Author's Note: This is the first chapter of what'll probably end up being a pretty long pre-KotOR fic. Big thanks to Jord and her friend (sorry, I don't know what usename you'd want to go by) for editing it. Reviews and/or input would be appreciated.

Kara Olari waited impatiently outside the Manaan Council Chambers. The hall in which she stood was bare of decoration, but opened to a beautiful ocean view—the same that was visible anywhere else on Ahto City.

Sighing inwardly, she leaned against the wall, stilled her thoughts, and entered the well-known meditational trance. Reaching outward, she felt the familiar presence of her Master in the next room. And nothing else.

She opened her eyes, frustrated. The alien minds of the Selkath were too different from what she was used to. Despite her considerable talent with the Force, and her aptitude for sensing the minds and emotions of those around her, Kara felt she would have been lucky to even be able to tell the Selkath's minds apart, much less comprehend them.

Focusing once again on her Master's familiar trace, Kara tried to discern what was happening the next room over. From their shared bond, she felt a frustration that far outmatched her own. Clearly things were not going well.

As if to prove her point, the shielded doors of the chamber opened. Kara stood quickly as a female Cathar strode out of the council chambers.

"We're leaving, Kara," stated the arrival tersely.

Kara closed her mouth on the question she had been about to ask. Now was not the time. Her Master's disposition told her as much as she needed to know about their mission's success. She focused her attention instead on keeping pace as the Cathar stalked off down the corridor.

An onlooker would have thought the pair a strange sight, no less unusual had they known their identities. The Cathar, a Jedi Master by the name of Sabra Vas, moved gracefully, despite her obvious frustration, giving the feel of power well-contained. The single-hilted lightsaber she carried at her belt was warning enough to most would-be attackers; should they know of her second, concealed blade, or the skill with which she could wield them both, there would be few beings in the galaxy that would casually assault her.

The Padawan who trailed after her provided a sharp contrast. Kara was a human, short and dark-complexioned, with a quiet, almost secretive bearing. Her single lightsaber was at her belt, but those who had seen her in battle knew that she showed no extraordinary combat skill, no more, at least, than an average Padawan. Kara's talent for manipulating the Force, however, was startling for one her age, and her mind was alert, almost constantly aware of those around her.

Emerging out onto the main walkways of Manaan, Sabra paused, allowing her smaller companion to catch up. Sensing that her Master's disposition was more controlled, if not actually calmer, Kara ventured a question.

"I take it they wouldn't listen?"

The Cathar snorted with disgust. "Listen? Of course not. The Selkath are so proud of their vaunted 'neutrality'… why would they listen to a Jedi, 'whose bias is quite clear on this matter'?" Her accented voice roughened with contained frustration.

"They actually said that?" Kara asked, appalled. She understood the Selkath's inclination towards neutrality, and its basis in both profit and safety. But she knew just as clearly that it was wrong. "They actually believe the Jedi are merely a 'side' of a dispute? Even the Selkath should know better than to place the Jedi and the Sith on equal footings of trust."

"They should, but they are blind to reason. They will continue to sell kolto to the Republic—but their trade will go equally to Revan's Sith. They explained this at leisure to myself and the Sith 'diplomat'. Because of course they could not meet with one 'side' alone—imagine, excluding the Sith from a private meeting between them and a Jedi! It would be unequal representation!"

Kara shook her head in wonder.

It's not as if they need to worry about Jedi mind tricks, either. They're practically immune. An extremely skilled consular might be able to do something, but Master Sabra's a guardian—mental persuasion isn't her strong suit.

Maybe if I were stronger…

She shook herself out of her thoughts, trotting to catch up with Sabra, who had stalked ahead in her exasperation.

Kara was skilled with the Force, very skilled. But not even she detected the mind of a lone figure that emerged slowly from an alcove to watch as they departed. Raising a comlink, the person said only two words.

"Found them."

Kara stood patiently while her Master formally notified the embassy of their departure. Manaan was a beautiful world, no doubt pleasant to most, but after a week surrounded by blank alien minds, Kara would be glad to return to a world where she felt more in touch with those around her.

What is it with the Selkath? I bet Hutts are easier to read. Not that I'd want to read a Hutt's mind… She smiled a little, amused at the thought.

Besides, there was no reason for them to linger. The Manaan Council had formally heard—and denied—their pleas on behalf of the Republic. They could do nothing more here.

