Disclaimer: Still don't own it.

Celia awoke to the sound of finely tuned engines. She opened her eyes and blinked once. The Ithorian smiled insanely, a huge grin painted where some deranged artist imagined its mouth should be. He was a garish green, unlike the purple and also madly grinning Rodian next to him. Below them were the words Mensaad and Lurze: Galaxy's Best Comedians. Blinking once more, she realized she was lying on her side on a bed roll surrounded by an odd assortment of packing containers, some brightly painted like the ones she had seen. She sat up, wincing as her aching head reminded her what she had been doing to warrant its complaint. The cargo hold was definitely not the robo barge she had passed out in.

Sudden footsteps made her stand up and reach for her blaster. Panicking when she realized her holster was empty, she cast about looking for something to use as a weapon. Before she could find something, however, a man slid down the ladder at the other end of the hold and turned around. He was tall, with long hair, a roguish beard and moustache and mischievous blue eyes. The dramatic manner in which he carried himself suggested an adventurous eccentricity, though his clothes were cut simply, a black leather pilot's jacket over a white tunic and black pants of durable material. Judging by the ancient-looking long vibroblade he had sheathed in his belt and the silver hoop earrings, he obviously fancied himself a pirate.

When he spoke, his accent definitely placed him as a Corellian and his resonant voice reminded her of the handsome holovid actor she had had a crush on when she was young. "Well, Lieutenant, you're up and about, I see. Allow me to introduce myself," he offered, making a flamboyant bow. "I am Captain Imril V'Dar of the freighter Dustman upon which we are currently holding our conversation. While your uniform marks you as Lieutenant Navigator of the Kuari Princess, I am at a loss and a disadvantage as to your name."

Taken aback by his wordiness, Celia gaped at him for a moment, then managed. "Uh, yes. I'm Celia Durasha, formerly of the Kuari Princess."

In a few short steps, he was right in front of her, kissing her hand. "Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Ms. Durasha. How are you feeling? We tended to your head as best we could. Should it still ache, there are some pain relievers in that footlocker over there." He motioned to a light gray one with a large red design on the top.

"Oh, ah, thank you." Celia regained her rationality. "Could I have my blaster back, by the way?"

Imril's face fell. "Ah, well, there's the thing of it. Why don't you come up to the cockpit for a drink and tell me why you were speeding around in the Maelstrom in a Kuari Cruise Line robo barge?" he invited, a grin returning to his face. He motioned to the ladder, stepping to one side.

Hesitating, Celia narrowed her eyes. "How do I know I can trust you?" she retorted, her feeling of suspicion growing.

Adopting an injured expression, Imril sighed. "Oh, come now. If I had wanted to enslave you or torture you or even slit your exquisitely shaped throat, I would have saved the trouble and done it to you while you were recovering from the scrape on your skull. Besides," his eyes flicked down to her left boot momentarily. "I left that pretty toy of yours where it belongs, haven't I? Now stop being a huffy imperial bureaucrat and come along." He started to climb up the ladder.

"Imperial bureaucrat! Coming from an overdressed Wookiee, that's rich," sputtered Celia, reassured by the comforting weight of her dagger in her boot and giving in slightly to Imril's irrepressible manner. She was surprised when Imril stuck his head down out of the cockpit and grinned, winking at her.

When Celia could see the cockpit, she nearly fell off the ladder when she saw the imposing form of Hakky standing in the corner, the eyes in his triangular head glowing red. "What in the name of Sith is that!"

The eyes flickered as the assassin droid met her eyes. "Forced Polite Inquiry: I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"Hakky, make yourself useful and go organize the supplies or something like that," ordered Imril, flinging himself down in the pilot's seat and grabbing a bottle and two glasses. Grumbling, the rust-red droid reached down and grabbed Celia's hand, hauling her up the rest of the way and began to climb down the ladder himself.

