It's much, much later that night, after the witch has returned and everyone has turned in for the night, than I hear the door to our room slide open and someone leave. It's Eshe.

After a moment's deliberation, I decide to follow her. To demand some answers to the questions the holovid inspired- not because I'm worried about her welfare or anything. Because I'm Atton Rand, and I just don't give a crap about anyone but myself.

Or, at least, I think so, anyway. I'm not really sure who Atton is; unlike every other identity I've ever assumed, he was thrown together in a rush rather than painstakingly detailed and forged into the computer records. To completely honest, he has a name, a profession, a drawl, and a jacket, and not much else to define him. There was a purpose to that; his past never came back to haunt him, he didn't have any attachments, and he never, ever has nightmares involving obscene, impossible amounts of blood that stain his hands red no matter how hard he tries to get rid of it and-

I normally don't think about stuff like this, because it always makes me feel frustrated and kind of ashamed of myself for the pathetic little life I eke out. But I've talked about that enough; I'm here to find out how screwed up Eshe is, not talk about how screwed up I am.

She's in the cantina, of course, downing juma after juma like it's water. I sit down next to her, pushing the bottle on the table out of the way so I can see her face. She grunts, but doesn't say anything; for a long moment, neither do I.

"We need to talk," I say finally.

"Oh?"

"Yes," I confirm. "I have some questions that-"

"Stuff it," she grunts. "I don't feel like answering them."

I raise an eyebrow. "Too bad. We're stuck in this together and I want those answers."

"You're free to leave any time, Rand."

"Yeah, you mean without a ship or credits? Thanks, but I'd much rather pester you and risk evisceration."

She snorts. "Oh, we're past evisceration, Rand, and well on our way to full disembowelment."

She pours some more juma from the bottle into her tumbler and takes a long swig. "This is entirely your fault," she says, matter-of-factly.

I raise an eyebrow. "From what I hear, you've been hitting the juma for a lot longer than I've been around."

"Would you forget the alcohol for a minute? I'm talk about-" she makes an all-encompassing, helpless gesture that ends in a shrug and eye-roll. "I'd just managed to bury it," she says. "I had it all compartmentalized and locked away and then you had to go drag it out again."

That hits a little too close to home for me, so I scowl. "Yeah- I can see why you'd want to forget being a spoiled kid on the top of your game."

She scowls back. "Oh, I'd love to remember those days. We were the best and the brightest, and future seemed so much the same... you know what we called ourselves back then? The Prodigal Knights; and this was before any of us were knighted, before Revan, even. We were always getting into trouble, and then somehow muddling through it without anything too serious happening. Nothing we couldn't handle, nothing we couldn't laugh about later."

"You aren't laughing now," I observe.

She snorts, and pours herself another drink. "I can't anymore. I can't think about any of them- any of it, any of being a Jedi- without remembering what came after. And that totally kills any hilarity, so I just don't remember."

"Why do you keep the vids, then?" I ask, curious. Unless you count the jacket, which I sorta stole, I don't have anything from Jaq's days.

"I said I don't want to remember; I didn't say I wanted to forget. I can't keep them because of the bad times, but I can't let them go because of the good," she clarifies. "Hence the using of words such as 'locked away'. Still there, but not really in use, you know?"

Yeah, I know, sweetheart. The overwhelming majority of Jaq's memories fall into that same category.

Instead, I gesture to her now half-empty bottle. "You have enough of that to 'not remember'? Because it's oh-dark-thirty in the morning and we should probably do something tomorrow."

"I repeat: you're free to leave, Rand. And by that, I mean go back to the room."

"I'm staying right here. Can't have you drinking yourself into a stupor, can I?"

"It's almost patently impossible for a Jedi to get drunk on juma. Especially when she has my alcohol tolerance," she informs me, and, ignoring the half-full glass in front of her entirely, chugs the rest of the bottle in one go.

"I thought you weren't a Jedi?" I ask innocently.

"I'm not. And I'm not a Sith either, before you ask."

"What does that make you, then? A rancor?" I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

She laughs ruefully. "I'm just another fracked up vet, Rand. Galaxy's full of us. Hell, just throw the refugees in and we are the galaxy, these days." She tosses back the last of the juma before signaling for another bottle. "No wonder everything's gone shitty; everyone's too busy trying to forget all the horrible things they saw and did to deal with all the less personal side-effects."

