The art of convincing
- Carth Onasi -
The apartment was pretty beat-up, considering it was located on the upper echelons of Tarisian society. Murky crimson blotches marred the drab plasteel walls, marks that told me this environment was not as safe as I would have liked. But it's in the alien quarter. The Sith don't come here much, and that's the important factor. I sighed. I was sick of sitting here like a blind target, and there were only so many times I could play pazaak by myself. With an imaginary deck.
Damn the Jedi. Damn them for getting me into this mess. And damn myself for not being able to walk away.
And what a mess it was. The ambush of the Endar Spire happened so quickly we'd barely had time to react. We'd stopped to refuel at Mavis III, a neutral space station near the Taris system. A cruiser the size of the Endar Spire had significant logistical needs; for all that our mission had been done in stealth, it wasn't so easy to sneak around hyperspace with that much manpower to support.
Even so, the officer in me pointed out that only the Jedi team – and myself – had been cognizant of our intermediary destination. I'd only informed my senior navi-pilot a handful of hours before hyperspace exit – and he'd never even made it to the bridge.
Yet a fair portion of the Sith armada had been lying in wait when we entered realspace. That had to be the work of a traitor – a Jedi traitor.
I closed my eyes when I considered how many had been slaughtered onboard. All the escape pods had launched towards the Sith-controlled planet of Taris, but we hadn't been close; not all of them would have survived. And only one Jedi even made it to the pods. The rest had perished, vanquished along with so many of my comrades by those Sith monsters.
To think that once we'd thought the Mandalorians had been the real threat.
So here I was, hiding as a fugitive on Taris with an injured academic, my only hope that Jedi Bastila Shan might have survived and I could mount a rescue before the Sith found her. For whatever her mission had been, it was considered highly critical to the Republic war effort.
And how the blazes was I, a star-pilot and fleet captain, to achieve a feat better left to scouts I had no idea.
Yet.
I'd blundered into this apartment complex surprisingly quick after the landing – if one could call smashing into several buildings before grinding to an explosive halt outside the local cantina a landing. Still, the resulting smoke and gawking drunks allowed me to hightail it without attracting notice. I'd been lucky it was night, and that somehow the Sith patrols had missed me vanishing into the crowd.
There'd been a poorly dressed Ithorian who'd seen me slip away from the escape pod, and for some unknown reason taken pity on our predicament. Despite the language barrier – he spoke no Basic and I didn't understand his home tongue – he'd led me to this complex, indicating this very room – mercifully empty – before disappearing. If I'd been a Jedi, I would have considered it the will of the Force. As it was, I'd been both gratified and surprised at my fortuitous good luck.
I'd carried the injured scholar with me, who'd been out stone cold, but a traitorous voice in my head suggested things would be a lot easier if I was on my own.
My eyes slid to the comatose figure on the ratty bunk, as I mentally berated myself for that unwelcome thought. I'd never left anyone behind in all my years of service, and I wasn't about to start now... but I'd seen her onboard. A shy academic who blushes if someone so much as looks at her. But she had, at least, some fighting ability. I'd seen the tail-end of her brawl with that group of Sith near the escape pods. Her fighting ability had been wild, unhinged, and surprisingly accurate given her service records.
A berserker, I'd thought in surprise; either with some experience or an amazing amount of luck to survive that encounter. I wasn't sure how helpful that would be, though - berserkers weren't necessarily the best at keeping a low profile.
The woman was moaning quietly in her sleep. She'd had a shot of kolto back on the 'Spire, and the standard medical kit from the escape pod had been useful in patching her up, but... more kolto is what I really need. The wound on her head looked serious. I cursed under my breath.
I'd had a bit of a scout around last night, attempting to orientate myself with this foreign world. The urbanized planet consisted of multiple levels of sprawling buildings, integrated into vertical suburbs. Having crashed on the topside "surface", I was currently hiding out in what was known as Upper Taris, the relatively high-class governmental district. It seemed travel to the lower levels was strictly controlled. I'd been quite surprised at the lack of air traffic until I'd heard about the planet-wide quarantine.
It makes sense. The Sith will be searching for any survivors. I'd followed the war as much as any soldier fighting for the Republic, and I'd known about the Sith presence on this planet. Not quite an invasion – Taris had been decimated in the Mandalorian wars, so was first a willing economic partner with the Sith, and over time a not-so-willing base for their forces. Apparently the Tarisian government was neutral in the ongoing conflict, but as I oh-so-casually checked out my immediate surroundings, I'd realized that the Sith were really the ones in control here.