The former navigator sat down gingerly in the copilot's seat, surprised to find that it was rather comfortable. She relaxed, accepting the glass of amber fluid that Imril handed to her, the smoky scent identifying it as a wine from Ord Mantell. As she took a sip and the warmth trickled down her throat, the worries and stress of the past few hours eased.

Tossing back his glassful as though it was water, Imril poured himself another tot and put his foot up on the console, looking like a crime lord surveying his riches from the comfort of his throne. Laconically, he sighed. "Will you look at that…"

Following his gaze, Celia looked out the viewport where the Maelstrom swirled around the ship, tendrils and ribbons of vermillion dancing across space. It was a sight not new to her, having made the journey through the nebula time and again on the cruise ship. "What about it?"

"Sometimes, you never realize how beautiful the universe can be until you have a glass of something stimulating, a ship rumbling under your boots, and life by the throat." A glint of satisfaction appeared in his eyes as he took another drink from his glass.

"Yes, I once thought that." Kaileel's words rose, unbidden, in Celia's mind. From Mantooine, the Maelstrom Nebula appears to be but another speck in the universe. It is not until you are in the middle of it that you realize how vast it is. It is the same with the Empire. Doubtless, the late security chief would have told Imril the same. No matter how pretty the stars looked when you sat around looking at them with a drink in your hand, there were people on them who suffered from the things you could fight against.

Pouring himself yet another drink and putting his other foot atop his first, Imril looked at her expectantly. "Well?" he said after a moment. "Tell me how you ended up in the nebula."

Setting down her half finished wine, Celia looked at him suspiciously. "I don't think so. I don't really trust you. The less you know about me, the less you have to answer for, later."

"My friend," began Imril, his voice durasteel, no sign of inebriation in the hard stare he gave her. "You were riding in a robo barge that normally is not piloted by a real being. There are traces of blood on your fancy toy in your boot. You did not deny that you are former Lieutenant Navigator on the Kuari Princess. Your past can remain hidden from me, that's fine. I'll hand you over to the company or the Empire," here he was rewarded with a flinch from Celia. "for the bounty. It might torment me for awhile, wondering what you did, but in time, I'll have moved on." With a swift movement, he reached down and retrieved her glass and set it on the console.

Pale with anger, Celia felt betrayed. He had not treated her like any other bounty hunter would, having a drink with her and wanting to know what circumstances brought her to this point. She clenched her fists, emerald eyes glaring right back at Imril. Without warning, her hand shot down to her boot for her knife, intending to hold it against his throat and see how smug and commanding he would be then. Her fingers felt only an empty sheath.

Light gleamed on the stolen blade and sparkled on the gem over the hilt, as Imril twirled it skillfully in his fingers, still not looking away from her. The image of a mere pirate playing with the knife that Raine gave her made her throw aside her fear. She threw a quick punch at his face; he dodged and suddenly, a blaster was revealed in his free hand. She froze and Imril sighed, reaching out and shoving her back into her chair. "Are you done trying to kill me?"

Celia had never felt so helpless before and merely slumped in her chair, biting her lip. Imril sat back once more, simply looking at her. For some reason, she decided it was better to tell someone her story before the final chapter. Reluctantly, she blurted out, "You were right. That was blood on my dagger. On the Kuari Princess, I was best friends with the security chief, a Kabieroun by the name of Kaileel. We used to play Waroots and Farangs a lot. Anyway, it turns out on the last three planet stops, he had stolen some blasters from the security supplies and smuggled them to Rebel groups on the planets. On Mantooine, our last stop before going into the Maelstrom, one of our ship's new passengers was an Imperial Intelligence officer. He found out about Kaileel and threw him in the brig. I sprung him. That's when…" her voice trailed off, her eyes captivated on the dagger Imril continued to twirl. The pirate seemed to realize the trick was in bad taste and stopped. Celia continued, "There were two of them. Kaileel and I almost made it to the robo barge when the officer caught up with us and shot him. I wounded him and managed to escape. The rest you know."

