Well...

That was anticlimactic. Get let out of cage by a tough-talking Jedi wearing nothing but a backpack and underwear... nope, wait, let me amend that, I'm not doing her justice. Get let out of a cage by a tall, skinny, nearly-naked Jedi...

Nope, still not good enough. You can't quiet get the picture from that, so let me elaborate a little. Close your eyes and try to picture this; my reluctant rescuer is about my height (a very manly 6' 3", thank you very much) and maybe- maybe- two-thirds my weight (a nice round 180 pounds, which isn't too bad for someone with my rippling muscles). Seriously, I can see her ribs poking out of her back. Or, at least, I probably could if her hair wasn't in the way- long, black, but with a weird sort of bluish metallic sheen that sort of reminds me of durasteel.

Oh- and her eyes? Silvery-green, slanted, and currently glaring at me. The whole effect is reminiscent of an icicle: something pretty to look at, especially when the light's hitting her the right way, but cold and sharp and more than capable of falling and braining someone to death under the right circumstances.

"I thought I told you to keep your eyes up," she snarls. Her voice has a very slight Seroccan accent, and a very harsh edge.

"I would, but between being starved for three days and the sight of you in your current state of undress, I'm afraid I just don't have the will power not to look my fill," I inform her, leering cheerfully.

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "If I give you some food, will you look at something else?"

"You have food?" I ask, slightly hurt that she hasn't given it to me already. Aren't Jedi supposed to do stuff like that?

"I have food. And a vibroblade, and handful of stims and medpacks, a really nice ankle bracelet and what appears to be some high-quality porn. I have everything but the kitchen compacter. And clothes. Are you going to look somewhere else if I give you some?"

I look up to the ceiling in exasperation. A candy bar hits me in the face. So apparently, that should be 'Get let out of a cage by a stingy, angry Jedi with a good throwing arm...'

I try my very best not to eat the entire thing in one gulp like the pathetic starving man I feel like. I fail miserably, but judging by the slightly guilty look on her face that may not have been such a bad thing.

"Did you get anything to drink in there?"

"Does urine count?"

The disgusted look on her face is softened by pity and a hint of understanding. Much to my delight, she pulls out a small package of dehydrated nerf mush and a canteen of water. "Do me a favor, and don't give that back," she orders, tossing them both to me. "And don't eat it so quickly you puke."

"Wouldn't dream of it, hot stuff," I assure her, ripping open the package with my teeth.

She laughs bitterly "Right. And don't call me that again unless you have some sort of secret desire to be eviscerated."

I take a long gulp of water. "Well, what should I call you if I can't call you 'hot stuff'?"

"My name?"

"Your name isn't 'hot stuff'?" I ask, feigning shock. I know it isn't, in case you were wondering. She'd introduced herself as 'Eshe Jivala' of all names. I mean, really, why didn't she just say it was 'Jane Doe' and get it over with?

Then again, I'm calling myself 'Atton Rand' these days, so I guess I can't really talk.

"I believe I introduced myself back in the cell?"

"I'm afraid all I keep getting hung up on the sight of you in your underwear," I drawl, leering again.

She leers back at me, eyes raking my body over in a not entirely unpracticed manner. I blush, more embarrassed that I didn't see this coming than by the heat of her gaze; that I could get used to. "You're dressed in skin-tight leather, and I've still managed to remember yours, Atton."

"See anything you like, Eshe?" I joke.

"See? Plenty. What I smell, on the other hand, makes you only slight less appealing than a particularly deformed Quarren."

"Ouch," I deadpan, placing a hand over my heart to indicate that I am mortally wounded by her barb. On the inside, though, I grin. She knows how to flirt, Nar Shadaa style. That isn't something Jedi normally do, although there was that pair...

Nope. Not thinking about that. Especially that particular that. Seven. Six. Seventeen+3, stand at twenty...

"So, you're a Jedi, huh?" I drawl. "Must have been hard. No family, no husband..."

"Not nearly as hard as enduring your false sympathy while you're staring at my chest," she replies easily.

"Hey," I protest "I'm not try-"

Of course, the droid picks this moment to open the door off the administration level. A brief conversation ensues, assuring me that she is, in fact, completely insane, and brings to my attention that she may actually be a little bit more than your run of the mill Jedi insane.

Not like it matters, really, as long as she doesn't kick it before we get off this station. I mean, don't get me wrong, she's pretty and feisty and all, but it's not like someone with my history can afford to be hanging around Jedi for very long. I'll have to part ways with her as soon as possible.

It's about two hours later, after everything has gone to hell and my new favorite suicidal Jedi has decided to take a nice relaxing walk on the outside of an asteroid.

And gotten some plasma burns in the process, which she's treating with techniques that even I, with my very limited experience with such maters, could tell is inefficient to the extreme.