The place was crawling with them. Men garbed in shiny black armour haunted the entrance to any accessible turbo-lifts and patrolled the vast courtyards that graced the commercial sectors of Upper Taris. I could only hope that they had not found Bastila Shan.
For Bastila's Jedi gifts were one of the few advantages we had left in this monstrous war. To think that the Sith leader, Darth Malak – and his master before him, Darth Revan – had once been the shining heroes of the Republic. I, like so many others, had admired them and followed them to victory, before they viciously turned on the people they had saved. They weren't the only traitors, a bitter voice reminded me.
But I wasn't going to dwell on my resentment about betrayal; I had a mission to complete. I'd managed to find a medical centre, headed by a doctor I'd wager had Republic sympathies, considering the grim way he scowled whenever I'd mentioned the Sith. He wasn't very forthcoming with information, but he'd promised to get me some kolto by morning, for what amounted to candy money – which was frankly all I had. I don't like trusting strangers – especially when they offer salvation for cracklenuts. But what other choice do I have? I doubted my injured companion would last long without kolto, and I didn't exactly see any spare bacta tanks lying about, either.
I glanced around the tiny apartment. A hard bunk lined the dank room on one side, and a grimy, minimalist kitchenette on the other. The place had been stripped of any items, other than a few fraying blankets and a handful of dirty clothes. The latter was actually a shining piece of luck; although musty and ill-fitting, the clothes were certainly more appropriate than either the commander's uniform I'd been wearing, or my lucky old flight jacket I'd grabbed while fleeing the Endar Spire.
But I was starting to feel edgy and claustrophic, worn out from anxiety over my comatose comrade, and aggravated at the lack of action. I hated to be sitting around doing nothing, waiting for that damn scholar to wake up. Well, there's no reason I can't go out for a bit. I need to see Zelka anyway, and I may as well get my bearings.
I figured it was heading on to early dawn on Taris, and the chances of the woman waking in the next few hours were slim to none. I jammed my well-used blaster underneath the cast-off shirt I'd pulled from the apartment's cupboard, and cautiously headed out. The resident aliens threw me curious looks as I walked past, but didn't approach. They are just as wary as me.
I strode past a merchant Twi'lek who'd set up a kiosk in the building, and avoided his gaze. He had that eager salesman look, completely at odds with the locals who lived here.
"Well, I don't see too many of your kind around here," the fellow boomed at me as I tried to edge surreptitiously past. "Most of the residents in this old rundown apartment are illegal aliens. My name is Larrim, by the way."
"Uh, hi," I said dismissively in response, and continued walking.
"I know it's really none of my business, but you look like someone who might need to purchase one of these new energy shields. They're the latest thing, you know. Very high tech."
I sighed inwardly as I stopped to face him. "Maybe later."
"Come on, at a price of one hundred credits almost anyone can afford them! They'll absorb at least four direct blaster hits before depletion – this could save your life in a fight!"
"Unless you're up against vibroswords," I said dryly. As if I had the credits, anyway. The Twi'lek looked ready to burst into another enthusiastic spiel. The technology behind energy shields had revolutionized ground combat during the Mandalorian wars – and brought back an almost extinct form of engagement: melee fighting. Vibroswords - swords that emitted ultrasonic vibrations to increase their cutting edge - sliced straight through energy shields.
"Look, I don't have any credits, sorry!" I told him quickly as I strode off. His extroverted zeal was an anomaly – most of the aliens kept to themselves here and I couldn't blame them, considering the rampant xenophobia on Taris. I'd already heard several comments about those 'filthy non-Humans littering our streets' when I'd been out scouting earlier.
I walked outside into the morning sun, a public courtyard stretching magnificently before me. Other than a handful of rundown, disused buildings, Upper Taris gleamed and glistened with wealth. A few early-risers dotted the pathways, and their attire was a far cry from grubby clothes I was sporting.
I grimaced, feeling more out of place here than on Coruscant itself. Though at least here I'm not forced to wear that hideous ceremonial uniform the Republic is so keen on. Coruscant had never been my favourite destination.
As I strolled towards the medical centre, I started mulling over my predicament. I knew Jedi Shan had escaped, and I also knew that she was the only Jedi who'd managed to. My duty demanded that I do everything possible to rescue her, but it wasn't going to be easy.
If only I knew what this mission had really been about. We'd been en route to Tatooine, and all I'd managed to squeeze out of the Jedi onboard was that it had something to do with ruins. Admiral Dodonna herself had organized my transfer as an advisory captain to the starcruiser's navi-pilots.
