Battling one's thoughts

- Jen Sahara -


I felt like a spectator watching a duel. The pacifist versus the evil punk. Ten credits as to who would win, I thought sourly, but neither identity actually seemed to resonate with who I thought I was.

The only history I had – the past of meek Jen Sahara – was real. It had to be. I could almost taste the kakasi trees in bloom, and I remembered hero-worshipping my- no her- oppressive father. But in all those thoughts and memories, the way I interacted was so wrong. I couldn't imagine cowering and bowing to every whim of my family, and trying to please anybody but myself. Running from confrontations, and always trying to hide in the shadows like a helpless little tach. It was as if I'd been inside someone else's head, watching them as they lived out their life, but having no say in what they did.

And not even aware I'd had no say, until now. That was a terrifying realization that I was only beginning to grasp – the idea that I might not actually be who my brain was saying I was.

My recollection of the last year was where it all disintegrated. I could vaguely recall some Jedi contacting me and organizing a study expedition onboard a Republic cruiser. I struggled to remember what I'd been doing for the past six months; it felt like a dream – numb and almost forgotten. In between a history I didn't want to claim as mine, and a present as hazy as a spice trip, it didn't seem feasible that I could be Jen Sahara.

It wasn't just the knock to the head on the Endar Spire, was it? A head injury couldn't… change what you thought your personality was, could it?

Earlier, I'd had the instinct that it had liberated me - the real me. But what would that mean? That I was actually some sort of sadistic freak who wished to torture countless people for sheer enjoyment and power? I'd only felt brief flashes of this persona, but they'd been so sharp. Visceral, intense. Insane and inhumanely cruel. That identity wasn't me, it simply couldn't be.

And this isn't even counting in that Bastila woman, I mused bitterly. So who was I really? The only explanation I wanted to consider was that I was a third person, who'd somehow lost her entire memory and had two others programmed in instead. Hmm, that sounds really plausible. I'm not sure I could even get the drunks at the cantina to believe that one. Not to mention that if I did entertain an idea so ludicrous – then the implications were shattering.

For it meant my mind had been royally messed up. By some very powerful people.

That heightened my terror further.

If there was any truth to it – and I then added in the additional factors of my Jedi guard and Jen's mission to look at ruins – then it all had something to do with the sodding Jedi Order. But, could the Jedi do this sort of thing? Change someone's history, someone's personality, so thoroughly that they didn't even realize it?

Isn't that against their ethos, or something?

Jen Sahara knew nothing about the Jedi, other than that they were an almost mythical organization with fantastical powers who helped those in need. The least likely sort of people to deliberately do this to someone. It just didn't seem plausible.

But I'm already involved with the Jedi. And I bet they don't want me remembering anything other than Jen Sahara, the pushover. I shivered.

The thoughts spun around and twisted in on themselves, a dark spiral of fear and anger and overwhelming confusion that battered against my psyche. I needed to act, to focus on the present, and leave this mental quagmire under wraps until a better time for reflection. A time when I wasn't a fugitive on a Sith-controlled planet, hunting for a Jedi I had no desire to see.

Why did I agree with Captain Flyboy anyway? Part of me still logically reasoned how easy it would be to slip away and disappear, but my own code of honour wouldn't allow me. He did save my life after all. Hah! If I have a code of honour, then I can't be the sadistic evil bitch.

I couldn't be. It was worse than being Jen Sahara. I utterly rejected the idea that might be me, except…

that power. It was another thing I was desperately trying to ignore. I'd sensed something back on the Endar Spire, something that Jen had never felt in her life. And I was certain – dead certain – that I could bend it to my will, if only I remembered how.

Instinct had me reaching for it earlier when Onasi grabbed me in the cantina, but my metaphorical grasp had closed on metaphorical empty air.

Is it the Force? The idea was fanciful, frankly unbelievable. But what else swirled liked electric energy around Force users? And if it is the Force, do I really want to wield it? If it was, then that linked me straight back to the Jedi, pointing another accusatory finger at their involvement in my current situation.

And once more, the horror reared up inside – accompanied with an anger vicious enough that all I felt was the desire for bloody vengeance.

Onasi was watching me now, his face clouded with suspicion. I'd pick him in his late thirties somewhere, with a strong handsome face and eyes the same rich colour as his chestnut hair. He had a guarded, combat-ready look about him, and I had the feeling he'd seen more than his fair share of action.

I took a deep breath in, filling my lungs with the re-circulated air of the cantina, and focused on him. I'd figure it all out later - for now, it was time to appease Onasi and start on this frelling Jedi hunt.