"You're a Jedi. Can't you just use the Force to-"

"Let's get some things straightened out right now, Atton. First of all, I am the galaxy's crappiest Jedi. I drink. I gamble. I have no respect for authority. On occasion, I've been known to dance on tables and chew spice, although I've sworn off that last one after I almost ended up in bed with a Gammorean."

"Ew…" I groan. "I didn't need to know that."

"Serves you right, piss drinker," she sniggers vindictively. "Secondly, I don't really do the whole Jedi-healer thing. Most of the time I'm too impatient and I just kind of fling healing energy at whoever needs it and hope no passersby have an unset broken bones on their person or anything. And lastly, until about four hours ago, I hadn't been able to feel the Force for over a decade."

"Not be able to feel the Force? Is that even possible?"

"Yes. Sometimes, Jedi who have done particularly terrible deeds have been stripped of their power by the Jedi Council. That's what happened to Ulic Qel-Droma, if you care to know."

Oh. No wonder she's so different from other Jedi, she's a Sith. Great, that's just what I need. "So what did you do?" I ask, feigning nonchalance.

"I… don't know," she says. "I was at Malachor- the Mass Shadow Generator went off, there was a lot of pain, I collapsed, and when I came to again, it was just… gone."

"I you have no idea what happened to it?" I question. She snorts.

"What part of 'I don't know' are you missing, Rand?" she asks. "I thought the Council might have some clue, but either they didn't know, or didn't want to tell me right before they tossed me out on my ass."

"Damned Jedi secrets," I say, before I remember that as a life-time smuggler, rather than one who's just been toting spice for the six years because it was easy and made ends meet, I really shouldn't know crap about Jedi, let alone their secrets.

"I hear you," she agrees vehemently, apparently not picking up on my momentary lapse. I breath a huge mental sigh of relief as she continues. "Especially when they leave me as one frustrated woman with a particularly annoying mosquito buzzing in my ear."

"You know, if you want me to keep this channel clear, all you have to do is say-"

"Shut up, Atton."

I sigh, but comply, and go back to the consuming business of worrying in the control deck until she comes back with the witch in tow.

"So what happened?' I ask as casually as I can. Eshe arches an eyebrow.

"To what?"

"Don't give me that," I chided. "There were plenty of times back on Peragus when a lightsaber would've come in handy. So- where's yours?"

"It was... taken from me. By the Council."

Inwardly, I cringe. I already knew she and the Jedi had a checkered history, but she must have done something really horrible for them to toss her out without even letting her keep her lightsaber. "Oh yeah? I thought Jedi were supposed to be married to their lightsaber. Guess I heard wrong. Were you a single hilt or one of the double-bladed users?"

"Double-bladed."

"Really? I hear the double-bladed variants are harder to master," Those Sith War Swords sure as hell were tricky. "But they can make the enemy go running for cover."

"Oh yeah," Eshe says fondly, smiling.

I frown. "It wouldn't have been red, would it?"

"I went through a few colors," she answers. "Green at first, the color of a Consular. Then after I was Knighted, and allowed to choose from the cooler colors, I switched over to viridian. During the Mandalorians Wars, there was a year or two when I went around with a red blade, but it didn't make my eyes pop like I was hoping it would, so I switched back to viridian shortly before the Battle of Malachor V. "

"So you were a Sith... but aren't anymore?" I ask.

"Nope. A rogue Jedi, maybe, but not a Sith. I left before I got the opportunity."

Whoa. Let's back up a minute, here. 'Before I got the opportunity'? That doesn't sound too auspicious to me. Actually, that sounds a bit like I'm now stuck with a wannabe Sith. Great, just great...

"Well, I still wish you had your lightsaber," I say aloud. "It must have been something to see."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she says flatly, and that's that.

We're arrested pretty much the moment we arrive on Citadel Station, of course. Blowing up a planet seems to attract that sort of attention from the local law enforcement.

Sort of like getting arrested seems to warrant getting stripped of all your armor and weapons before stepping into the force cages. Unfortunately for us, the TSF are a lot more thorough than Peragus Security. They take my jacket once they realize that it's been modified to deflect blaster bolts, and want Eshe to strip out of the uniform she picked up, much to my amusement and her disgust.

"What do you mean you don't have anything else to wear?' Lieutenant Yima asks, scandalized.

"I mean I woke up in a kolto tank with nothing on but my underwear on and between then and now this is the only thing I found to wear," she clarifies. "Believe me, if I had found anything- anything- else, I'd be wearing it now."

Yima bites her lip," You know, I have a change of clothes in my locker. They might be a little short on you-"

"I'll take them," she says.