It was not my usual role.
...
"I need someone I can trust onboard the Endar Spire, Captain." Her dark eyes were serious and intent on me. Admiral Dodonna was a superior I had a vast amount of respect for. She was not my usual reporting line, though - she'd bumped me to her staff for reasons she was now expounding upon: mysterious and irritating ones, it was beginning to seem.
"I want to be on the frontlines, Admiral, where I can be useful!" I protested. This all sounded about as pleasant as paperwork groundside. "I don't see how carting around a bunch of Jedi from planet to planet is going to help the war."
"The Jedi are not particularly forthcoming with information, but I do understand this stealth mission is critical." She sighed, as a look of grim – almost bleak – determination added another ten years to her already lined face. "Technically this is a mission from the Jedi Order, so you'll be accountable to them even though you will report to me whenever possible. Carth, you've spent your lifetime fighting and have more experience at adapting to changing situations than most. I know you, and I trust you." She paused for a moment before her voice returned, quieter than before. "We are not winning the war, Carth. You know this."
I felt the corners of my mouth turn down as I was forced to acknowledge that statement with a brisk nod. Darth Malak's armada was expanding with foreign ships that seemingly came from nowhere. The Republic was losing... and losing hard.
Admiral Dodonna sighed again. "Whatever the Jedi have up their sleeve may be our only chance."
I could understand her reasoning, but my skills would be wasted on this trip. I was a snubfighter pilot, a Wing Leader; stang, there'd even been times I'd fought on the ground. Captaining large starcruisers was not something in my resume, and it being an advisory role made me feel all the more useless. "Yes, but surely there is someone better suited for this position, Admiral? I can help on the-"
"You have your orders, Captain." Her voice rang with the steel of authority, and I subsided, feeling both frustrated and thwarted. It was Dodonna's trust and high opinion that hogtied me here: implied was the need for both a listening ear and a persuasive voice that could wring details from the Jedi and squirrel those details back to Republic HQ.
I revised my earlier thought: paperwork on base sounded infinitely more appealing than dealing with secretive Jedi.
Dodonna's grey eyes softened an infinitesimal amount. "Find out what they're up to, Carth. And good luck."
...
So there I was, a decorated war hero bowing to every Jedi whim. And there had been enough of them, though that Bastila one was the worst. And the most important, unfortunately. I grimaced. Her battle meditation alone had made her a vital asset to the Republic war effort, but her snooty attitude I could have lived without.
Then there was this Jen Sahara; a meek scholar who'd hid behind one of the ensigns onboard for the most part. And yet, she was able to put down three Sith soldiers in an angry rage, despite the injuries I'd later discovered she'd been sporting.
I don't get why she was on the ship. I'd checked out her service records, and they were disappointingly brief. Jen Sahara had grown up in a commune on Deralia. Studied ancient archaeology and anthropology at the Academia there. Apparently, the Jedi had requested her services to check out some mysterious ruins on Tatooine. That doesn't gel, though. Most of the Jedi on the Endar Spire would know more about ancient ruins than some unknown scholar. They spend all their life farting around with historical texts and old artefacts. And if they wanted scholars, surely they'd hire more than just one? According to Jen's records, she'd never even left her home planet before. Something doesn't fit, and I'm going to find out what.
xXx
A few hours later I was on my way back to the apartment. Zelka Forn had loosened up a bit, downloaded a Tarisian informational package to my datapad, and informed me that a couple of escape pods had crashed into the Undercity. Which was happily populated with diseased infectious mutants. I'll worry about that when we get there, I told myself firmly. One step at a time, Onasi.
My biggest problem was credits – or lack thereof. I was hoping Jen Sahara would be intelligent enough to bounce ideas off, as getting down to the lower levels was starting to look incredibly tricky.
I became aware of a slight commotion as I drew close to the hideout. A Duros was hurriedly dragging what looked like a Sith corpse into the apartment next to mine, and judging by the blood on the floor there had been more than one. Blast it, the Sith are here already?
"What happened here?" I asked the Duros quickly, stepping in front of him. He jabbered back in his own language, and tried to drag the corpse around me. I wasn't falling for that, however; most aliens understood Galactic Basic even if they could not speak it. Maybe aid is the way to loosen his tongue. I grabbed the other end of the Sith corpse, and nodded to the apartment when the Duros gave me a surprised look.
"So, what happened? If you can speak Basic, I'd like to know. I'm just as keen to keep a low profile as you are," I said, once we were inside. This apartment was identical to the place I'd claimed, apart from obvious pile of corpses.