I don't comment. She could, I suppose, be doing more, but I can't really be throwing stones now, can I?

"I know what you're thinking," she sing-songs smugly. "You're thinking that I'm a dirty hypocrite."

"Seriously, stay out of my head," I respond. "You won't find anything you'll like in there."

She smirks. "I'm not in your head. You just have a certain look when you want to comment, but then decide it isn't worth the risk of grievous bodily harm. And I highly doubt your head is more fracked up than mine."

Sadly, that may be the case. At least she has the comfort of being the good guy.

I probably shouldn't, but I say about as much. I'm curious, though; why is she beating herself over something which actually helped people?

Her answer? "There are no good guys in war. I mean, do you really think what happened on Malachor was pure-hearted and merciful? It wasn't. It may have been the lesser of two evils, but that doesn't mean it wasn't still evil. It- the war- was all one big grey area, and the longer I was in it the darker it seemed to get."

The waiter, looking worried beyond measure, scurries over to our table and deposits a bottle. Eshe grabs it by the neck and hauls herself into the standing position. "To gray areas," she toasts bitterly. "Long may they excuse my existence"

And with that she saunters out of the cantina, leaving me with the bill.

~*~

It's the next morning and Eshe strides into the bedroom/dinning room/ foyer/living room and announces her intentions to go shopping for a change of clothes and then ask Lt. Grenn for some work.

"I thought you didn't like being employed," I remark, surprised.

"I don't," she replies shortly. "Actually, I hate it. But seeing as there's nothing better to do..."

Kreia looks terribly disappointed for a moment, before Eshe adds, "Besides, it's likely to be piece-meal merc work; no long term contracts, no long-term alliances. We get paid by the job, and we might find something out about our mystery warship in the process."

I take note as Kreia's face slides back in neutral; the witch wants something from Eshe, it seems, but Eshe isn't what she expected, and now she's not sure how to get it.

I have a bad feeling about her. Well, actually, I have a bad feeling about both of them, but at least Eshe has the perk of also being hot. Kreia on the other hand, just creeps me out- gives me a really bad feeling. Which, I suppose, can be counted as the trillionth reason for me to get away from these people when I finally get the chance.

Problem is? No chance is coming. And they aren't inclined to put their insanity on hold until one comes along.

The trip to Lt. Grenn's office takes longer than I would have liked because we ran into a bunch of thugs beating up an unarmed Sullustan, outside of the shop, and Eshe, either because she has a soft spot for Sullustans as well as Mandalorians or just wants some action, is unable to just leave them to it. The little guys pays as for our trouble, though, so I guess I can't really complain. Neither can I complain about the work Grenn, reluctantly, gives us. Like Eshe predicted, it's mostly merc work, and it gives us a good reason to go snooping around areas we might otherwise be considered suspicious in, such as the docks. Unfortunately, it soon becomes clear that it's going to be impossible to do much of anything for the Republic without getting ourselves at least partially entangled in the Ithorian/Czerka conflict.

"I hate it when the universe conspires against me," Eshe grumbles, shoving lunch - cheese fries at the cantina again- down her throat.

"I believe it is the Force that is conspiring against you," Kreia corrects her.

"Yeah. Bit difficult to have one without the other though, isn't it?" Eshe replies, sighing. "Maybe there's a way to work this to our advantage. Like you said Atton, Czerka and the Ithorians are the ones most likely to have resources we need to get off this station. At the very least, we should pretend to be interested in whatever job they have for us and see what we can dig up in the process."

We decide to go to the Czerka offices first, since they're closer. I don't particularly like Czerka, as they're one of the few corporations who still deal in slave labor; most everyone else had wised up to the way the wind was plowing and began liquidating their slaving operations years ago, but as long as there was a chance that there is profit to be made, Czerka is going to milk it for all it's worth.

This same philosophy, apparently, applies to escaped convicts who are actually mercs they'd hired to take care of some dissenters. They're also two of the guys we're looking for. I'm kind of happy Eshe was facing away from Lorso when the pair of them left the room; the look on her face probably would have melted the director into a puddle of goo, and that might be a little difficult to explain to Grenn.