'They' turn out to be kind of a mistake. I don't bother hiding my laughter when she comes in dolled up in something that looks like a hillbilly schoolgirl's uniform.

"Shut up, Atton," she snaps as she steps into the cage. I smirk.

"I hate you," she sighs, and then turns to Lt. Grenn. "Any way you could shut these things off long enough for me to give that idiot a smack on the head."

"No. But don't worry, it's only temporary," Grenn assures her, before stepping out of the room.

"Hey wait, I have some questions!" she yells after them. They ignore her completely; my smirk widens.

"Shut up, Atton." She repeats.

"I'm not saying anything," I protest.

"You were thinking it," she snaps.

I start. Crap, my pazaak game's still going, she can't possibly… "Stay out of my head!"

"Ohforcryinoutloud, I'm not in your head! It's an expression of speech!"

"Well sorry for taking that literally little Miss Mind Trick'."

"I can't even remember how to do a proper mind trick!" she yells back. Suddenly, the old woman coughs.

"Perhaps it would be best if we were to rest. Doubtless, it will take some time for the paperwork our arrival necessitates to be processed," Kreia advises. I start again. I'm pretty good at not being noticed, and as I a kid I used get pretty annoyed at all the time when someone I was standing right next to would wonder aloud 'Where's Jaq?', but the witch? Is in a league all her own. Not only did I manage to forget she was there, for a minute, I think I might have actually forgotten she ever existed. Creepy. I really need to get away from all these Jedi, although that's not really something I can do before I get off this station; they have the ship, after all.

Eshe nods, and sits down cross legged on the floor of her cell. I slouch forward and let myself zone out, planning how I'm going to get myself out of this mess before I get in too deep and end up having to change my identity again.

"Someone approaches," Keia says suddenly, and we all stand up just in time to see an assassin in a TSF uniform waltz into the control room.

I won't bore you with the details of his two-bit bounty hunter speech- I'm sure you know it went something along the lines of 'I am the best bounty hunter in these here parts, and now you will all bow before my greatness as I let all three of you out of your force cages!'

I also don't need to tell you that the guy severely overestimated his skills. Professionals don't monologue, at least until after their victory is assured.

TSF arrives just in time to watch Eshe snap the guy's neck. There's a rather tense moment in which we suddenly look like the bad guys, but, thankfully, that's cleared up before they can stuff us back into those damn cells.

The room Grenn stashed us in is acceptable; refresher, communicator (which has been ringing off the hook pretty much since we arrived, much to Eshe's disgust; she's actually dismantling it as I speak), nice view of the interior of Citadel Station, and enough beds for all. I try not to be too disappointed that I don't get to double up with Eshe, and console myself with the fact that it also means I won't be sharing one with Kreia. Or worse, watch Eshe and Kreia share a bed.

I really need to get some. Fast. Pity we're stuck under house arrest, I know a couple of places on Citadel where a guy can meet a girl for a discreet rendevous. Or, at least, I used to. I've avoided this place like the Iridonian Plague for the past four years; maybe they cleaned those places out. I doubt it though; from what I've seen, security is even as overworked and understaffed as it always was.

I suppose Eshe might indulge me, now that I've had a shower, but then again, she's probably just as likely to disembowel me. They might not even be mutually exclusive concepts.

"Eyes up, Atton."

"Shouldn't that be 'shut up, Atton'?" I ask "Seeing as that seems to be your tag-line and all..."

"Not when you're ogling my ass," she replied. "Then it's 'keep your eyes up if you want to keep them in'. Savvy, Rand?"

I nod, leering cheerfully, and make a point to note that it's my surname when she thinks I'm being stupid, and my first when she's more amused by my behavior. And, in case you care, the witch is definitely a Jedi- no one else could be that cryptic or long-winded- but she doesn't like how reliant they are on the Force. I think she might be a decade or so too late with that little pearl of wisdom, personally; I wouldn't have been half as successful at killing them if they'd just learned to wear some goddamn armor.

"Yeah, yeah, I savvy. And ahoy to you too, hot stuff."

Eshe snorts, and places the panel back on the now defunct communicator. "Do you have a death wish I should know about? Or perhaps some sort of brain damage that affects your short-term memory?"

"Huh? I'm sorry- who are you again?"

"Shut up, Atton."

"Oh, so that is your tag-line."

"Shut. Up. Rand," she growls

"Alright, so we can't talk about your limited vocabulary. What about that porn you mentioned earlier?"

"TSF confiscated it; I doubt I'll get it back. Is sex all you think about?"

"Nope. I've spent equal amounts of time contemplating pazaak and booze." And trying to figure out how to get away from the pair of almost-Jedi I've picked up as traveling companions, but hey, who's keeping track?

Eshe snorts again. "Well, you're in luck; I hear there's a cantina here, and you owe me dinner."