She followed Master Sabra out of the twisting halls of the Republic Embassy and toward the docking bay, where their ship and pilot awaited. Checking out with the Selkath running the docking procedures, they received a slight surprise.

"You're leaving today? Your pilot didn't clear your departure through a terminal."

Sabra stared in momentary confusion. Sylv, their pilot, was always meticulous about docking procedures and flight times, often returning to the ship and clearing everything as much as a full day before schedule.

"You're sure?" she asked. "The Sunfire 12, piloted by Sylv Arktos?"

"No," the Selkath replied in the strange, sloshing speech used by their race, "there is no record listed here. As a matter of fact…" He- She? Sabra idly wondered-checked something on his terminal, "Your pilot hasn't even checked out himself."

Although she maintained Jedi composure, Sabra internally groaned. Docking procedure may have added a few minutes to their schedule, but searching the city for their pilot could take a lot longer. Damn, but she told him they were planning to leave at 0500 this morning. Where could he be?

"The cantina," Kara quietly replied. Sabra looked down at her Padawan, startled. She hadn't thought she'd spoken aloud. But glancing at her Padawan's serene expression, she realized she hadn't—Kara had felt and understood her mental distress through the Force. She truly was growing in strength every day, in ways Sabra, for all her experience and power, could not match. It made her a little wistful, but mostly glad.

And she was, Sabra realized, right. Sylv had been in the cantina when they contacted him late last night, and if he wasn't here now, the logical explanation was that he'd gotten drunk and passed out. That had happened once or twice before, although never so badly that he failed to meet them.

"Good thinking." She smiled down at her Padawan, proud of her Force potential and natural mental acuity.

Kara acknowledged the compliment with a nod, although Sabra could feel her pleased satisfaction through their bond. "Should I go find him?"

Sabra smiled down at her young apprentice. "No, I'll go. Wait here, it won't take long."

The cantina was unlit, the pre-dawn light filtering in to provide some visibility. The juma bar was unmanned, the owner clearly having left to get some rest before the next night's work. Sabra slipped quietly around the scattered seats and tables, avoiding the reeking remnants of last night's drinking.

As she had expected, Sylv was asleep facedown at a corner table, several empty bottles around him. Undeterred by the smell and mess surrounding him, Sabra approached, then shook him gently but firmly.

"Sylv, you're late. It's morning already; let's go."

No response, not even a moan. He was breathing, wasn't he? Yes, a sluggish pulse was evident at his wrist.

Damn it, how much did you drink?

She shook him harder. No response.

A whisper-soft rustle sounded behind her. Instantly alert, Sabra spun, drawing and activating her blue lightsaber in one fluid motion. She swung instinctively in a parrying motion, one that would have chopped a blade—or a foe—in half.

It had no effect on the three mag-locked gas grenades that homed in on her, bouncing off her to land nearby and hiss green vapor as she spun.

Before his grenade even hit, while the Jedi was still in mid-spin, Jaq had his blaster pistols up and firing.

His first shot caught the Cathar on the lower leg, but she jerked away quickly enough to avoid the second. She swayed on her feet, stumbling as the shock of her injury caused her to inhale some of the gas cloud now surrounding her.

Jaq grinned and kept firing. He knew the drill—he should, seeing as he made it up. Just keep shooting to wound, and the rest will take care of itself. It's not as if the Jedi's going to have time to fret about a few blaster shots, either, not with Kel and Viri moving in.

As he fired off two more shots, the Jedi turned, preparing to deflect them away—then jerked to the side, dropping her blocking position as a Twi'lek carved though the place she'd been standing with a double-bladed vibrosword. Kel wasn't far behind, catching the Cathar on her shoulder with a quick slash from one of her two blades.

Keeping up a stream of pressure with his blasters, Jaq smiled grimly, watching as the Jedi's eyes widened in shock at the touch of Kel's poisoned vibroknife. Her reflexes were slowed already from the gas that still fogged her sight, and she literally could not breathe. Her movements were hampered by Jaq's shot to her leg, and more powerful sedatives now flowed though her blood from the shoulder cut. Although she dodged, blocked, and evaded with skill, she was already faltering, and had no chance to get on the offensive. This is already over.