He was saying something about Bastila Shan, and despite my conviction to listen, the Jedi's name had my thoughts derailing once more. For I remembered being told about Bastila Shan back on the Endar Spire – a capable young Jedi who was one of the leading figures in the war against the Sith. I could even recall, somewhat hazily, talking with her on a few occasions. Each time, cowering in front of her like an awe-struck Jawa.

Yet I had been convinced, during the mad exit from the Endar Spire, that we were mind-linked. I didn't even understand what that meant, not really, but the thought had come unbidden – stark and resolute and shining with certainty. For I'd sensed her psychic emotions. She'd been alarmed at my fury.

Again, another conclusion that seemed wildly preposterous.

But it's still there! She's still there! In my head. Flashing with anger and fright and desperation. Emotions, coming from someone else, being felt by someone else. It was confusing enough that I genuinely had panicked when I'd woken up in the apartment and heard a commotion outside.

My head throbbed, reminding me of the injury at the root of these revelations. Brain damage, a dark voice mocked. Was that why I was hearing voices? Was that why I thought I was three people?

Carth was still frowning; if I couldn't win him over, I doubted I could make a powerful Jedi believe all was well. And the last thing I wanted was her noticing the fractures in my mind.

For if I was aware of her… then surely, that meant, she was aware of me.

But suddenly the presence, Bastila's presence, in my head froze. Like all emotion had been abruptly halted. What happened now? Some Rodian hit on her? I blinked. No... it's like she's fallen asleep suddenly… or been knocked unconscious.

The mind-link was real. I was convinced of it, now.

"Hello?" Carth said. "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?" He was frowning at me again from across the cantina table, arms folded. At least none of the patrons were staring at us anymore, although earlier I'd wondered if the uptight bartender was going to refuse me caffa.

"Uh, sorry," I muttered.

"Yeah, I know, your favourite word," he grumbled. "Are you sure you only had one drink?"

"Yes." Calm. Stay calm. "But my head's been hurting a lot since I injured it. I've just been feeling really confused." That, at least, is the truth.

He didn't seem to buy it, judging by the wary look in his eyes.

"Look, I know I've been acting quite..." I sighed, trailing off in defeat. "Is there any chance we could just start over? My head is killing me, and I'm not sure how much more I can take. I haven't felt… normal since I hit my head." Even now it was throbbing with a dull ache. It had been reckless to run off, but I'd woken up in a strange place, bombarded by someone else's feelings, and I'd bolted.

I hadn't even realized what planet I was on until I'd started sweet-talking the sloshed local for information and a complimentary drink.

A look of concern crossed over Carth's face. Hah, I will get you eating out of my hand, I swear.

"Ah, I forgot," Carth said suddenly, and grabbed something out of his pocket. "I managed to get a shot of kolto. You'd better take it now; you still look pretty wretched."

I eyed it over suspiciously; the disposable hypoderm with the automatic needle could contain any manner of substitute disguised as a life-saving healing medication. For kolto was superior to bacta in strength, swiftness and shelf-life, and its synthesization was still in its infancy. The Selkath had only started mass-producing it during the Exar Kun conflict, and they held onto their monopoly tightly with their fishy little tentacles.

I froze. Jen Sahara knew nothing of this. Although kolto was heard-of on Deralia, it certainly wasn't a topic of interest for the meek scholar of ancient civilizations. I'm not Jen Sahara. That was starting to become abundantly clear.

I'd taken too long; Onasi had sighed, dropping the tiny cylinder of doubt on the plasteel table, close to my hands. "It is kolto, I purchased it from a medical centre. I don't blame you for being wary, but the doctor seemed reputable. I was lucky he managed to source any at all with the Sith quarantine starting to hurt trade."

Seemed reputable. It wasn't exactly a shining endorsement, but then again I had the feeling that Onasi wasn't an overly effusive sort of guy. And reckless had been working for me thus far… I shrugged, picked up the hypoderm, and injected it into my exposed forearm.

A warm sensation hit my bloodstream, rippling slowly through my limbs. It felt familiar; my muscles loosened and the pounding in my head dulled almost instantly. While I doubted I'd be up to anything too intense – like, say, jumping into one of those betting duels next door that I'd heard cantina patrons gossiping about – at least I was starting to feel vaguely normal again. Kolto wasn't miraculous, but it wasn't far off: it had an amazing ability to vastly increase wound healing. I'd always compared it to a full-body bacta suit on adrenastims.

Again, my hands stilled. Definitely not a Jen thought. Again, another indication that I was living in someone else's body with someone else's past. If I needed any more.

"So," I began, pushing the maelstrom of thoughts to the back of my mind. "Any idea where we should start looking for Bastila?" I took another sip of my caffa, but it was now cold. I grimaced in disgust.

