenness.

And it got worse. With that many criminals moving that much money around, bounty hunters were attracted like flies to a corpse. They buzzed endlessly around the moon, plunging in to draw their pound of flesh of blood before darting out again.

There were few places in the galaxy more dangerous than Nar Shaddaa, but if you needed something you couldn't find anywhere else, then there was no alternative.

And yes, all the reasons she'd given the others were true—they did need to change the ship's transponder, and there were few places you could be more hidden than on Nar Shaddaa, but she had another reason to want to come here first. Master Zez-Kai Ell was down there somewhere. Her old master . . . he had always been kind and understanding. But more importantly, he was the only one she could see herself trusting enough to try to break the bond between herself and Kreia.

Assuming she lived long enough to find him. And that he was still alive.

She sighed. "Alright Atton, take us in."

Atton quirked an eyebrow at her, then shrugged. "Your funeral. Heading in."

The city-moon grew larger in the window until it dominated their view as they slid into the steady stream of traffic headed ever downwards. They watched quietly until they started to make out individual buildings.

"So . . . where do we land?"

Atton shrugged, not taking his eyes off the displays. "Pick an open spot and park, pretty much. If there are guys with blasters, maybe pick somewhere else."

Marina bit her lip. "Shouldn't we, ah, ask someone down there? Get permission?"

Atton sighed, locked in a course to the autopilot, and spun his chair around to see her. "Look, princess, I don't want to see you die if it's going to be my fault, so let me lay out some rules of the skies here on Nar Shaddaa. Number one, and most importantly—never show weakness, to anyone, under any circumstances. That means no backing down from fights, no taking 'no' for an answer, and for the love of spice, no handouts, or you'll be drowning in refugees and predators in an instant. Other than that, just keep your eyes open, keep one hand on your blaster, and hope nobody with a grudge finds out you're around."

Marina blinked. "Surely not everyone is that bad, or the whole place would be a warzone."

Atton shrugged. "Sometimes it is a warzone. You're right, there are a lot of people down there just trying to survive, but it's hard to tell which are which. And even the most pathetic refugee will fight back if you step on him long and hard enough, and you can never tell what will be the last straw to send them over the edge."

"We will be cautious," cut in Bao-Dur, earning a glare from Atton, "but what is our plan, General?"

Marina glanced around and saw every eye on her. She sighed. "Okay, here's the plan. Long-term objectives: get rid of the bounty on Jedi, and only slightly more realistic, find a Jedi Master in hiding. I honestly don't expect to accomplish either of those, but who knows. Short term objective: get the Hawk's transponder swapped out so we don't have anyone, Republic, Sith, or otherwise, hunting us down."

The others, even Handmaiden, even Kreia, were nodding in acceptance. That was beyond weird, but she'd take what she could get, at least for the moment.

"Atton, we'll need a place to land. Where do you suggest?"

He shrugged. "As I said, we pretty much just go for it. There's a traffic control system, of sorts, but it's mostly there to track space lanes. I mean, you can ask it for one, and they'll take your credits in fees for it, but I've suspected for a long time that the large pirate rings have some sort of arrangement down there. The Hutts' control system docking slots are always clear, ready to take the next sucker's fee, no matter how many ships show up. So, we stay off the grid, find an open pad where nobody else wants to go, say, near one of the refugee blocks, and set down. No fees, no pirates, no bounty hunters."

Marina nodded. "Fine. Pick a spot and set us down. Once there, we'll split up into two teams. Bao Dur, Handmaiden, and Atton will go looking for a way to change our transponder. Kreia and I will, um, go out and see if we can get a feel for this place, maybe sense where this Jedi might be hiding. T3, you'll stay here and keep the doors locked. Don't let anyone aboard that isn't one of us."

"Yes Ma'am."

Marina rolled her eyes. "Atton?"

He turned back to the controls. "Yes, ma'am, right away General, as you command your worshipfullness."

Marina took a deep breath and did not whack Atton on the head. Well, not as hard as he deserved.