I just need a moment… Sabra thought weakly. Just a moment to get a hold of myself…

But a moment was precisely what she did not have. Sabra didn't know where these men had come from, although considering their obvious training, she assumed they were Sith. At the moment she didn't much care. They were good. Timing their attacks so one after another came from an unexpected source. The gas grenades and poison… Shouldn't the gas have dissipated by now? Ahto was an open-air city; even the cantina had no real roof.

She stumbled slightly while avoiding the double blades of the Twi'lek attacker. The gas is still here… how long have I been fighting? she thought dazedly. It was probably no more than 60 seconds… but grenade-released gas was usually gone within five. Her vision clouded slightly—the physical gas or the sedative? Need space… She dodged a slice behind her while bringing up her blade to block the double-sided vibroblade in front. Something's missing…

Oh Force… her other lightsaber. Of course. She didn't take it out unless a fight was desperate, so she didn't have it in hand when… whoever they were began the attack. No wonder I'm having trouble handling multiple attacks. Backing slightly into a corner, she turned to face both assailants at once, gaining a precious instant where she was safe from attacks from behind. She slashed outward in a horizontal arc, trying to drive her opponents back and get the needed room to pull out her second blade. The Twi'lek, with his larger weapon, was forced away, but his smaller, human companion ducked under, moving closer with astonishing agility. But Sabra's hand was already under her overrobe, grasping her second lightsaber, pulling it out as the knife-wielding opponent closed in. She reflexively swiped out with her primary hand as she moved, but the human—woman? man?—just grinned nastily, avoiding her awkward movement with ease. The Twi'lek had recovered and was closing again, but it didn't matter; she had it now; and she pulled her second saber out as the knife-wielding human twisted to attack and she—

—Gasped in shock and pain as the blaster bolt she hadn't even felt coming seared her primary hand. Her lightsaber fell from her now-useless grip, and she stared in shock and wonder as a long cut appeared along her already-injured arm. Stumbling back, she felt her coordination disappear as the sedative from the knife, now in near-lethal amounts, pumped through her body rapidly as her heart pounded.

Jaq picked his shot and took it, angling past Niri and Kel to directly hit the Jedi's right hand, the one wielding the lightsaber. She dropped it and stumbled back as a clean slice from Kel dug into her weapon-arm. That was enough. The paralyzing agent on Kel's knives, combined with a shocked gasp of the gas-ridden air around her, overcame her considerable resistance, and she slid to the ground, muscles spasming.

"Is that it?" Jaq called to his companions. He ran a hand through his dark brown hair as he slowly rose from the corner in which he'd taken cover to shoot.

"Seems like it," Kel replied. She pulled back her hood to reveal a small face, still grinning with battle exhilaration. Black hair, cropped just past her ears, ringed her head, and her green eyes glittered. "Not bad shooting for 'cover fire', Jaq. How many hits was that? Two, three? Against a guardian, too."

"You weren't so bad yourself," Jaq replied, returning her grin. "One would almost think you'd practiced."

"If you two can stop patting each other on the back, we need to get going," interrupted Niri, scowling. "Jaq, you've got the heavy tranqs on you, right? Get your ass over here, she's not out for the duration." As he spoke, the green Twi'lek kicked the now-extinguished lightsaber the Jedi had dropped into a corner, putting his foot down on her still-twitching right hand.

"Don't get your lekku in a twist; I'm coming," Jaq replied casually. "And could one of you turn off those time-release grenades? You may have olfactory blockers, but I'd like to be able to take off my rebreather at some point." He picked his way slowly though the cantina, stepping over remnants of both their fight and last night's business.

Niri muttered something under his breath, but did as he was told, bending down to shut off each of the gas grenades, which were still hissing out sedatives. One of their newer but more effective tools for the job, these grenades could pour out gas for over five minutes straight, giving even a Jedi no chance to recover.

Reaching his companions, Jaq halted, opening his pouch to retrieve the necessary sedative.

"Wasn't there another one?" Kel asked. "The Padawan?"

"Yeah," Jaq replied absentmindedly, rifling through his formidable collection of lethal and nonlethal drugs. "Even odds it'll show here soon, depending on how strongly they're bonded. If not, we can pick it up on the way back to the ship." He selected a needle full of dark grey liquid, carefully removing the cap on the needle point. This particular poison would put a Jedi out for a day or so—or kill a normal person.

Needle in hand, Jaq looked down at the Cathar's still form, feeling a sense of unease. Something about this feels wrong. Jaq gave a mental sneer at his own thoughts. He'd done this… a lot of times. Not getting soft, are you? Not now? Scowling at his own misgivings, he bent down, tranq ready.