"I owe you dinner?" I repeat incredulously.

"Yeah; that food on Peragus wasn't free you know."

I roll over on the bed to give her an incredulous look. "Didn't you steal that all from the medbay? Or, you know, the corpses?"

"And it was hard work too. I had to wrestle with that door for a good fifteen minutes; I deserve at least a cheap, greasy meal in a cantina for that," she protests.

"Yeah, I'll let you know when I have credits enough for that."

"You mean they don't just fall out of your ass?" she snarks.

"Nope. Those aren't credits, sweetheart."

"Force, no wonder that merchant looked so confused..."

That summons up a mental image of a purple Twi'lek merchant cradling a handful of human waste, his lekku twitching in confusion as Eshe swishes out of the store with an overstuffed bag of vibroblades. I laugh.

"You're insane."

"Never claimed to be otherwise. Personally, I think anyone who is sane in this galaxy is stark raving mad."

"Probably. Those are the ones you have to watch out for," I reply sagely. The refresher door opens and Kreia shuffles into the room. I make a concerted effort to keep track of her position; after six times too many of her sneaking up and scaring a judicious amount of crap out of me, I deemed it worth the headache to keep my eye on her, play pazaak in my head, and do whatever else I have to do.

No more Jedi sneaking up on me. Never again.

I'm sure the details of our incarceration are plastered on the holonet, but I'll give you the abbreviated version anyway: blah, blah, blah, we figured out that you didn't make Peragus go kabloohey, blah, blah, blah, we want you to stay here until a mysterious Republic warship arives, blah, blah, blah, we need our ship back, blah, blah, blah, the ship's stolen, so sorry to inconvenience you...

Frack the droids. Both that protocol one TSF has and that kriffing T3 unit. You know what? Frack all droids. Humanity got along just fine before they were invented, I'm sure we could do it again.

Although, to be fair, there is the small but intriguing chance that this isn't their fault, but rather some more of my dear Eshe's karma come back to bite us in the butt.

"I can't bloody believe this!" she exclaims from the inside one of the TSF lockers. I'm pretty sure the one she's in isn't one of the ones holding our stuff- and man, do we have more than I thought we did- but her kleptomaniac tendencies work in my favor, so I'm not going to complain. "This is the third freg'd time someone has stolen my ship, and I'm getting shabla tired of it!"

I make another mental note: she seems to speak Mando'a, or at least be able to curse in it. And she's owned more than one ship- a spacer. That really explains a lot.

"Three ships?" I ask.

"Three."

"And you managed to loose all of them?"

"Well, technically speaking I only actually lost the first one. I still say that Bith was a cheating thug. I actually just left the second one to my partner; I'd just found the Hawk drifting on the outskirts of space, and besides, hanging around an ex-lover while he's on his honeymoon got kind of awkward."

"No, really?" I drawl.

"You don't know the half of it. He was Mandalorian."

I very carefully do not jump, because if nothing else, I refuse to allow this woman to make me develop a nervous twitch. Okay, she definitely speaks Mando'a. And she is definitely insane. If I can find a way off this station without her and Kreia, I really should do so. Of course, that's a pretty big if... and what with all the Exchange on the station, it might be better for me to stick with the crazy Jedi ladies for a bit. It'll keep TSF off my back if nothing else.

"I find it interesting that you became so close to one who was once you enemy," Kreia remarks, picking up a vibroblade from the floor where Eshe was throwing all the stuff she found.

For once, I'm with the older schutta.

"You can't fight every Mandalorian you come across on the Outer Rim. Besides, Zuka and I were more there for mutual satisfaction than anything else. I think we might have actually hammered out the sex part while we were quibbling about how to split the work and the profits."

"Isn't that against the Jedi Code?" I ask, digging through the small pile of equipment at my feet for my jacket and blasters.

"Depends on who you ask. Probably though," she replies. "But seeing as they threw me out, I'm not too keen on following their rules. Especially when they always struck me as kind of stupid in the first place."

"A rule against having a 'partners with benefits' arrangement with a Mandalorian always struck you as kind of stupid?"

"Shut up, Atton. I was actually referring to the one that forbid 'carnal knowledge'."

As she speaks, she slams closed the door on the locker, and throws a vibrosword at me. I dodge out of the way.

"What the hell!" I yell. Funny, she doesn't look any different; wasn't going to darkside supposed to come with a warning, like veins and the like?

"You were supposed to catch it!" she replies, picking it up from the floor with the Force. It hovers next to me sinisterly. I eye it warily.

"Atton, if I wanted to kill, you'd be dead. Just pick up the goddamn vibrosword and follow me to Grenn's office. I have to go rant and that blaster of yours isn't very good for close combat." she orders, picking up what appears to be a green robe off the floor, and putting on the outer one.