The Duros stared at me unblinkingly, and then sighed in defeat. "This isn't the first time the Sith have come in here to cause trouble for us, but hopefully it will be the last," the Duros answered, his voice halting and tripping over the words. He lowered his head sadly. "Poor Ixgil. He should never have talked back to that Sith."
"What were the Sith looking for?" I asked cautiously.
"Anything. They like to bully," the alien responded. "It would have meant my death, too, if not for that crazy Human."
I blinked. Crazy... Human? I thought there were only aliens around here? A sinking feeling in my gut made itself known. Stang, it couldn't be, could it? "I- uh, Human?"
"This Human female walked into the middle of it and killed them all. I am astounded a Human would come to the aid of a Duros, but she ran away before I could thank her."
"I, uh, I've gotta go," I mumbled as I ran out. I sprinted down the battered corridor to my apartment, hurriedly switched the door open and... nothing.
The room was empty.
I swear, some omnipotent force is watching me, and having a good ole laugh.
"Damn!" I cursed in frustration, slamming my hand against the wall. I shouldn't have left her. She must have woken up with no idea where she was and panicked. But to run out and attack Sith…
"What now, Onasi?" I sighed to myself. "Find the crazy chit, or leave her as dead?"
I couldn't do that, but my priority had to be Bastila. I forced myself to think rationally. I have to get some leads on Bastila... find out more about this Undercity. There's a cantina nearby, and I can ask around if anyone's seen Jen. If the Sith haven't captured her yet.
I opened the apartment's only closet to grab my lucky orange flight jacket, but it was missing. Shock assailed me for a moment.
She stole my jacket? Oh, this is personal now.
xXx
The Upper City cantina was overrun with pazaak players – a common way to make easy credits – but I didn't have a deck. Although with the way the Alpha Squad boys back at base kept kicking my arse, this might have been a blessing in disguise.
My mood was steadily declining. Being forced to rescue two females, both of whom I disliked, was enough to drive any sane man up the wall.
Calm down, Onasi. Cantinas are always a good place for easy credits and information. Best place to start. I could admit I was seriously annoyed that Jen had run off. Annoyed at myself, too. I shouldn't have left a severely injured comrade alone, with no idea where they were. But I didn't expect her to run off as soon as she woke!
I grabbed a chair and sat down, surveying the area cautiously. The cantina seemed out of place in Upper Taris, as it was mired in drunks, card sharks and disreputable spacers. I wonder how many of them are trapped due to the quarantine. Still, while I'd expected a classier joint, this was just the sort of place liable to provide information – for the right price.
A drunken male laugh caught my attention from the opposite corner.
"You're shure pretty! Yer shirt's gotta go, but you can shtay!"
Some seedy guy hitting on an unsuspecting girl, no doubt. Though she'd have to be pretty simple to fall for that one.
"An' fer an' off-worlder, you can shure handle Tarisian ale!" The guy was slurring so much he could almost pass for a Selkath.
"It's not bad," came the response; a woman's voice. "Helps to drown out thoughts."
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, trying to spot its source, but the inebriated fellow was in the way.
The man moved around her then, and I had a clear glimpse at the woman's face, shadowed under a mop of curly dark hair. I can't believe it, I thought in stunned disbelief as my mouth dropped open. That's Jen. She ran off to get drunk?
I was by her side before I knew it, staring down into surprised green eyes as I tapped her on the shoulder. "Are you drinking, Jen Sahara?" I hissed at her.
"Hey, leave her alone!" the fool blustered at me. "She's mine!"
I turned to glare at him. "Get out of here, this doesn't concern you," I said in a low voice, hoping the idiot would do the smart thing and leave.
Jen squinted at me, a blurry expression of confusion twisting her face. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused.
She is drunk. Great. That's just great.
"I'm getting you out of here, Jen," I said in warning, and then pulled her to her feet. I was once again surprised at just how little she weighed, despite her years. Looking at her I realized she had to be deep into her thirties. No, wait, her records said she was twenty-six galactic years. Well, health professionals had always lectured me on the aging properties of alcohol before I'd given it up for good.
"Hey, she's my date," the guy burbled at me, shoving my shoulder hard enough that I stumbled, losing my grip on Jen's arm. "You're spoiling my fun!" He had an ugly scowl on his face, and I didn't need to hear exactly what his fun would have been.
This could turn ugly. I need to get Jen out now. My blaster was in my free hand before I realized it. "Back off."