And jumped back, his uncertainty swelling to an overwhelming instinct to MOVE!, while a lightsaber—a different one, an orange one, ignited suddenly in the formerly prone Jedi's left hand. The blade was full-length and vibrant, stretching out from the plain hilt through the space where Jaq had stood a fraction of a second before, and extending… extending a full meter, to the end that stretched through Kel's torso as her expression twisted to surprise, pain, and shock before she slumped lifeless to the ground. The FRACK!? The schutta was faking?

Sabra wasn't faking, not entirely. While her Cathar metabolism was resistant to poisons and drugs, and her Jedi training increased that skill, any body can only take so much before paralysis kicks in. The blaster shot had taken her by surprise, and the additional hit with the knife had further incapacitated her arm, making her normally dominant right hand useless, likely to be permanently impaired if she couldn't find energy after this fight to heal it through the Force. All the kolto on Manaan could only fix so much.

So when she fell down, she hadn't felt an immediate need to struggle back up. She wasn't actually sure she could have done so. Much easier to lie there for a moment, build up strength, reposition the saber she still clutched under her robes in her left hand. She'd felt fairly certain her attackers weren't striking to kill, so she wouldn't be gutted the instant she went still.

Yes, it worked, she thought grimly, yanking her blade from the knife holder as she rose to her feet. But it's not over yet. The human male was raising his blasters, having jumped back from her igniting lightsaber faster than she would have thought possible for a human. Did he move before I did? The Twi'lek, a bit slower on the uptake, stared, his weapon held loosely in his slack grip as Sabra rose up from the ground in a lunge.

Although not quick enough to dodge, he managed to bring up his double-sided vibrosword in a hasty block. I have to end this quickly, Sabra thought, pushing on the locked weapons to shove the Twi'lek back momentarily. Even if the quickest one's down—She ducked rapidly, just barely sensing the blaster bolt in time—the quickest melee fighter, she amended, I'm still at a disadvantage. My right arm's useless; I've taken a hit in the leg and a shallow wound to me left shoulder. A poisoned shallow wound. Another blaster shot whizzed by her head as she lunged and backed the Twi'lek into a corner. Oh yeah, and it doesn't look like they're just aiming to wound anymore.

She twisted her lightsaber, weaving it in a complex pattern through her opponent's guard in an attempt to knock the other weapon aside. Instead, he followed her movement, bringing the other side of his blade up in a diagonal swoop that forced her to drop low—and then roll to the side, avoiding more blaster shots.

Great, just great. Now he's back on the offensive.

The Twi'lek advanced, chopping towards her side as she brought up her orange lightsaber to parry. Sabra knew she could defeat this opponent—though he was skilled, her lightsaber talent was among the greatest in the Order. His aggressive attack style left holes in his defense, holes she could easily exploit by switching to a more advanced combat style, such as Makashi, rather than the all-purpose Niman form she was currently employing.

But there was the matter of the blaster shots that kept coming from the shadows, quickly and accurately enough that even her Force-granted battle precognition couldn't fully anticipate them. While she could take out the swordsman easily enough by switching forms, it would leave her open to blasterfire—and Sabra wasn't certain she could afford that.

She smiled momentarily, ducking the Twi'lek's whirling vibrosword as she twisted her own weapon at the last minute to block more shots from the blaster-wielder. It was the lesson she had always tried to teach Kara—that fighting defensively provided far better openings, albeit at a much slower pace, than going on a reckless offensive. Her lightsaber skimmed off the bolts, deflecting them, although not in any controlled manner. Ignoring the threat of his still-extended dual blades, she thrust up and under at the Twi'lek, hoping to catch him off-guard. Instead, he brought his own weapon in towards hers, scraping her forearm as she pulled away rapidly, wincing.

Is it…? No. Not poisoned. But it could have been. This was taking too long—her right side had begun to seize up from the earlier toxins, and her overall physical condition was worse than… Nevermind, it had probably never been this bad. I'm the one at the disadvantage here—if I wait and take it slow, I'll be the one to fall first. She was pushing herself too far, she knew that. But at the rate this was going, the fight would be over soon, one way or another. Let's make it my way.

Alright, she thought, drawing back her blade in a glowing orange arc. Time to make a mistake.