It quickly becomes obvious that we're not going to get much help from Lorso with the other two jobs either. She doesn't know anything about Batu Rem, or so she claims, and is reluctant to give us any information about anything unless we agree to do a job for her. On Batano she's slightly more forthcoming; she tells us that she's heard he's hiding somewhere near the Ithorian Compound. She also offers us two hundred credits for his 'safe return'. Showing heretofore unknown amounts of self-restraint, Eshe refrains from cursing her out until we're out of earshot.

"That fracking di'kut!" she swears as the door closes behind us. Several passers by jump, then, noticing the direction we're coming from, go back to their business with slightly nervous, but sympathetic, smiles. "What the krif does she take us for? Complete and utter morons? Mir'osike? A three-year-old Gammorean with brain damage could see through her! Why did that chakaar even bother trying to convince us she was a good guy? She couldn't pull off 'good' if she was given a beggar, some credits, and a full-color diagram!"

"And you can, I suppose?" Kreia asks pointedly.

"Of course. I do have two decades worth of Jedi experience to fall back upon. Granted, I was probably the least compassionate Jedi in the Order, but at least I knew what to do when a guy dressed in rags came up to me and asked for money!" she hisses back. "Come on, hopefully the Ithorians will be less taxing and unreasonable."

I'm not entirely sure why, but I get the impression that the Ithorians annoy her only slightly less than Czerka- in my book, a herd of Ithorians, even Jedi Ithorians, win out over corporate core-rats any day. The compound has a very ambient atmosphere, and the herd is a pretty peaceful bunch. Ithorian speech has always sounded more like music to me than anything else, although I can understand it well enough, and what Habat has to say, about their problems and our jobs in general doesn't sound to bad to me. Of course, this is all overshadowed by the fact that I spend the entire time we're with him trying not to hyperventilate; Habat was part of a group of Ithorian Force- Adepts Revan brought in after we regained Eres III, and it became obvious that the Mandalorians were taking their 'scorched earth' policy a bit too literally, that the Xoxin plains wouldn't burn themselves out anytime soon. I was the lucky bastard she chose to escort him around the base. He doesn't seem to recognize me, however, and Eshe, with all her normal tact and social grace, keeps our visit to the herd short and to the point.

"He knows something. He's being polite about it, and he doesn't want to admit it, but he knows something," Eshe declares the moment we're safely outside the compound. "Not about the criminals (I doubt we'll see anything more of those two), and not about Batu, but Batano... he definitely knows something about our missing informant."

"It would probably be in their best interest to keep him away from Czerka's eyes until they could be sure that he would be able to testify," I muse, as we walk back to our apartment. The night cycle for Citadel is just beginning, and the residential modules are t half-light. Eshe's frustrated, and it's catching, and none of the three of us are in a very good mood.

"So you think they're holding him hostage somewhere?" Eshe asks with a snort. "Ithorians don't really seem the type. But than again, the entire fracking galaxy seems to have gone off the deep end after I left, so who the hell knows?"

"I don't think it's holding him hostage so much as keeping him in protective custody. Czerka can be a pretty nasty bunch of cutthroats when they want to be. Which is pretty much always."

"He'd have to be close. Probably not in the compound- I wouldn't put it past Czerka to have the entire place bugged," Eshe added.

"But still, it's probably in this residential module-" I stop short.

"What?" Eshe asks.

"I have an idea. Come on, I need to use to get to a terminal," I say, and take off for our rooms.

~*~

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm no expert slicer. My feelings towards computers are only slightly less technocidal than my feelings towards droids- and I sometimes get the impression that the feeling's mutual. Their only saving grace was the fact they are designed to be controlled almost entirely by people. This allows people like me to take advantage of sentient error.

Take the passwords for the TSF files on Citadel Station. Since they are a security force with a fairly good reason to be paranoid, the passwords are supposed to change daily. And since people choose those passwords themselves, they normally are related to something that weighs heavily on their mind.

Grenn's password, for example, is 'Jedi' today.

"I would have guessed it was Peragus," Eshe comments.