Nobody said much as Atton brought the Hawk in lower at a slow cruise, looking for a spot to land. The closer they got to the ground, the filthier the place seemed. After ten minutes or so, Atton grunted and swung the ship around to a dilapidated but solid-looking pad right on the edge of one of the innumerable skyscrapers. With a hydraulic whine, the landing skids eased them down onto the ferrocrete, and Atton breathed out a sigh and spun the pilot's chair around to see pretty much everyone aboard crammed into the cockpit looking back at him.

"Well, here we are," he started in loudly, undercurrents of anger flowing through his words. "The Smuggler's Moon, the gaping maw of Nal Hutta, swallowing all the cargo and spaceport thugs the galaxy has to offer. Mandalorians, mercenaries, war veterans, and pilots from the Mandalorian Wars and Jedi Civil War ended up on Nar Shaddaa from all sides of the conflict. When the last war ended, there was no place left for them to go. Nar Shaddaa's a rough place, and don't you forget it."

The Handmaiden frowned. "What is Nal Hutta?"

Atton groaned and glanced at Marina. "Really?" He sighed again, rolled his eyes, but explained. "It means 'glorious jewel' in Huttese. It's the central breeding ground for the Hutts, and it's that nasty-looking rock out the window that Nar Shaddaa orbits. Lots of swamp and bloated gas. It's ground zero from which those slugs reach out and grab chunks of the galaxy. Trust me, we're not going to go anywhere near that place unless we want to wash the stink out of our clothes for the next week."

The Handmaiden grimaced at his condescending tone. "It might take longer than that for some of us."

Atton sneered. "You spend all day thinking up that joke? Maybe you and Bao Dur should start a circus."

Bao Dur blinked. "I fail to understand the reference, though I doubt your explanation would prove worthwhile."

Marina cut in before they could keep sniping at each other. "So, tell me more about where we've landed."

Atton shrugged, pointedly spinning the chair away from the others to face Marina again. "What's there to say? This is the Refugee Sector. There are lots of ex-soldiers around from both wars, running freight and cargo, getting snapped up by the Hutts and Exchange, but a lot of worlds were destroyed by the mandalorians… and the Jedi. There are a lot of people wandering the galaxy."

"Well, I guess that's that. Everyone, you know the plan. Kreia and I will see what we can, ah, feel. Handmaiden, Bao Dur, and Atton get the ship registry changed. T3 guards the ship. Let's get going; the sooner we find what we're looking for, the sooner we can get out of here."

Far above the surface of Nar Shaddaa, a ship cruised slowly across the stars. Whimsically called a yacht, the light cruiser boasted top-of-the-line weapon systems, and an even more fearsome reputation. Aboard the ship a lone droid hovered and considered the unusual assortment of sentients gathered before it.

Three durasteel-grey assassin droids stood ummoving, watching everything in silence. Two twi'lek women, provocatively dressed and bearing curved blades stood with apparent calm, yet their twitching lekku betrayed their impatience. An entire squad of duros clustered together, watching the others with grave suspicion. They paid particular attention to a single, massive wookiee that paced with barely restrained rage back and forth across the room, its matted and tangled fur still sticky with blood.

A light activated on the droid and a holoprojector sprang to life, displaying the image of a middle-aged human male with a deep, rasping voice and cruel tone. "I am Goto."

All movement in the room stopped, every eye fixed on the image.

"Perhaps you have heard that the Jedi comes to Nar Shaddaa. While she walks upon the smuggler's moon, she is not to be harmed. Observe her, track her, but do not eclipse her movements, or I shall eclipse yours."

The wookiee roared in its strange language, instantly translated by the droid. "Why must we watch?! We have hunted them for so long—now we must wait?"

"You must, because one Jedi attracts others. It is the way of things." The video feed cut off abruptly, and the droid backed away to the corner of the room to observe.

The captain of the motley crew of duros snarled. "Goto's head is filled with madness. Zhug family hunt the galaxy, look for Jedi. Jedi finally comes here, and we can no longer hunt? There is no sense to it."