"Expecting trouble?"

"Were you brain-dead these last few days? I'm surprised the Station hasn't gone under siege yet, the way our luck is going."

"'Our luck'?" I repeat incredulously, reluctantly grasping the vibrosword. "My luck was just fine until I met you!"

"Are you forgetting where you were when I found you?" she demands.

I wince. "No, but before that, everything was fine." A little lonely, a little boring, but fine.

"Really? What were you even doing before that?"

"The same thing you and Zuka were, probably," I grumble.

"All by yourself?"

"Yes."

She looks amused, and it takes me a minute to understand why. I've really got to stop thinking of her as a Jedi.

"Get your mind out of the gutter," I snap. "I meant smuggling. You're the most perverted Jedi I've ever met."

This, in case you're wondering, includes that pair on Nar Shadaa I mentioned earlier. I'm still not thinking about that, by the way.

"And you're the most straight-laced scoundrel I've ever met."

"Me? Straight-laced? Listen, sweetheart, I could tell you stories that would make even you blush. I just don't want to kill the old witch back there," I argue, jerking my thumb over at Kreia as I do up the zipper on my jacket.

"By all means, do not feel the need to hold back on my account," Kreia says, on the opposite side of the room from where I thought she was. How the frack does she do that? Those Sith assassins on the Harbinger weren't that sneaky. "I am far more likely to die from the delay your bickering is causing than from the content of your erotic tales."

Eshe acknowledges the point with an arched eyebrow, and stuffs the remaining gear into her pack.

"Well, we're off to see the Lieutenant. The wonderful Lieutenant Grenn," she mutters, walking out of the storage room. I follow, half-seriously weighing the pros and cons of asking TSF for asylum from my crazy traveling companions. On the one hand, it would involve answering a lot of questions I probably couldn't in my fake identity. Atton Rand, for example, still doesn't have a homeworld, although I suppose I could just keep Taris; with the entire planet kaput, my lack of documentation would be pretty easy to understand, although I'd have to come up with a very good excuse as to how I survived the bombardment. On the other hand, it would get me away from the two Jedi. Jedi or paperwork; what a choice. Rock, have you met my friend hard place?

And, of course, there is the unspoken matter of my promise to Dayan...

Suddenly, I feel an all too familiar prickle in the back of my mind, and automatically my thoughts shift to a triple X-rated fantasy involving Eshe and two extremely flexible Lehan Twi'leks. The other presence retreats hastily; it must have been the witch. Eshe'd probably be turned on.

The door to Grenn's office swishes open impressively, revealing a thoroughly haggard looking TSF officer. Immediately, Eshe's face morphs from one of righteous anger to one of profound disappointment.

"Gods dammit!" she hisses.

"I heard about your ship-" he begins, but Eshe cuts him off.

"And I heard about your personnel problem. Let's just chalk it up to that and move forward, shall we?" she mutters. Grenn sends her a pathetically grateful look; Kreia and I shoot her surprised ones.

"Yes, let's do that. Although without fuel from Peragus there won't be much forward to move to," he remarks, sounding frustrated.

"Still blaming me for that?" she asks.

Grenn mutters something unintelligible under his breath, probably in the affirmative, and then continues with. "It doesn't really matter whose fault it is. Peragus is gone, and without those fuel shipments we'll likely crash into the surface of Telos within the next three years."

"Well, if I see any fuel lying around anywhere, I'll let you know," she offers. Grenn snorts, and we leave the TSF station.

"So much for that rant," I drawl. Eshe sighs.

"You saw how he was. Ranting at Grenn then would've been like stabbing a decapitated corpse," she grumbles. "There wouldn't have been much of a point."

"There are some who would derive satisfaction from such an act," Kreia remarks.

"And don't I know it," she says emphatically. "I wouldn't want to end up like them."

"Wouldn't you?" she asks. Eshe doesn't answer, but instead walks into the cantina.

It's pretty much the same as it was four years ago; the live dancing Twi'leks are new, and the swoop track was rebuilt after that explosion, but the same pazaak players are hanging around, the same droid serving drinks, and the same setup. True to form, Eshe is accosted by some thug who, judging by his entourage, is in the employ of the local crime lord; probably in charge of the mercs. She tries to pick a fight with him, which, thankfully, he doesn't take her up on. Obviously, she's still a little angry over the Ebon Hawk.

Not that a blame her. If I ever get my hands on whoever stole that ship (thus prolonging my stay with the crazy near-Siths) I'll- well, let's just say that it'll shoot all chances of my redemption down the 'fresher, and good riddance to them.

Kinda. Sorta. Maybe.