"There are reports of a couple of escape pods crashing down into the Undercity," Carth commented quietly. "That's probably a good place to start. But the Undercity is a dangerous place; we don't want to go there unprepared."

The Undercity… Carth gave me a brief rundown, which was essentially the same information I'd drawn out of my inebriated admirer earlier. Taris was an ecumenopolis, a planet-sized city that had squandered its resources centuries ago and started building upwards. The Undercity Carth referred to were the dark, polluted depths tens of klicks below us – beneath even the gangs and crime that ruled over most of the subterranean levels.

Once, the Undercity had been the surface. A very, very long time ago. The drunk I'd spoken to said it was pitch dark down there, and the only inhabitants were mutant zombies that feasted on the homeless.

Although he'd also said he was the Tarisian swoop champion three years running.

I took a deep breath, and focused on Carth again. "Okay, so time to make some credits, buy some armour, avoid the Sith and find the girl?" I tried hard to come across as positive rather than derisive, but the entire quest sounded a bit suicidal. I'm Jen, remember? Play nice.

"Nobody will be looking for a couple of common grunts like us," Carth retorted defensively. He'd caught the sarcasm then. "And if we're careful, we can move about the planet without attracting notice – a luxury Bastila won't have."

Bastila was still frozen in my head, and I was beginning to doubt she'd be able to move at all. Carth was right, though, it should be fairly easy to stay inconspicuous provided I stopped acting like a stimmed-up thug with too much testosterone. Although I hadn't been the one to pull out a blaster in the middle of a busy cantina.

On the other hand, all the patrons were now leaving us alone.

I shrugged off my internal monologue. "So, the Undercity. How do we get there?"

Carth hesitated before answering. "It's a long way down, and there's not a straight route. Because air traffic has been restricted by the Sith quarantine, we'll have to use the patchwork of turbo-lifts to descend. But… the Sith control the ones I've seen on the Upper City. They won't let anyone past without authorisation – and they'll be on the lookout for Republic fugitives. We'll have to find a way to get around them."

"Okay," I said slowly. "I get the feeling we may need some more resources. I have absolutely no credits, Flyboy. You?"

"Very little." He looked at me seriously. "And even if we do get past the Sith, we'll have to go through the Lower City. From what I've heard, the swoop gangs and the Exchange rule the tunnels down there – and there's been a lot of unrest since the blockade. I don't fancy going there without a bit more equipment – food, a medical kit or two, a spare weapon."

I nodded in agreement. And some cash reserves, I thought silently. In case we need to buy intel or bribe someone. Never hurts to have a little extra on hand. "So, we need to find an easy way to make some creds. There's a dueling ring next door I wouldn't mind trying when I'm feeling a little more alive."

Carth raised an eyebrow. "Yes, uh, I was pretty impressed with the way you took out those Sith soldiers back on the Endar Spire."

I could feel myself blushing. Stop it, already! Act like Jen, don't be her. "I think I get a little crazy in battle," I mumbled. My only evidence to back that up was the desperate fight on the Endar Spire, and yet... yet it felt true. Jen doesn't get crazy in battle. Stars, Jen doesn't even watch holo-flicks about battles.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." Carth's tone was dry. Very dry. I glanced at him sharply, but his face was an inscrutable mask.

"Anyway," I continued, "got any other ideas for credits? Or should we think about looting what we need?" I immediately wished the words back, groaning inwardly. I shouldn't have said that. Judging by first impressions, Carth was a pretty straight-up sort of guy. Standard Fleet military – not accustomed to imaginative solutions.

A look of distaste crossed his face. "I'd rather not, but we may not have a choice. Unless you're any good at pazaak?"

I had a vague recollection of the gambling game. Mostly revolving around luck and psychology. "I'll give it a bash, but I need some cards."

Carth nodded in assent, and we left our table for the pazaak den. An old fellow named Garouk sold us his deck for fifty credits, which had Carth grumbling. When I took his last forty for wagering, he almost expired on the spot.

"Hey, it was your idea," I snapped, as he glowered at me.

"Okay, okay, you're right," he conceded. "Just- you better make that back. We're totally broke now."

"Just watch me, Flyboy." I winked, and walked off. I didn't feel the confidence I was portraying, but the game couldn't be too hard, surely? Garouk had explained the rules, and I was certain some part of me had played it before. If only I could remember. Somehow, muscle memory had kept me going since I'd awoken on the Endar Spire, and thrust into circumstances well beyond Jen's capabilities. As long as I didn't stop to think, luck seemed to be riding with me.

Pazaak was a simple card game that required players to get as close as possible to a score of twenty, without exceeding it. But it was by using the sidedeck – cards that added bonuses and specials – that the game became interesting.

I did not yet have a sidedeck.