One of the identical twi'lek females giggled. "If you wish to live, you should respect Goto's wishes." The other smoothly picked up speaking, as if they spoke with a single voice. "The beautiful Jedi has run for years… she will not stay on this moon forever."

The wookiee roared again. "Let the Zhugs defy Goto. And after I've collected their bounty, I'll keep their heads as trophies."

The duro's hand started to move towards his holstered weapon. "You best leave threats unspoken, Hanharr. You were carried far from the world of trees, maybe too far. I hear you not even collect life-debt from little red-maned human female. She make fool of you twice. If she had crossed Zhugs, she would be very dead now."

The wookiee began to shake with rage. "Goto or not, I will carve a bloody swath through your entire family, Zhug—this I swear."

The assassin droids spoke up for the first time. "Request: Goto, if your vessel is no longer neutral ground, inform us, so that we might initiate assassination protocols and commence firing at once."

The twi'leks looked coolly between the parties, tasting the smoking tension in the room. "It would be unwise to commit violence here. Goto's orders were clear." "We are not to harm the beautiful Jedi while she walks on Nar Shaddaa. Unless we are attacked first. We are permitted to defend ourselves."

"Observation: Jedi are on the self-destructive path of pacifism and tolerance. She will not attack first."

A twi'lek grinned and licked one her blades. "This Jedi is different. Goto told us to leave the Jedi alone, it is true." "But he said nothing of the Jedi's companions." They smiled as one.

"Ah, the beautiful stench and decay of desperate living."

Marina ignored Atton's whining as she sensed concern emanating from Kreia.

"This moon, it teems with life. It is difficult to center oneself."

Marina frowned and forced herself to reach out through the Force. It was a little strange, half painful, half-relief, but then it was there, and she was feeling the air around her… and almost choked. This place, it was… it was humming with the Force, overflowing with it, and yet it felt… wrong, somehow. Darker, almost tainted, too hard-edged and desperate. She'd never been to a place that was both so alive with the Force and so dead to it.

Marina shuddered and pushed it away, turning instead to Atton. "Are we going to be okay on this landing pad?"

Atton shrugged. "Sure. Most of the landing pads around here are unclaimed, or should be. They're pretty badly maintained, so they're not safe to land on. Well, I mean, not this one. But they all have the reputation, so we should be alright… I think."

She turned away and tried to take in the scene, to focus on her physical senses to avoid thinking about what she had felt. For all the neon on the way in, it was surprisingly dark. The richest always seemed to stay at the top of the tallest, newest section of tower, taking the lights and glamour with them, like rats clawing their way to the top of a sinking ship. Those bright rooftops cast long shadows down below, leaving only flickering glow-rods to illuminate the filthy walkways and desperate denizens scratching out a meager living all in pursuit of the oblivion of spice and temporary escape.

"So this is the refugee sector…" she muttered to herself, unaware she'd spoke out loud until Atton responded.

"Yeah, in all its glory. Don't get your hopes up from what you see here though. As soon as we hit the main sector, that's when the smell, and the mobs, can get pretty pad."

Marina shook her head, trying to rid it of all thoughts. And, as always, she resorted to her go-to plan. Movement trumped thinking every time. "Then let's move on."

They'd taken only a half-dozen steps when a toydarian fluttered towards them, snout twitching furiously. "You, you there!"

Atton swore under his breath.

"What's with you, letting that piece of junk sink its struts into my landing pad?"

Marina opened her mouth to respond placatingly, glanced at Atton who gave her a pointed look, and instead grimaced and put her hands on her hips indignantly. "Junk? You're lucky my ship's gracing your trash heap."

The toydarian snorted. "My trash heap? Fine, land then! My 'trash heap' is all that's keeping your ship from making the final plunge. And trust me, it won't be long in coming, I promise you! I got some visitors booked for your space, but I'm sure the two of you can work it out when they arrive." And with that it fluttered off, muttering to itself.

She looked back at Atton, who rolled his eyes. "I'll say it again princess: welcome to Nar Shaddaa."