"That was going to be my first guess," I admit, "But seeing as it's been a few days since that place blew up, I figured he used that one already."

"Smart," Eshe compliments. I can see the witch's reflection scowling in the computer screen, and I snort inwardly. What does that woman have against people anyway?

Using Grenn's access codes, I'm able to pull up the tax information of the Ithorian's residential module. Sure enough, the herd is paying for not only their compound, but one of the apartments down the hall.

"We have him now," Eshe murmurs. "How are your lock-picking skills, Atton?"

"I haven't even bothered to learn the key code for our apartment," I brag. "It's quicker just to slice."

"Good. Let's see what Batano has to say for himself..."

~*~

I'm ridiculously grateful for the half-light at night idea. If ever meet the civil engineer who came up with that concept, I'll have to kiss her. Or hug him. Sure, it's kind of creepy, in a way that reminds me of some of the worse sectors of Nar Shadaa, and if I lived here it'd probably annoy the hell out of me, but it makes it harder for the lone TSF officer on duty in that module to see what we're doing- which is breaking into an apartment with the best security system I've ever seen on a civilian door. The Headmaster's door on Korriban had a setup like this; thankfully, I was there when that was put in place, so I know how to get around it without too much difficulty.

At first glance, it looks uninhabited. But I've played this game enough times before to be able to tell the difference between a genuinely abandoned place, and one that just looks like it. There's no dust on anything, the bed is made, but only the top cover is smooth, and the temperature is slightly warmer than it was out in the halls, which means someone's been playing with the climate control.

"He's here," I say.

"I know," Eshe whispers, keying the door closed behind us. I nod in approval; that'll cut off is escape route, and force him to make some noise, if only on his way out into the hallways. "Kreia, can you sense him?"

"Can you?"

"No, but I've never really been good at that sort of thing," Eshe replies.

"Then let us rely on our other senses to discern this Batano's whereabouts," Kreia answers, moving over the refresher. Behind her back, Eshe mimes shooting herself with a blaster before going to check out the closet.

We quickly rule out all the obvious places, and begin looking in the less conspicuous ones. I'm on my hands and knees checking out the underside of the bed when a hear a set of footsteps that doesn't match up with either Eshe's (short and loud, almost like a tap) or Kreia's (she shuffles, unless she's fighting, and then I'm not entirely sure her feet touch the ground). Acting on instinct, I lunge at them.

It's been a while since I've used any Echani fighting techniques, and I miss the guy's throat by a few millimeters. It's close enough to disrupt the stealth field generator, though, and now that I can actually see him I manage to grab him by the shoulder. He's panicked though, and adrenaline gives him the strength to make a lucky shot- with a vibrodagger he had stashed up his sleeve. He slices at my arm, and I scream and let go instinctively to grab at it. He bolts for the door, but falls backwards, flat on his back a few feet away from it; Eshe had extended her quarterstaff perpendicular to his path, and he had barreled straight into it. She stands over him, pointing the end of her staff down by his throat.

"Don't move," she orders, and then looks over at me. "You okay, Atton?"

I check; the bleeding's not fast enough to be coming from an artery, and, after flexing my hand a few times, I'm confident that there's no nerve damage either. Some lucky shot. "I'm fine; there's just a whole bunch of blood squirting out."

"Just come over here you idiot, and let me look at that," she huffs. I obey, offering her my arm when I get within reach.

"See, just a scratch. Don't go wasting your limited amount of tender concern on me," I assure her.

"Oh, give me that," she says, roughly grabbing my arm and pressing her hand over the wound.

"Hey!" I yelp, before a tiny shock of light escapes from her hand, and the pain in my arm turns into a dull ache, more like a stiff muscle than a shallow stab wound.

She lets me go, and I step back, checking on the ripped area of my jacket. Underneath the blood, I can tell, the wound has closed completely. "I thought you said you were crap at healing?" I ask, confused.

"I am," she replies. "You're going to have a scar."

"You're a Jedi?" Batano squeaked from his position on the floor. Eshe moved a little farther away from him, not so far the she still could slice his throat open if she wanted to, but enough so that she was no longer looming over him. "Supposedly, I'm the last. You can get up now, just do it slowly and don't try to run again."