The man raised his hands in surprise, and tripped backwards. "I don't wan' any trouble!"
So much for keeping a low profile. I inwardly cursed myself. That was stupid. Starting a firefight in the local cantina is not the best way to hide from the authorities. Fortunately for me, the drunk was stumbling away, muttering under his breath. I turned back to Jen, nudging her towards the exit, but she pulled away from me in protest.
"I can walk! Don't touch me!" she hissed, and I realized that dragging a drunken woman through the streets of Upper Taris was about as conspicuous as pulling a gun on a drunk. I raised my hands in appeasement, and she lost her balance, abruptly stumbling against me.
Steadying her with a hand, the thought of her inebriated state once more flared my irritation. "I can't believe you ran off to get drunk!" I condemned, glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot. There were definitely enough spectators watching our little scene, but fortunately all of them were viewing from a distance.
"I said don't touch me!" Jen snarled viciously, and slammed the palms of her hands into my gut. The air left my lungs in a whoosh and I fell backwards, hard on my arse, shock assailing me at her physical outburst.
The ugly look of violence on her face was enough to keep me sprawled there, silent, in the middle of the cantina. I heard a few sniggers from the nearby patrons, and my face warmed in angry humiliation.
As quick as lightening, Jen's expression changed to remorse, and then embarrassment. She looked around hurriedly.
"Are you alright, Miss?" A nearby patron came up beside her, shooting me a filthy glare. "Is this man giving you trouble?"
"No!" she said suddenly. "I overreacted. Sorry." She turned, fixing apologetic green eyes on me. "I'm sorry about that. I don't know what came over me." She offered me a slim hand to get up, and I stared at it as if it were a diseased gizka.
This woman is completely crazy. She's going to get us both killed. And now, she was acting stone cold sober.
I pushed myself to my feet and eyed her suspiciously. She still had that contrite expression pasted on her face, but the sheer venom of her earlier attack made me wary.
"I, uh-" I began, not entirely sure how to start.
"I guess we should talk," Jen muttered. "You're Onasi, right? Sit down, and I'll grab us some drinks."
"What?" I stared at her. More alcohol? My anger slowly burned back to life.
"Drinks as in caffa." She grinned suddenly, impishly. "But I almost got you going again, huh?"
I could only blink at her. First she's as violent and temperamental as a Sith, then she's all apologetic, and now she's cracking jokes?
Somehow, I was left gaping at crazy woman's back while she strolled nonchalantly towards the bar. When Jen promptly returned with two steaming cups of caffa, I realized with a jolt I was still staring.
Jen glanced at me curiously. "Shall we have a seat?"
"Uh, sure," I muttered awkwardly, following her to an empty table. The noise in the cantina had resumed to its earlier hubbub of normality. While I would have preferred our initial conversation to have taken place in the hideout, it seemed relatively anonymous in here. And I'm not sure I could get her back to the apartment. I hate not being able to read people. What happened to the shy scholar back on the Endar Spire?
"I guess I should also apologize for running out," Jen muttered, staring into her mug.
"What, as well as for getting drunk, and causing a scene that could have brought the Sith down on us?" I grumbled.
She scowled at me, and I could see her struggling to remain calm. Despite myself, I actually felt a vague stirring of amusement as I watched her scrunch her face in a clumsy attempt to rein in her temper. It seemed to work.
"I've only had one drink. I'm not drunk, although I'm planning to be." Jen sighed, her eyes dropping back to the plasteel table. It was scuffed with beer rings and smears of grime. "I guess I owe you my life. Thanks."
I inclined my head, but wasn't prepared to let it go just yet. "Exactly why did you run out anyway? You're still injured. That knock to your head looked pretty serious." It did. Her hair was matted on one side of her head. The darkness of it hid the dried blood, but I'd seen the wound earlier. I wouldn't have expected her to be so mobile. I frowned. "I didn't think you'd wake up so soon. I, uh- I wouldn't have left, otherwise."
Jen grimaced. "Well, I'm definitely not feeling the best. As to why-" She lowered her head. "I woke up and heard shots outside. I thought people were coming after me."
Something in her voice didn't ring true. And she was avoiding my gaze.
"Before I knew it, I was in the middle of a firefight," she said in a soft, placating voice. "I just... panicked, and ran - and ended up here. I was planning to go back to the apartment."
Right. About as plausible as her sugar-sweet tone. "When? Before or after you got drunk?"