"Okay," Eshe says, sitting down at a table, three shots of juma in one hand, a basket of cheesy huuba fries in the other. "First of all, we have slightly over one thousand five hundred credits. That's nowhere near enough money for one of us to book passage, even if we wanted to go somewhere like Nar Shadaa. We're going to need more."

"Well, there's some stuff we can do right here," I put in. "I can probably double that inside an hour playing pazaak, and from what I hear the swoop prizes are pretty generous."

"It may also be necessary to look to more active means of raising funds," Kreia adds. "Both the Ithorians and Czerka have offered you employment."

"I rather avoid such entanglements if I could," Eshe says. "Issues tend to develop whenever I end up in the employ of someone else."

No really? That's a surprise.

"Secondly, we need to find a ship, whether it's the Ebon Hawk, or some other vessel. I'd like to get off this piece of poo-doo sooner rather than later."

I snort. "Don't we all, sweetheart, don't we all."

"Anything constructive to say?"

"Finding a ship will be next to impossible, especially if you're gonna try to do this without working for either side," I expand. "The Republic will monitor everything, but Czerka and the Ithorians have the best chance of being able to get around that."

"What about chartering a vessel?" Kreia asks, munching on a fry thoughtfully. "The ship need not be ours to fly us away from this place."

"You'd run into the same problem; too much Republic monitoring. Especially with that bigwig ship coming in the dock."

"Which brings us to item number three; I don't want to be here when it docks. I don't care what the Republic wants from me, I'm not giving it, but I doubt my sentiments will matter much if they are desperate enough."

Thankfully, I'm not surprised by that statement. Eshe probably thinks of the Republic the same way I think of the Sith.

"'When you look at the abyss, the abyss looks back at you'," I quote. Eshe and Kreia stare at me quizzically. "Well, it's just that they've been fighting the Sith for so long, it's inevitable that at least some of their officers with start thinking like Sith."

Eshe nods glumly, but Kreia continues to stare at me. I shift uncomfortably.

"Well, let's get started on those credits," she says, chugging her remaining juma.

"You know, you forgot to mention dancing," I say as she stands up. "I'm sure the people hear wouldn't mind seeing a human face on stage."

"Shut up, Atton."

The day ends with as a success as far as gathering credits goes (we now have a total of five thousand three hundred, enough for passage to Nar Shadaa for the three of us, plus a few meals on the side) but is an abysmal failure as far as everything else went. Well, unless you count the message we got on our communicator (apparently repaired in our absence) informing us that the Sojourn had been unavoidably delayed on Onderon because of some sort of diplomatic crises. Gotta love those diplomatic crises; they last several weeks and screw everyone up. It'll make it a lot easier to blow this place in a timely manner.

Eshe deposits her green outer robes on the floor almost the moment we entered our quarters. She'd been swoop racing for hours, trying to break every record know to the Telosian officials, much to their delight and my disgust. I grew up around the old-fashioned circuit in the Lower City, cheering on the Beks because my father backed the Vulkars; none of the liability forms she'd had to sign before they'd let her near the swoops, none of the fancy equipment or obstacles she'd had to jump. It made the sport at once more regulated and dangerous, two things which I hate with a very special passion.

She gathers up a towel and some soap from her bulging pack, and makes for the 'fresher.

"Hey, you ever find out what happened to that porn?" I call just before she closes the door.

"Nope. You can check for the holovid in my pack." she yells back. I glance back at the old witch; she's still meditating, eyes closed and, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world. Good. The best way to learn about a woman is to go through her bag, and it'd suck if I had been given a free pass to do so and Kreia stopped me.

At first, there's nothing unusual in her bag; credits, weapons, medkits, upgrades…

Then things start getting weird.

For one thing, there isn't just one holovid- there's about six dozen of them, and a beat-up portable player. Then there's the some crystal carvings of various species, a Wookie, a krinath, a nerf. Some jewelry, which was mostly stolen from Peragus, but I can tell some it is hers, from before: a ring inscribed the words 'emotion, yet peace', a pendant set with what looks like a fragment of a lightsaber crystal. There's also a braided lock of hair (a Padawan braid? I can't remember what size they were supposed to be) that looks like it's hers…

Funny really. I can tell most of this belongs to Jedi, an unconventional Jedi maybe, but a Jedi still. But she acts like she's left it all behind, and doesn't really talk about it. She gave me a sketch of the end of the Mandalorian Wars, and will talk a lot about her days afterwards, but except for that rather short conversation about her lightsaber, she's said nothing about being a Jedi. One could almost get the impression that she didn't really care about them.

And then I find this stuff. Like I said, the best way to learn about a woman is to go through her bag.