He does so, eyes darting warily from Eshe to me, but, I notice, sliding over Kreia as though she doesn't exit.

"I hear you're the last of a dying breed yourself," Eshe says finally. "The corporate conscious."

"Yeah, that's me. I take it you're the thugs Czerka hired to bring me in," he answers, trying very hard not to look afraid. "My how the mighty have fallen,"

Ouch. Poor word choice there Batano- don't ever, ever, ever call a Jedi 'fallen'. To those who have, it means nothing, but to those who haven't...

Eshe's face blanks out, and she says, in the same calm voice she used when she found me looking at her holovid "You presume much."

Batano cowers.

"In case you care, we're actually here on TSF's behalf. When Grenn found out his Czerka informant had gone missing he got worried, for some strange reason. Apparently he somehow got the impression that you'd stick around when you said you'd testify for him. Guess he thought you were made of sterner stuff."

"I-but- do you have any idea what they threatened to do to me!" Batano splutters.

"Yeah, actually. Death. Dismemberment. Enslavement. It's all pretty standard intimidation tactics," Eshe informs him.

"My wife," Batano states flatly. "If I testify, they promised- not threatened, promised- to kidnap her, lobotomize her, and stick her in a pleasure house on the edge of the Mandalorian Sector."

"Does she know about your agreement with Grenn?" Eshe asks, lowering her weapon a fraction.

"Yeah, of course. Actually, it was her idea in the first place," he answers.

"And I'm guessing she knew the risks as well," Eshe states, less of a question and more of an assertion.

"Yeah, but… That doesn't change the fact that they'll-"

"She can be protected. The two of you can hide after the hearing; actually, Grenn probably has her hidden away somewhere already. The Whistler-Blowers Protection Act is still up and running, right?"

"Well, yeah, but you don't know how much power Czerka has! They're the most profitable company in the Republic- with that kind of money, they can buy anything, even classified information!"

"Are you really that big a pain in the ass?" Eshe asks.

"Huh?"

"Look at it this way. From what I understand the overwhelming majority, if not the entirety, of your testimony is based on Czerka's shady dealings on Telos right?"

Batano nods.

"So, that means you're really only a pain in the ass for the branch of Czerka on Telos. While it's true they probably won't just leave you alone after you leave the system, they aren't going to go through the trouble of chasing you to the ends of the galaxy, especially if your testimony puts their position in jeopardy here. They'll be too busy covering their own asses to worry about whether they're in pain or not."

Batano's shoulders sagged for a moment. "I-I don't know. I probably should, but..."

"But..."

"Where would I stay if I were to do this. I can't go out on my own; Czerka has employees all over the Station, and one of them is bound to recognize me. And some of those mercs...well, a few of them are vets of the Jedi Civil War, and I get the impression they weren't really working for the Republic."

"Yay, more Sith," Eshe deadpans. "You wouldn't believe how many of them I killed last week. Two or three more as I walk you over Grenn won't make all that big a difference in the grand scheme of things. Once we get you to the TSF Station, he can find you another safe house until the hearing, and then give you to the Republic."

"Hey!" I protest. "Since when are we on babysitting duty?"

"Since now," Eshe answers. "That is, assuming you're going to actually come with us."

"I-" Batano begins.

"I swear, if you start stuttering and being indecisive again, I'm just going to knock you out and drag you down to the station caveman style," Eshe threatens.

"Well, when faced with an offer like that how can I say no?"

I look at my chrono; it's 0350, which means I've run around this station at this unholy hour twice in two days for this woman. "I really need to go get some sleep. Can't we do this tomorrow?"

"No," Eshe says.

"You sure?"

"Shut up Atton."

~*~

Personally, I'm of the opinion that an escort really isn't necessary. Not only are we pretty much the only ones alive in this hour, but the TSF is actually making their presence known with guards in every module at regular intervals. Or maybe they were always there; honestly, if you ignore the large shiny helmets, which I've been doing my best to do, it's a bit difficult to tell a TSF officer from the regular guy.

But Eshe is very insistent that Batano needs protection, and seeing as she's the one with the large double-bladed vibrosword and quarterstaff, I don't really feel comfortable protesting too much.