Imril looked at her sitting hunched forward in the copilot's chair, staring dejectedly at her hands. He could tell it was the first time she had killed someone or had seen someone die. She looked to be a normal person, a law-abiding citizen. From Irmil's experience, people like that who ended up causing the death of others took their guilt extremely hard, sometimes turning into murderers who cared for nothing. "Don't you have any family you can turn to for help? Besides, if I did turn you over to the company, they'd probably give you a fair trial. As for the Imperials, you strike me as the kind of lady who comes from a family well embedded in society and of substantial influence."

He had said the wrong thing. Celia glared out the viewport. "Oh yes," she spat in disgust. "Back on Lankashiir, my father went out of his way to ensure I was protected. He even made sure my application to the Imperial Academy was turned down so I wouldn't plague the Imperial Navy with my inferior feminine thinking. Probably, he'd say I deserved this for trying to leave Lankashiir and strike out on my own." Her outburst finished, she sighed. "Imperial Intelligence is not one to cross, anyway. Especially not with the Isards in there."

At the mention of the name, Imril choked on his drink. "You know," he managed between coughs. "Ysanne Isard?"

Judging by his reaction, there was a story involved. Celia's curiosity overcame her trepidation and cocked her head, asking innocently, "Why? Do you?"

Imril gave a hollow laugh, settling back in his seat. "Not personally, but I saw her once, back in – " he stopped and gave her a suspicious glance. "Wait a minute. You trying to weasel information from me?" A crafty smile lit his face. "I suppose I might be persuaded to tell you a story…for a price. Can you cook?"

Taken aback, Celia nodded. Her mother had taught her back on Lankashiir and she had often gone hunting with her brothers and done the cooking for them then. Imril nodded in approval and continued, "Well, then. Hakky and I liberated a store of nerf steaks from a local restaurant on the last planet." The pirate pulled a wry face. "Unfortunately, neither of us can cook very well, though I can make a rather palatable hubba gourd stew."

It was ridiculous. Celia should have been trying to think of a way to escape, but couldn't possibly think of leaving until she had found out where Imril had met Ysanne Isard. She followed the pirate down into the hold, where he rummaged around and produced a small field cooking unit and some steaks that were so large, the burner could hold one at a time alone. As she cooked them, Imril made himself useful, throwing the contents of a green salad together with all the aplomb of a Coruscant gourmet chef.

Hakky watched from the shadows, the blaster rifle still in his hands. "Statement: Master Imril, the Nebula gases are safely contained within the robo barge. I suggest that we detach from the ship in order to reengage our engines."

"Do that, would you, Hakky? By the way, what is the maximum capacity of the barge?"

"Statement: By my thorough calculations, we have collected four thousand tons of gas. Compressed, that would be more that we had originally hoped to collect on this trip." The assassin droid turned and clanked up the ladder, his joints squeaking.

"Thank the Force for wacky scientists and beautiful women hijackers, then." Imril turned back to his work, whistling cheerfully at the thought of all those credits they were due to receive. He caught Celia's questioning look and shrugged. "We borrowed your vessel for a bit, Lady. Hope you don't mind. There's a scientist on Nar Shaddaa who wants some of the Maelstrom gas for a project backed by the Hutts. Apparently, he thinks he can compress the gas into a solid form, combine it with durasteel, and make ship armor that will render any ship covered in it invisible to sensors."

"And they actually told you this?" Celia frowned, flipping over a steak. "That seems rather free of the Hutts, to entrust the information to a merc."

"They didn't – Hakky sliced into the laboratory mainframe." With a final flourish, the pirate finished the salad. "If they knew I knew, I'd probably be on the bounty lists." He passed her a plate and she set a steak on it. Flicking a wrist, a vibroshiv slid out of his sleeve into his hands; expertly, he sliced off a piece of meat and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed, his blue eyes rolled in evident rapture. "Oh, Lady," he groaned dramatically. "Grasp thy blade and slay me now, for I know that in this life I will never taste anything better than this delicate piece of starfruit. Verily will I die in peace."