I look back at the piles of holovids, then, checking to make sure the witch is still deep in meditation, pick one at random and slide it into the portable player. Eshe's faces lights up the screen, and I can tell it's a really old one. She looks very, very, very young, but more than that; she looks more open. Happy. Less like an icicle and more like a slightly anorexic snowgirl.

I make sure the volume is on low, then hit play. Young Eshe's face split's into a wide grin:

"Well, here I am, Jedi Knight Eshe Jivala, about to have my first legal visit to Zherron's Bar and Grill. It looks like Mal beat me here- damn his physical fitness! I suppose that means I lose our bet- am I, in fact, the last of our group to make it to Knight status. Great."

The screen went blank for a moment, and then refocuses on what seemed to be Eshe fairly realistically dressed as a pink Twi'lek, lekku and all. If it weren't for the fact that I can see the eyebrows under her make-up, I would be completely fooled; she should have tried to make them look like tattoos, it wouldn't have been so obvious then.

"I still say this would be a lot funnier if Mal had lost," she mutters softly, and swings the recorder over to a table at the far end of the restaurant.

I hit the pause button. There are three people sitting at that table; one sandy-haired man in his late twenties and two teenagers. The man looks vaguely familiar in a way that probably means he's one of the Jedi I captured or killed during my Sith years, so I ignore him. The teenagers, however, are too familiar to overlook. The tall, pale male with tattoos on his head? Malak. And the short, dark female with aura of power?

Revan.

This must have been taken just about a year or so before the Wars started; she looks pretty much like I remember her on Taris, except maybe less worried. Same calculating green eyes, same casually dangerous posture, same friendly smile that made you want to pour out all your troubles and give her your soul. Not that she needed any of that, after what she did for my sister and all the other sentients in that slave market. Kind of ironic, considering what I ended up doing for her, what she ordered me to do... okay, bad memories there.

So Eshe knew the Sith Lords. And knew them well, if what I'm seeing is any indication.

I guess that explains why she doesn't want to talk about being a Jedi.

After a moment's deliberation, I hit play again.

The camera follows Eshe over to the table, where she promptly sits down into the sandy-haired man's lap and gives him a big wet kiss on the cheek.

"Kavie!" she squeals, in a ridiculously high-pitched voice. 'Kavie' appears to be in shock, as does Revan, although she also looks a little angry. Malak bites his lip to keep from laughing.

"I'm sorry," he says, trying to dislodge her unsuccessfully. "I think you have me confused with... anyone else."

"Oh, Kavie," she sighs, his voice still in alto. "I know you said not to bother you while you're in Jedi mode, but you're here, and I have a break, and these are you're friends right? They won't tell on us?"

"No, we won't," Revan promises quickly. "Why don't you introduce us to your friend, Kavar?" The shock has worn off by now, and she just looks angry.

I feel kind of sorry for the guy, not in the least because I now know why he looks familiar. About ten years after this was taken Revan will give me an assignment to capture him; he escaped from her, but I'm pretty sure Revan didn't make it easy on him... I don't want to think about that.

"I would," Kavar says, still trying to pry her off his lap, and still failing. "If I had the slightest idea who she was."

"You're pulling a Bindo with someone whose name you don't know?" Revan comments, storm clouds gathering over her head.

"I'm not," Kavar protests sternly, squirming, although whether that was more from Eshe's death grip or Revan's glare I can't tell. "Pulling a Bindo!"

This is too much for Malak, apparently, because he makes a strange chocking noise like a strangled gizka. Revan looks at him, then over at Eshe, then back at Malak, then whips over to Eshe.

"Eshe, you ignorant slut!" she squeals, whacking the said slut on the arm. Malak, who is apparently imitating animals today, and begins to make a sound like a ronto in heat.

I stare blankly at the screen for a long while, Malak still laughing insanely. They were all so normal; even Revan, who I expected to be intense and focused, like she was on Taris, or cold and deadly like she was as a Sith Lord, not relaxed and silly. Malak was different from what I had supposed as well- I mean, just listen to that laugh! When I knew him, he either had the evil, sadistic laugh he used when you were writhing around on the floor in pain, or, in his later years, mechanical. Not this... ronto impression; I never heard that during either of the Wars.

Not that I think about the Wars.

"Eshe?" Kavar questions.

"Yes?"

"Get the hell off my lap."

She complies, giggling, and slides into the seat next to him. Malak is still laughing, Kavar is studying his robes with a disgusted look on his face, while Revan shakes her head, bemused.

"Sheesh," Kavar groans. "You got pink body paint all over my robes."

"Well, it's a good thing you're going to become a Master soon then. New robes, less evidence of the illicit love affair the old man is still convinced we're having. And don't call me 'Sheesh'."

"Considering you were just calling him 'Kavie', I really don't think you can complain," Revan comments, looking at Malak, who is still laughing, concernedly.