There was small change to be had in the junior group of players who clustered around a circular table near the front of the room. Garouk had pointed me there as a starter, and I calmly introduced myself and watched for the first round before being challenged by a wide-eyed Rodian.

There were more non-Humans in the cantina than outside, that was obvious. I wondered how many of them were planet-stranded by the quarantine.

I was cautious with my play, inwardly trying to calculate the odds even as I found myself irritated by the simplicity of the game. None of the juniors had a side-deck, so we were all evenly matched. There was a Twi'lek in the group doing the best, crowing over a pile of tokens that seemed to be about a hundred credits' worth. Soon, I found myself up forty or so – due to no more than dumb luck – while some of the others began to look distinctly crestfallen.

A large figure approached the table.

"Alright, pissants. Who's game enough to wager against me?" the stranger taunted, crossing his arms and smirking at all in turn. The Twi'lek scooped up his pile silently and scuttled away; I blinked in surprise as the rest followed suit. Even the Rodian who'd played me at first – the only other one to be up a significant amount – was quick to disappear.

"Wow. You sure know how to clear a room," I said dryly, shooting him an unimpressed look.

"You were playing against a bunch of pathetic aliens. Of course they run when they see their superior coming." He smiled and sat down across from me. I felt a surge of intense dislike towards the xenophobic idiot. "My name's Niklos. Let's play a game or two, huh?"

I'd almost made back the initial deposit on the cards. We still needed credits. And yet, this patronizing Human was obviously well-versed in pazaak if the juniors were so reluctant to play against him.

"Don't be a coward," the man cajoled, the corner of his mouth twitching in a sneer. "Since you're new here, I'll even double my bet to sweeten the deal. You're not going to scurry away like the rest of those sewer rats, are you?"

My eyes narrowed. That was a good deal, and yet I felt suspicious. Let's try one game only. I won't do anything stupid. "Ten credits," I said briskly, slipping two 5-cred grey tokens out from my pile to the centre of the table. "Let's play."

He laughed, a sound as irritating as a slag grinder, and nudged four greys to meet mine. "Alright," he acquiesced, eyeing over my small pile of credits as if working out how much I had. Niklos began the match by turning a card face over, and after a few deals was up to a score of 13.

He held, flipping no more cards.

That's overly cautious, I realized in surprise, and the next deal saw me up to 16. With a barely restrained smirk, I gathered in the tokens.

"Let's play another," Niklos offered, and he didn't sound upset at the loss. "I'll put in forty to your twenty, this time."

My eyes narrowed on him. If I win, that'll net me a neat one hundred creds, I realized. If I lose, I'll be back down to forty. The odds were good, and I inclined my head in agreement.

He played the same as before, standing on a low 14. It was curious, considering the way the others had left so prematurely. He's a jerk who verbally abuses aliens. Maybe they just don't like him. My 15 trumped his, and I couldn't contain the smile as I surveyed my growing pile of credits. Maybe this would do something to improve Onasi's opinion of me. I glanced over to the far corner of the room where he sat nursing another cup of caffa, throwing the odd inscrutable glance in my direction.

"Thanks for the games, Niklos," I said mildly, standing.

"Don't run away like that spineless tailhead," Nikos said, his voice oily and condescending. There was a twisted look of derision his face, and I felt my jaw clenching in irritation. "I took you for someone with a little courage. Sit down, and play one more deal with me."

"I'm smart enough to call it a good day, Niklos," I said, my eyes narrowing.

Niklos spat to the side. "Pathetic. You're as pathetic and cowardly as those disgusting non-Humans you hang around with."

I could feel the anger stemming up inside. He's a worm that I should grind beneath my boots. My hand twitched in a desire for violence that was insidiously dark and ugly in its intent. I am not Evil Bitch. I will not lash out at such obvious provocation.

Not to mention that we were trying to remain inconspicuous. I took a deep breath inward, and pushed the rage back down.

"I'll triple my deal," Niklos offered, pulling out three hundred-cred tokens. "One last match – your winnings versus mine."

It was too good a deal to refuse, and I found myself seated once more. As the game started, though, Niklos' posture changed from guarded watchfulness to overt confidence. And as he pulled out his side-deck, I realized with a humiliating wave of emotion that I'd been played.

This was his plan all along, to clear out my winnings. Sithspit! My vibrosword was still at my side. It would take one motion to slice him open from throat to navel, and pull out his intestines in front of his horror-filled eyes.

No, no that's awful! Jen whispered in shock. No, no that's suicidal, I countered. The Sith, remember? The stars-cursed Sith. But the fury didn't dissipate. There was a buzzing in my ears, and I felt almost detached from the situation as an electric sensation began to resonate within me.