"After, I guess. I really am sorry, I just haven't been thinking straight." She caught my gaze then, big luminous eyes as if appealing to my better nature. Oh, that's not going to work on me, sister. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, lowering my gaze to the cracked cup of caffa nestled between my hands.
Jen continued quietly. "All I remember is waking up and grabbing this jacket and vibrosword, and running."
"No kidding," I muttered, but for the first time she really did sound genuine. I glanced back up at her. "And it looks like you've got ale all over my lucky jacket, thank you very much."
She spluttered on her caffa. "This orange monstrosity is a lucky ja-"
I cut her off. "So, injured and panicked, you decided to rush madly into some firefight, with no idea who or how many possible enemies there were?"
Jen actually blushed at that, a sign that my statement was accurate to some degree. "Yes, not the brightest thought, I'll admit."
"And then you decided to go down some Tarisian ale for the heck of it?"
She looked away once more. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," she muttered sulkily.
"You're not just reckless, you're insane," I said flatly. "Well, from now on, we'd better do things my way."
I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth, but there was no taking them back. Well done Onasi, lets just fire her up again shall we?
"We? Since when is there a 'we', Republic?" Jen demanded, her meek act vanishing like juma juice in a merc bar.
Republic? That almost sounded like an insult.
Jen's eyes flashed green daggers under her short mop of dark brown curls. Her face was pale beneath a natural olive tone, a handful of freckles across the bridge of her nose standing out in stark relief. Her sharp jaw was set stubbornly, and I reminded myself that she'd only just woken up. Dumb luck had kept her alive, but Jen probably had no idea what was going on.
"Taris is under Sith control," I explained. "This planet is locked up tight; I've heard the Sith are even arresting citizens carrying weapons without an approved permit. There's no way the Republic will be able to get anyone through the Sith blockade to help us. If we're going to find Bastila and get off this planet, we can't rely on anybody but ourselves."
Jen frowned at me, looking as if she was trying to figure something out. Her fingers tapped softly against the plasteel table. "You don't like the Sith, you want to rescue this Jedi girl, and you need to get off the planet. Fair enough, I get that. But where does this we come into it?"
My mouth dropped open in shock. She was one of the crew, dammit! "You swore an oath to the Republic, and to defend Bastila!"
"I never swore an oath!" Jen hissed. She breathed in deeply, and seemed to wrest control of herself once more. Her eyes squeezed tight, and the next words were forced out, hard and cold as ferracrystal. "I was hired by the Jedi Council to go to Tatooine on the Endar Spire. The ship's destroyed, so I consider that job complete. Besides, I'd just as soon get away from any Jedi."
"Your job isn't over – Bastila is still alive," I informed her coldly.
"I was never paid," she retorted, eyes open once more as she leaned back on the stool and folded her arms defensively. "As far as I'm concerned it's over."
She really would walk out, I realized, as I took in the obstinate expression on her face. Just another traitor to the Republic... but the Jedi Council requested her specifically. For some reason they need her, and I will not fail in my duty if at all possible.
"I saved your life, Jen." I hate emotional blackmail... but I don't really have a choice here. I need all the allies I can get, and so do the Jedi. "Even if you have no honour or decency, you still owe me a debt for that."
She visibly cringed, and for the first time genuinely looked like the unassuming academic I'd originally pegged her as.
"Help me rescue Bastila, and we'll call it even," I finished. This unpredictable loose cannon could then be the Jedi's problem, not mine.
She bowed her head, refusing to look at me. "Fine. I guess I owe you that much."
Relieved, I slouched back and had a gulp of the caffa. Terribly weak, I was surprised they could get away with selling it. Well, at least Jen's agreed. I hope that's the end of that conversation.
"How do you even know Bastila's alive?"
So much for that. "I don't. But Bastila's young, and she has a powerful command of the Force. We survived the crash landing, so I'm willing to bet that she may have, too."
Jen had raised her head once more, frowning at me. "Did other Jedi escape the Endar Spire then?" she asked.
"Some Republic soldiers did, but no other Jedi made it to the escape pods. Bastila was the only one." My shoulders slumped as I recalled the battle. I hadn't wanted to captain the Endar Spire, I'd wanted to pilot and lead snubfighters on the frontlines, going head-to-head with the enemy directly. And now, the Endar Spire was in bits, and near all the soldiers onboard dead.
"So it is her then," Jen whispered, seemingly to herself.
"What is her?" I asked suspiciously. She had a vague look on her face, but it disappeared as her attention snapped back to me.
"Uh, nothing," she mumbled.
Yeah right. Just who are you, Jen Sahara?
xXx