"Give me back my dagger and I shall oblige," Celia needled sweetly, putting on anther steak. "You're very strange for a bounty hunter. Somehow I can't imagine Boba Fett allowing his bounties to cook steak for him, or drink with him in the cockpit."

"Oh, I dunno." Eagerly, Imril sliced off another piece of meat and devoured it. "Anyone who can cook like this doesn't deserve to be handed over to the imps. I'm sorry but no matter how much you insist, I'll be dropping you off on the nearest planet."

Bemusedly, the former navigator shot him a glance. "I was right – you are an overdressed Wookiee, always thinking with your stomach. But," she turned serious, a small hope burning inside her. "Do you really mean it?"

"Of course."

"Just like that?" Celia was skeptical.

Taking a deep breath, Imril regretfully put down his steak and raised his fist to his heart. "Upon my honor as a thoroughly disreputable scoundrel, a roguishly handsome pirate, and a happy-go-lucky soldier of the stars, I shall not turn you into the agents of the Almighty Emperor, may crazed Ewoks roast his evil backside," he promised, his face serious. "Besides," he began wolfing down his steak again. "Whatever the bounty is, it probably wouldn't get me a steak this good in any fancy restaurant in the palace district of Coruscant."

"Thanks." Celia sat down on a nearby footlocker, her own steak and salad on a plate balanced on her lap. She shifted her foot so that her knife didn't dig into her leg so much. Then, she realized that it was back in her sheath and pulled it out, staring at it in confusion. "How did you do that?" she asked.

"It's easy enough. When I was growing up, I often did that sort of thing for fun," replied the pirate dismissively, finishing his meal and brushing his lips off. He dug into another container and pulled out two small bottles of Elba water, passing one to her and sitting at her side.

"So, are you going to tell me about Isard, now?"

"Oh, please," groaned Imril, taking a sip. "You don't want to hear about the experiences of a first lieutenant of the Imperial navy, do you?"

"You were in the Imperial Navy!" exclaimed Celia. "Where were you stationed? Did something happen that made you desert?"

Imril held up a finger, cutting short her flow of questions. "I thought I was going to tell you about Isard. Why I left is another story. Now," he took another drink and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling as he continued. "I was on the ship The Termination, a Victory class Star Destroyer. As it happens, we were carrying a passenger to Coruscant, a rather cheerful and lively person by the name of Darth Vader."

"You were on the same ship as the Dark Lord?"

Imril closed his eyes patiently. "Yes, Ms. Durasha. That's what I said, Ms. Durasha. Kindly stop interrupting, Ms. Durasha. As it was, I was one of the few under officers allowed to be on the bridge due to my remarkable piloting skills. The captain, one who prided himself on finding talent, let me observe the bridge crew at work. I was very close, he said, to becoming a flight officer myself, and that I might as well familiarize myself with the bridge of a ship as soon as possible." He opened his eyes once more, staring off into the distance, the drink in his hand forgotten. "We had just entered the system when we were contacted by a shuttle with orders to allow it to dock. Who should come strutting aboard but Ysanne Isard, recently indoctrinated into Imperial Intelligence and demanding that the Star Destroyer be placed under her command."

His listener raised an eyebrow, a knowing look in her emerald eyes. "Vader had a fit?"

Shuddering, Imril remembered his drink and took a pull. "You could practically feel the Hoth winds that his words created when he came up to the bridge and confronted Isard. I'll say one thing for that lady, though: she had guts. She didn't back down, glaring into those eyes on Vader's mask and flourishing her orders like a lightsaber. Then, she turned to me, of all people. I can still remember it – her fiery red eye and her Hoth-colored blue one staring down into the crew pit at me. By that point, she was ready to take out her aggression and flaunt her new authority on someone. She said to me, 'Soldier, you went to the academy – tell Lord Vader what he should do when he is presented with orders to fulfill.'" He took a bigger gulp from his drink at the memory.