It sharpened as Niklos used a special card to bring his total to 18. He smirked in victory.

The hairs on my exposed forearms lifted, as if a static cloud had engulfed me in raw energy. Words tumbled out of my mouth, unbidden and instinctive and laden with meaning. "You should try for twenty. I bet the next card's a two."

"I – I think I'll try for twenty," he told me, in his thick accent. His eyes were round and slightly glazed. "I believe the next card is a two."

It was a 7. The charge I felt in the air vanished, and I suddenly felt less alive.

And afraid. Surprised, and a little afraid.

"Thanks Niklos, I'm out," I said hurriedly, grabbing his tokens and standing. Goosebumps rose on my spine. Niklos was staring at his pazaak cards in utter confusion. I brushed past an Aqualish who'd been watching, and ignored his startled glance as I rushed back to Onasi.

My heart was thundering. That's not normal. I did something, there. My fists were clenching, fingernails biting deep into the flesh. Niklos would likely trail after me soon, trying to bait me into another game. I wanted to get out of the cantina, now.

I jerked my head towards the entrance, and Onasi followed me as I cashed in my credits, his brows raising in surprise.

"Whoa, sister, that's a fair haul," he murmured, looking vaguely impressed. "I, uh, I was worried when you started playing Niklos. One of the patrons told me he liked to prey on the new players."

I didn't respond, heading silently out of the pazaak den and towards the cantina proper. Did I use the Force without realizing? I wondered in bewilderment. Is that sort of thing possible?

"You didn't tell me you were a card shark," Onasi prompted, a question in his voice.

"I- well, I was lucky," I muttered. He shot me a disbelieving look. Parlour tricks and diversion, a voice sneered. That was child's play, you moron.

I flinched, and accidentally bumped into a seated Human dining near the front of the cantina. She turned to glare at me, surrounded by a handful of well-dressed friends.

"Hey, watch where you're going, cantina rat!" she snapped. Coloured ferracrystal gleamed from her lobes and around her neck. "I thought the help here was supposed to be in uniform, not dressed as gutter trash! Where are my drinks, you useless waiter?"

Heat pounded through my veins, surging from before, an electric darkness that all too easily overwhelmed rational thought. "Shut up, you spoiled brat!" I hissed. My fists clenched as I glared. Her gaze dropped to the visible vibrosword at my side, and she stood, backing away.

"How dare you speak to me like that!" She took another step back, face whitening in outrage. Her friends gathered to their feet, soft and rich and all edging away alongside her. "You will regret this, you low-born schutta!"

"You know, when I said nobody would be looking for us-" Carth's voice in the background slowly dispelled the red rage consuming me- "it went with the assumption that we'd be acting inconspicuous. Silly of me to assume that about you, I know." He sounded- well, more irritated than anything else. As the anger fled, it irked me that he was right yet again.

"I'd apologise, but you'd probably just complain again," I muttered. To my surprise, he actually chuckled.

"At least things don't get dull around you," he commented. "But in all seriousness, you- we- need to look and act like common Tarisian citizens. Yelling at aristocrats is not the way to go."

"I'll get better control of my temper." The annoying part was that he was right – these flashes of irrational anger were dangerous. To our mission, to our survival, and maybe even to my own mental health. And I'd prefer not to receive another lecture from him. But the noblewoman had taken me by surprise – the pazaak game had taken me by surprise – nothing made any frelling sense.

"For someone who's fairly shy, you sure do have one heck of a short fuse." He said it like a question. I knew he was wary of me, with good reason. He didn't know the half of it.

I just stared at him in mute response, and he raised his hands in entreaty. "Okay, okay! I'll drop it – for now."

Hah, that almost sounded like a threat. Bring it on, Republic.

xXx

"Keep your eyes closed. And sit still!" the man admonished as I wriggled my toes. With effort, I stilled once more, attempting to block out the discomfort of sitting in one position for too long.

"Focus on what you can hear. Only your hearing. Stretch your senses out," he continued. He'd have me reciting all the various noises I could pick out, and then chastise me for missing half again as much. But with my eyes closed, it was hard to ignore the stench: the refuse and the rot and the unwashed stink that permeated every corner of Altizir's Western Underground. My sense of smell overpowered my hearing no matter how I practiced.

My best friend didn't understand why I stayed with the man. Everyone thought blind old Freeflight was just another crazy – mind gone to rot under the shackles of poverty and desperation. We were all trapped in this miserable slum, penned in like bantha behind automated turrets that cut down any Uncitizen who dared dream of escape. It wasn't uncommon for a sentient's mind to break – and crazies didn't usually last long, after that.

But Freeflight was different. He wasn't crazy. Just… fascinating. His strange stories, his odd exercises, his dreams of a galaxy far, far away from this miserable place that drove desolation into everyone's soul.