And, as it turns out, I'm dead wrong.

At first they look like late-night cantina-goers who got kicked out after one too many last calls; large men stumbling around drunkenly in the shadows. If one of them wasn't using a vibrosword as a walking stick, I wouldn't have given them a second glance. But he is, and I do. Good thing too, because if I hadn't I wouldn't have noticed that one of his companions had a blaster rifle hidden behind his back, and that the other was sporting a tattoo on his forehead that was once popular among some of the commando units in the Sith forces. Mercenaries, or bounty hunters; or, as I like to call them, a huge freaking pain in my ass.

"Three o'clock," I mumble.

Eshe looks at her watch. "Really? I have quarter after."

I'm about to hiss at her when I notice that she's already noticed them- she's following their movements out of the corner of her eyes. The drunken trio stumble by us, and I let out a small sigh of relief. Obviously, hanging around Jedi is making me paranoid.

Then we round a corner and nearly collide with five more conspicuously armed thugs. The three we just passed stop acting drunk and close off our exit.

"Well, crap," Eshe swears, bringing her vibrosword up to bear. I follow suit with my blasters, and Kreia does the same with her vibroblade. Batano just sort of stands there, looking scared out of his mind.

So this is the Jedi we've heard so much about? The lead merc, a Rodian, clicks. You no look like much. Chewing too much spice, perhaps?

"Or not enough. It depends who you ask," Eshe quips back.

You catch boss' interest, he continues, as though she hasn't spoken at all. Boss willing to talk big money, if you want. You have choice. Hand over bounty, get good job. No hand over bounty, you become bounty.

"Okay, but let's change the deal a little; you go your way, I'll go mine, and no one gets hurt."

No possible.

"Sure it is," Eshe contradicts him with a dismissive wave of her hand. "We got to the station before you could intercept us. The intel was bad, and you didn't think it wise to start on all out assault on the TSF Station."

The Rodian's large eyes glaze over, as do almost all of his companions'; she's using a mind trick, a very powerful mind trick, to convince them to go away without a fight. Clever.

Not going to work on the ex-Sith commando; we got training for that sort of thing.

I watch him in my peripheral vision. He knows what's happening, and is slowly shifting him weight towards Batano. Just as he pounces at the snitch, I wheel around and shoot, which places a nice-sized hole in the guy's shoulder. Unfortunately, it also has the effect of shocking all the other mercs out of whatever stupor Eshe's sent them into, and all hell breaks loose; those with blaster rifles raise their weapons, and those without backpeddle out of range of Eshe's double-bladed vibrosword.

Unfortunately, they've never seen her fight- they don't know that Eshe doesn't really have what can be traditionally described as a weapon's range. I'd noticed, somewhere in between the assassin droids and Sleeps-With-Vibroblades, that in a fight, Eshe is fast, flexible and aggressive. Her preferred method of disabling all those mad excavator droids was to rush at them, and then completely and utterly destroy them with several spins of her blades. She isn't the strongest person I've met, but she made up for it by hitting her opponent in so many places and in such a short amount of time that they weren't sure what hit them. I think one of the more humanoid droids actually looked down at her in confusion before exploding into a shower of sparks.

For me, this all just means I'm backpedaling too, dragging Batano with me for good measure. Eshe doesn't disappoint, and promptly beheads the Rodian, who wasn't quiet fast enough, and somersaulting in midair over his falling body to get at the others. Kreia is busy taking care of the two supposed drunks. She's better than I thought she'd be, but then again, she'd have to be to escape from Sleeps-With-Vibroblades. One of the thugs that snuck up behind us turns and runs in the direction of Czerka's module; I shoot him in the back. Eshe is fending off two vibroblade-wielding thugs at once, a fourth aims a blaster pistol at her head. I try to shoot him too, but the bolt goes wild and whizzes over his shoulder instead of hitting his head like I wanted it to. He ducks away from the main fight, taking cover behind a pillar. He starts taking pot-shots at everyone from his position, so I concentrate my fire on him. He's young, and his aim is less good than I feared. Unfortunately, he's good- very good- at dodging bullets. Probably he's a street kid, fresh off of Nar Shadaa or the Undercity or the Lower Levels of Corescant, probably this merc work seems pretty respectable to him, a step up in the world. If he wasn't currently trying his humble best to kill me, I'd feel sorry for him. As it is, I'm only going down this trail of thought because it means I know how he'll act if I aim a shot just above his head- he'll duck. He does duck, and then I aim just a tad bit lower and to the left and plant a bolt in his Adam's apple. He goes down; in the interim, so has the Aqualesh thug Eshe was grappling with earlier, and both of Kreia's. I shoot again, and the last of the thugs falls; Eshe stabs him through the sternum just to make sure.