Kavar splutters."Haven't you told Vrook that we're not-"

"Yeah, of course I have!" she cries indignantly, "But he's not buying it, because I keep having to leave out the bit where you're preoccupied staring into Rev's luminous green orbs or however we're describing her eyes today."

Revan and Kavar. Huh. Funny, really; I'd always heard the couple was Revan and Malak. But then again, they certainly didn't act like a couple during their reign as Sith Lords. And wasn't there all sorts of hullabaloo about Malak being engaged to that General who lead the charge on Malachor V towards the end of the Mandalorian Wars? I was a bit busy trying to stay alive during that time to pay much attention to the press... not that I'm thinking about that.

Malak's laughing increases in volume; Kavar sighs wearily.

"Are you alright?" Revan asks Malak, who has turned the color of his tattoos. "It wasn't that funny."

"Don't start, Rev," Eshe cautions. "If Mal had lost our bet, you'd be laughing just as hard as he is now."

Revan thinks about that for a minute, then snickers. "Don't tell me he would have-"

"Of course. Do you think I'd agree to this if there wasn't a chance to watch Mal pretend to be an amorous female Twi'lek?"

"Yes?" Revan guesses. Eshe reaches over to smack her shoulder, snagging a fry from her plate on the way back.

"Go suck a lightsaber," she grumbles good-naturedly.

"No thanks. Wouldn't want to put you out of a job," Revan replies.

Malak lets out a very high pitch whine, causing every patron in the restaurant to jump and stare at him.

"Okay, Rev has a point, Mal. You can breathe and everything right?"

Malak nods, waving them off.

"How much have you had to drink?"Revan asks.

Malak holds up two fingers.

"Of what?" Kavar demands.

Malak points to his empty glass. A passing waitress eyes Eshe cautiously before pouring him another.

"Don't drink that!" Revan orders, snatching it away and sniffing it delicately. "Oh, Malak, please tell me this isn't Tarisian Ale."

That explains a lot. I had my first hit of that stuff when I was thirteen; it nearly killed me. Then my nurse found me passed out on the floor clutching the bottle, and almost finished the job... okay, off-limits area there.

Malak, of course, nods, laughing less than chuckling now that its apparent he's in trouble.

"Malak, this is one of the most potent ales in the galaxy," Revan begins sternly. "The saying that it can get even a Jedi pissed isn't just bragging."

"Really?" Eshe says, perking up.

"No!" Revan says sternly. "No, Sheesh, one drunk friend is all I have patience for dealing with today."

Eshe shots a questioning look at Kavar, who explains "The Senate just voted not to come the Cathari's aide. Again."

"They aren't even sending relief packages anymore!" Revan fumes. "It's like the Senate just collectively decided to put their hands over their ears and sing the Starship Venus! They won't even acknowledge it's a genocide, and now similar tactics are being employed against the Iridonians and-"

"And," Kavar says quickly, cutting off what probably would have been a pretty good rant. "You really don't want to try any of that ale, Sheesh. You won't even remember what you did, and you'll want to kill yourself in the morning."

"Speaking from experience?" Eshe quips.

Kavar nods, blushing. Eshe gapes, and then wheels on Revan.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me he got drunk?" she demands.

"I'm still under the impression I'm sworn to secrecy," Revan says, looking confused. Malak, who by this point had managed to get his chuckles under control, begins howling again.

"Okay, Malak, you really need to calm down!" Revan soothes. He ignores her.

"Shut up, Malak!" Eshe roars. He leans over backwards, falls off his chair, and laughs even louder. A worried murmur runs through the restaurant.

As, one, the three Jedi stand up...

... and Eshe flings herself out of the refresher, dressed in only a towel, and yanks the player out of my hands with the Force.

We stare at each other for a moment. Then, more calmly than I've ever heard her say anything, she asks "Weren't you supposed to be looking at porn?"

I don't really have an answer.

"Well," she sighs. "I suppose I kind of walked into this."

And with that, she turns around and walks stiffly back into the refresher, leaving me alone with a whole bunch of thoughts and memories I don't want to have.

Kreia, in case you're wondering, is nowhere to be seen.

This, in case you're wondering, is why I haven't posted my Exile stuff over on Kotor Fan Media; I'm not sure it fits the criteria of being teenaged friendly. So to that effect, I'm issuing an unofficial, probably illegal poll. Please respond in your reviews, which I expect to actually receive.

A) There's a picture of Revan and Carth reading Star Wars Universe Porn Magazines. Get over yourself and post.

B) It's too dirty for teenagers. Even if their's worse stuff there already, don't give in to the temptation.

C) I can't really tell- the typos are too distracting. I do, however know a beta, who you can contact at (insert email address here)

Thanks in advance!