Sometimes, I felt like I was breathing his dreams in, tasting them in my mind, visualizing myself out there in the stars, somewhere.

My best friend thought hope was dangerous, but I didn't care. And I didn't care if it was me supporting Freeflight these days – scavenging for scraps that couldn't really be called food, or dragging him to safety during another Enforcer raid. I didn't care.

It hadn't always been this way.

If not for Freeflight, I would've died a toddler, squalling over my mother's corpse. He was the only family I had, and I loved him as fiercely as a true daughter could.

"The creaking of plasteel boards," I muttered, barely repressing a sigh. My nose twitched at the stars-awful smell. "The trickle of the sewer pipe flooding again. Snores of a half-dozen sents shivering around the corner."

"Good," he murmured, giving my shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "Now list at least another six."

I woke with a start, breathing in audibly as I sat bolt upright in bed. What was that? I wondered in shock. A dream? It was the most vivid dream I could ever recall having, sharp and intense with both emotion and clarity... and yet, as I struggled to focus on the details, they were already slipping through the cracks. Something about hearing an old man? An old man I cared for? In a slum? The dream blurred, fading into the soft forgetfulness that was common with consciousness.

But... the feeling of caring- of wanting to make someone proud- lingered, even as I scrubbed tiredly at my face and urged myself to focus on the present.

My shoulder ached and my head throbbed, demanding my attention away from the fragments of the dream. I groaned softly, rolling my shoulder. Ahhh, what I'd give for an adrenastim. A drink would be almost as good.

Carth was asleep on the floor, after insisting that I take the bed. He's one of those traditional heroes, probably likes to open doors for ladies and rescue helpless victims. If only I could reliably act like one, I smirked to myself, then I might have a better chance of getting him onside.

I glanced down at the chronometer – Jen's personal one, attached firmly to my wrist and now adjusted for Tarisian time. There were hours until dawn, and I highly doubted I'd be able to fall back into restful slumber. Moving about might loosen my muscles. With a nod to myself, I slipped out of bed quietly, so as not to wake the Republic pilot.

Silently, I changed into a set of drab clothes Carth had given me after sulkily grabbing his flight jacket back. I rolled my eyes at the memory. Republic pilots and their lucky charms.

Thoughts like that still struck me by surprise. Jen had never met a pilot before, other than the odd crop-duster. Until the Jedi came, of course. But if my head injury had caused some sort of mental delusion, then why did all my reactions scream of a life completely at odds with Jen Sahara's?

Because I'm not Jen Sahara. I knew that now, but it seemed I needed constant reminding. Because the knock to my head freed me, or at least cracked the prison wall enough to let the light shine in.

Bastila was still out cold in the back of my head, like a frozen ice-pop, occasionally reminding me of her existence. I wondered briefly what this Jedi was like. She seemed snooty, all high and mighty, from what I heard of her. And very young, to have been given command of a Republic cruiser. I sighed, and turned my thoughts to other things. Bastila was one of the many topics I had no plausible answer to.

Well, time to scope out this building, I told myself as I stealthily walked to the door. There was no way I was going to wake Onasi up for this one, as I fully intended to loot whatever I found. I'd filched a low-grade tech spike from the inebriated lout who'd bought me a drink, and I was starting to wonder if I'd been a thief or street kid of some description. I feel like I know how to break into places. I can't remember it though. Jen wouldn't dream of breaking in anywhere, and I can't imagine Evil Bitch fiddling around with a lockpick. It'd probably be beneath her, I thought sourly.

The dark circular hallway was abandoned, and I walked up to the nearest door, listening intently for any sounds. Nothing. Either nobody's home, or someone's asleep. It didn't bother me greatly either way, and some dim part of me realized I was acting rather reckless. But hey, we need the credits. Ever since I'd woken up with a head injury and contradictory personalities on the Endar Spire, I'd been taking the crazy road. It seemed like the best way to stop thinking.

With a practiced hand, I automatically keyed into the tech lock and bypassed the security. The door swished open. I blinked, stunned. Muscle memory, again. I've done this a lot. Where? Why? I wish I knew the truth.

xXx

An hour or so later, and my mind was disintegrating once more. I leaned against a corridor wall, shaking, sweat beading down my forehead. I can't go on like this. I keep hounding myself for control, and I keep failing miserably.

It had been fine - the first three apartments. I hadn't really expected to find much, and other than a small stash of credit chits and a long, concealing coat I fancied, I'd walked away from the first two places empty-handed. The third, however, was the jackpot. Obviously some shady dealings took place in this grimy excuse for a building, as I was fortunate enough to stumble on somebody's rather impressive stash of weaponry. I'd noticed a small pile of stims on the table first – those I'd be keeping secret from Onasi. From there, pilfering a pair of blasters, a vibrosword, and a handful of grenades was automatic; I'd hesitated on what looked like some sort of modified Mandalorian assault rifle. Honestly, it was amazing what some people left lying about.