"Well?" pressed Celia, the story getting to her. She could tell he was enjoying telling it as much as she was enjoying hearing it.

"So, of course now, Vader himself is staring at me and I'm stuck between the charging bantha and the cliff. His unseen gaze isn't much better than Isard's, rather worse actually. 'Lieutenant?' he rumbles dangerously. 'How should we solve this?' I was seriously considering volunteering for an Outer Rim assignment by that time, let me tell you. Figuring no matter what I would say would land me in somebody's bad book, I blurted the first thing that came to mind." Looking down at his bottle, Imril fell silent.

Impatiently, Celia fidgeted, her meal only half-finished.

Imril spoke up again, still examining the label on the bottle. "I think I shall talk to Hakky about using the sonic cleaner down here. It seems to affect the taste of the booze."

"Imril!" Without thinking, Celia whacked him on the arm like she had done so many times with Raine when her twin brother was teasing her. "What did you say to Vader and Isard!"

"What? Oh." Imril raised the bottle to his lips as he finished. "'Hydrospanners at fifty paces.'"

For a moment, Celia was silent. Then, she snorted, a grin creeping across her face. The snort became a full-fledged laugh. Imril joined her, their amusement making the cargo hold echo and Hakky come clanking down the ladder to see what the joke was. Celia leaned helplessly against Imril's shoulder, still giggling uncontrollably. It felt good to laugh again.

For Imril, it was nice to have someone to laugh with. In addition to that, her weight and head on his shoulder awoke in him a feeling he had not had for a long time. The last time he had talked to anyone so freely was his little sister a few short weeks before he entered the Academy. Their laughter faded, yet Celia did not move, her head still resting on his shoulder. Imril felt her shaking and looked to see her crying silently, not from mirth. Memories flashed through his mind, ones of his own sister weeping as she did now. Gently, ready to pull away if she stiffened, Imril put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a comforting hug. "And here was old fool me, thinking that that story was funny," he whispered.

Her tears ran crystalline down his black leather jacket as she sniffed. "I'm sorry," she apologized, feeling incredibly stupid for crying on the shoulder of a guy she had just met. A memory of Adion flashed in her mind, the last man who had held her…and the man who had killed her best friend. Yet, the thought was replaced with one of Raine and how, one day, when she was seven, she had fallen down and scraped her knee. She had cried then, too, but then, her twin brother had walked over and given her a hug to make her feel better. Slowly, her arm encircled him, returning his embrace. "Thank you for telling me. Don't worry; it was funny. Just…the last time I laughed was with Kaileel. So, naturally, I thought about him."

"Did you love him?" asked Imril softly.

Celia smiled wanly and shook her head. "No, he was merely a good friend. We respected one another immensely and kept our eyes out for each other. He'd call me 'crimson' and I'd call him 'chief.'"

"Unless he beat you at Waroots and Farangs. Then, you called him several other things, right?"

Chuckling, Celia looked up at his grinning face."Something like that. He was almost like my twin brother in that regard. Raine would do the most infuriating things, I'd get upset, and we'd have a verbal sparring session. It's funny though – there was no one else that close to me. Like the rest of my brothers, he joined the Imperial Navy" She sighed wistfully, shifting to a more comfortable position. "Right before all this happened, I had found out that he'd been killed in a spaceport on Ralltiir. Some Rebel ambush."

"I'm sorry." Imril sounded like he meant it, his voice compassionate and low. "If he was anything like you, I would have been insanely jealous of his good looks. As for friendship, your brother and you remind me of my little sister and I.

"When my older sister went off to Coruscant to study at a fancy school, I got to really know Katira. During our younger years, we couldn't stand one another and used to fight all the time. Selana's absence caused us to rely on each other more for sibling companionship." He snorted as the memories rolled past. "We got into all kinds of mischief. She was the one who wanted me to become an actor because I was always making her laugh. When she found out I wanted to go to the Imperial Academy, she blew up at me, saying that I was wasting my talent. I ignored her and left without apologizing. The rest of my family wasn't too happy about my decision either but they supported me. Surprisingly, I managed to graduate from the Academy early, my intelligence being above average, supposedly. After two years of active duty, I was finally granted leave. I contacted home, only to hear that she had been killed a few days before."

Bitterly, Imril gave Celia a half smile. "She was in a cantina when two off duty stormtroopers tried to score one off her, shall we say. They shot her after she told them what to do with their blasters." Despite the hatred in his voice, his face remained expressionless, save for the ice in his eyes. Imril looked away, sighing. "Of course, CorSec couldn't do anything. Those two murderers were part of the 501st, untouchable. I heard about how they were disciplined by being sent to Tatooine to serve the garrison there for two months, then rejoin the battalion."

He looked down at his hand, tightening it into a fist. His next words spoken in a distant tone, as though he had detached himself from his surroundings. "I resigned my commission, furious with the Empire and its warped sense of justice. Then," Regaining his dramatic manner, Imril finished, "The sands of Tatooine swallowed two more souls forever."

So, thought Celia as he fell silent once again. We have a lot more in common than I thought. All that drama and pirate bearing is just a front. Like me, he's suffered loss and reacted to it. Yet, he threw away a career in the Navy, just for revenge. What kind of person does that? Me?

Slowly, Imril released her and stood up, stretching. HK-47 spoke up. "Statement: Master, I have plotted our course out of the Maelstrom Nebula. By my calculations based on our approximate location, we should be reaching the edge in 7.4 hours."

"Good." The Corellian glanced down at Celia. "If you're tired, feel free to use the bed roll over there. I'll be up in the cockpit. Was there a particular planet you wanted to go to?"

Celia shrugged tiredly. "I don't really know. I guess Nar Shaddaa seems like as good a place as any for my fugitive life to begin. Besides, I've always wanted to see what it's like. My father used to rant and rave about the place, saying that the Empire should destroy it once and for all and clean up all the smugglers and scoundrels there."

"All right, then." Imril turned and began to climb up the ladder. He hesitated and looked back. "By the way, I didn't want you to think I was taking advantage of you just now. I realize you've been through a lot and I was less than sympathetic at first. For that, I apologize."

"It's fine," dismissed Celia. "I should apologize too. I'm sorry for being so clingy." She blushed and dropped her eyes, noticing how rumpled her white uniform was from her recent escapades. Tugging on her collar, she attempted to straighten some of the creases.

Imril noticed and appeared to think for a moment. "If you want a change of clothing, there should be some in that container over there, the one marked Moon Grandeur." He disappeared up the ladder before she could reply.

Opening the indicated crate, her breath was stolen away as she beheld a beautiful light violet silken dress, golden threads cunningly woven into the fabric so that it shimmered in the light as she picked it up. It was off one shoulder and looked to be of Coruscant manufacture, a piece of clothing that simply screamed "Expensive." Celia examined it critically and shook her head, not caring to walk into Nar Shaddaa wearing something that eye-catching. Underneath the dress, there was regular men's clothing. She settled for a plain white shirt, black pants, and a forest green tunic. Ducking into the tiny refresher, she changed. A pilot's jacket hung from a small hook. On impulse, she tried it on and was surprised when it fit perfectly. Running her fingers over the black leather and silver studs on the collar lapel, she noticed a name sewn into the inside of the coat. Katira.

Reluctantly, she took it off and hung it back on the hook. Celia glanced into the mirror and winced. A large purple bruise decorated her forehead and she brushed her bangs over it. Taking a small ring from her uniform pocket, she pulled her long crimson hair out of her braids and into a simple ponytail, the silver ring holding it in place. Looking into the mirror again, she examined herself critically and nodded. Not bad, girl. You might just make a smuggler yet. Exiting the refresher, she folded her uniform and laid it on a nearby container.

A/N: Read, review, constructive criticism if possible, meaning tell WHY you hate it if you do...