But the next apartment...

The findings had left me careless; I'd waltzed in without checking the place was empty. Reckless. I'd woken a couple of Bith who'd mistaken me for an Exchange thug, and immediately started begging for their lives. The sense of superiority and rightness that had swamped me overwhelmed any other thought. One of the Bith had cowered from his small bunk, pleading in a high-pitched tone for more time. Whatever their problem with the Exchange was – I hadn't cared; all that mattered was that they feared me. From somewhere came the conviction that this was how the galaxy should be. I am to be feared, and obeyed.

"Don't hurt us!" one of them had begged. And as quick as a kath hound, my feelings had changed. How could I do this? Break into some poor creature's apartment, and terrify them so? I should be begging their forgiveness, offering to somehow make up for this slight!

I'd settled for running out of there.

Anger, hate, and self-loathing swirled through my mind in an explosive mix. I was losing control; my mind was waging war with itself and no matter how it turned out – I'd lose.I shuddered against the wall. Staying here – not far from the Bith's apartment – possibly wasn't in my best interests, either.

I closed my eyes and swallowed. I need to put more effort into this. I need to be Jen, until I'm in a safer place and have time to work it all out. I can do it, if I just try a little harder.

With shaky new resolve I took a deep breath, and opened my eyes again. Time to head back and drop off this loot.

I lifted my chin, and began the trek back.

It was second-nature to avoid the gazes of others, while remaining aware of their presence. In the alien quarter of Upper Taris, sents were treated like scum, and wariness was inbuilt into every resident. Being Human, I stood out.

So did the sobbing woman who sprinted past me before mashing her hand against an apartment door-control.

Guess I'm not the only one with issues. Still, there was something about her tearful state and desperate posture that pulled at me. Maybe… maybe, I wanted to prove to myself that I was one of the good guys. That I wasn't Evil Bitch.

"Are you okay?" I called out, as the apartment door swished open under the woman's trembling hand. "Do you need help?"

She shot me a wild look over her shoulder. Attractive and well-attired, she seemed a strange prospect to be roughing it in this rundown complex. She's hiding. Running from something. Just like me.

"Do you want to talk?" I asked, lowering my voice.

"I-" She closed her eyes, shoulders sagging as she leaned against the open doorway. "All I want is my life back."

Her voice was crisp and well-enunciated. Core accent. Chandrilan, maybe Coruscanti. I'd guess well-educated, too. Probably stranded on Taris because of the quarantine. I felt my fist curl tightly against my side, recognizing yet again another observation that Jen Sahara would never formulate. Like she could recognize Core accents.

"Well, the offer's genuine," I said, suddenly aware of exactly how I appeared when the woman's eyes re-opened and appraised me. A cagey expression crossed her face as her gaze lingered on the vibrosword strapped at my waist. Not even the long coat fully concealed it. "Or, I could just leave-"

"You're a merc," she guessed, blinking. "Trapped on Taris, just like me. I- would you like a job?"

"I-" I halted, my eyes narrowing. "A job?"

Immediately, my mind sharpened on the thought. We need the credits. Doesn't hurt to hear the woman out. She was nodding at me, a sudden eagerness brightening her dark eyes, even as she was still sniffing back tears.

"Yes. You- you can stop people for credits, right? I- I wouldn't ask… and I've only got fifty-four credits left… I mean, I wouldn't dream of asking this… but he said- the bastard said-"

"Whoa." I held up a hand, forestalling any further explanation. She wants me to kill someone for creds. A bounty. A murder. For creds. The thought should have rattled me more than it did.

We need the credits. Fifty-four isn't a lot, but we need everything we can get. And- she'll just ask someone else if I refuse.

With a wary glance down the empty corridor, I motioned her inside. "Let's take this somewhere a little more private, alright?" I couldn't forget the Sith I'd run into, minutes after waking up on this planet.

"O-okay." She walked inside, stumbling a little, while leaving the door open for me to follow.

The apartment beyond looked similar to mine and Onasi's – small, brown, and bereft of furnishings other than a bedroll and a torn cushion in the corner. The kitchenette was streaked with dried stains of caffa grinds, and the only visible crockery was a sole plasteel plate on the bench.

She hadn't been here long.

I glanced back to the woman; she'd dropped down on the battered cushion, hugging her legs to her chest.

"A fighter like you, you probably think I'm pathetic," she muttered. "It's just- I was only on Taris for a brief academic flyover- then the quarantine forced me to stay and… I thought he was so charming! Interested in my mind! And then- then the bastard wouldn't stop pawing at me and…" she trailed off, dropping her head onto her knees.

"You want me to kill a man who took advantage of you," I said flatly, laying out the specifics. We need the creds, my mind repeated coldly. Besides, last thing this galaxy needs is another creep who won't keep his hands to himself.

"I want you to kill him because he put a four-hundred credit bounty on my head!" she burst out, her head jerking up and her dark eyes blazing fiercely at me.

My mind froze over. My muscles clenched. Four hundred credits. That would double what we have now.

"He wouldn't keep his hands to himself, even when I asked him to stop!" she raged. "I pulled out his shiv from his belt- I didn't mean to cut him, just make him back off. But Holdan's a spiteful little Hutt-slug! And now I have every wannabe bounty-hunter after my head, and I just want to get off this cursed planet!"

Dark thoughts raged like wildfire. Four hundred is a lot more than what she's offering… and she's standing here right in front of me! There was a trembling in my limbs, a tearing in my head. No! She's an innocent woman! The drab apartment blurred in front of me. I felt my hands hit the floor. But I need the credits, and if I don't kill her someone else will, so what's the problem? Cool plasteel pressed against my face. I should be helping her get out of this, the poor lady! How can I even contemplate something like that?

I could feel someone shaking me. "Are you alright? Wake up! What's wrong?" I opened eyes to see the woman I'd been talking to shake me gently. Her face was taut with concern.

Concern for someone who is thinking about killing her. That really puts me in my place.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, and pushed myself up. "I really am – forgive me. I've been sick recently, and obviously not recovered."

"What are you doing up and about then?"

"Overdoing things, I guess." With her help, I scrambled to my feet, and my head cleared. The voices fled, leaving only a residual nausea. I sucked in a shaky gasp of air. "I'm sorry about your plight. I wish I could help, but I'm not the merc you took me for."

"Oh." She swallowed, unmoving. An easy target. The look in her large eyes was unbearably sad. "Well, thank you for listening at least. My- my name's Dia, by the way."

I stared at Dia for a frozen moment, before a hand moved to my belt on automatic reflex. I'd hooked one of the blasters there, back in the apartment that'd yielded so much weaponry.

Her eyes widened as she caught my movement. She scrabbled back, horror tightening her face-

"Have this," I said, my voice coming out cold and calm. I strode towards her, offering the blaster grip-first to the cowering woman.

Dia blinked, before tentatively clasping her fingers around the weapon.

"Bounty rules," I said flatly. "If the victim kills the one who placed the bounty, the deal's off. Bounty-office keeps the creds, but at least you get your life."

Where were these words coming from? Cold and calculating, even as the burn of emotion raged through me. I didn't want any part of this. Not even to help Dia. I didn't trust myself not to turn on this academic from a Core world, this soft woman who was a lot more like Jen Sahara than I seemed to be.

"I- thanks," she said, swallowing again. The blaster hung limply in her grasp, and although I found myself wishing for her survival – I didn't believe in it. Not truly.

She's got a better chance by herself than with me. There was a sour taste in my mouth.

"Go- go see a doctor, okay?" Dia suggested, throwing me a weak smile.

I gave her a short nod, turned, and left the apartment.

xXx

It wasn't a bad idea.

Dia's last words kept repeating in my head as I dumped the loot back in the apartment. Fortunately, Carth was still soundly asleep, snoring gently in the corner. I certainly wasn't up to any sort of grilling about my whereabouts; not yet.

Go see a doctor, okay?

But what the frell would I say? Hi, I think I'm three people, and I'm going crazy? Yeah. That'd go down well.

No, I can't tell anyone about this. If I have to keep it from a Jedi then I'd be stupid to let a doctor know.

I was wide awake still, and far too edgy to stay lurking around a sleeping Carth Onasi. A walk. A walk outside might clear my head. Before I knew it, I'd completely cleared the apartment complex, and was striding out into the Tarisian courtyards.

Other than the odd patrolling Sith and a couple of drunks harmlessly singing off-key, Upper Taris was pretty empty. Dawn was just starting to pink the horizon.

I need to control this, I thought determinedly. I can fight these thoughts. I know I can. I had an intuitive belief that I could do whatever I set my mind to, provided I was determined enough. I'll beat this. And I'll convince everyone that I'm still sweet Jen.

I felt a little more at peace. A little. I'd better head back before Onasi wakes. With a deep breath, I turned, and started heading back to the hideout.

I can do this. No problem. I'll be fine.

A voice from the dark depths of my mind whispered something. Overconfidence. You were always too... but I couldn't recall the rest.

xXx