"Everyone alright?" I call.

"I am uninjured." Kreia replies.

"I'm good. Next time we do this, remind me to tie my hair back though," Eshe says, pushing said hair back away from her face with a huff.

"I think I'm going to hurl," Batano moans.

"Because of what?" Eshe demands. For an answer, he points over to the ground where the Aqulesh lays, covered in the intestines of that goon Eshe'd gutted.

"Okay. That is kind of disgusting," Eshe admits. "But it's all over now. We'd better get moving; the TSF Station is still a long way off."

I grab Batano by the arm and step carefully over the various bodies. There's no TSF Officers in sight; I guess that's law enforcement at its best here. They hang around everywhere when you try to break into a body's apartment, and then are nowhere in sight when you get jumped on by a bunch of mercs.

Just as we're about clear of the bodies, one of them starts to groan. It's the Sith; he's still alive, and now he's conscious too.

"That one could pose a problem to us. Despite the forwardness of the Rodian, I sense the leader of this group is here," Kreia says.

Eshe moves over to him. "Then maybe he can give us some answers. Hey pal," she says, hauling the unfortunate man up by his collar. "Who sent you?"

He gargles for a moment, then croaks out. "General?"

Eshe freezes.

"General?" he repeats. "General Jiv-"

He screams, and his pupils dilate until they encompass his entire eye. She's… mind-raping him; I recognize the signs from the countless times I've watched the Dark Jedi I worked with occasionally.

"You will go to the medical center a get that shoulder looked at. You will tell the medic everything, and when TSF arrives, you'll go quietly," she intones. The man nods.

"I think I'll just go to the medical center, General," he echoes. "Don't worry, ma'm; I'll turn myself in right after."

"Good man, soldier," she answers, and lets him stagger off.

"It's Czerka, surprise, surprise," she informs us, breezing past Batano and I and standing nearer to Kreia. "What's really interesting is that Lorso gave him the orders herself. Apparently, the woman likes to play in the mud."

"She would appear to be a fierce opponent," Kreia comments.

"I've dealt with worse," she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. I feel a prickle in the back of my mind, and frown; did she just try to use a mind trick on me? "C'mon, we still need to get to that TSF Station."

She walks away, followed by Kreia, who's shuffling again. Batano turns to me with a grin. "She really is a Jedi, isn't she?" he asks.

I grit my teeth, and haul him behind me as I follow the two women. Yeah Eshe's a Jedi alright; she has the manipulative, privacy-invading bit down to a tee.

~*~

Grenn is still in his office. Bleary-eyed and cranky, but still in his office. He glares at us as we walk into his office.

"We just got seventeen reports of gunfire, and eight nearly-hysterical calls reporting mutilated bodies, all from the walkway in between the entertainment module and Czerka's module," he snaps.

"We found Batano," Eshe replies, pushing said informant in front of her. "Czerka found us."

"My wife…" Batano begins hesitantly.

"She's fine," Grenn says. "She's under armed guard in one of the apartments on the other end of Citadel."

"See, I told you so," Eshe preens, pushing him towards Grenn. "We'll come back tomorrow. If I force him to stay up longer, Atton will murder me in my sleep."

Oh, she doesn't know how right she is.

Grenn motions to the door, adding before we leave. "Next time you do something like this, try not to leave any bodies where the kids can see 'em."

"I'll do my best," she promises insincerely, before sauntering out of the room.

She almost runs to our apartment, although she takes the long way, avoiding the Czerka module and, I notice, the bodies. She sprints that last several yards, and dashes through the door at an almost impossible speed.

It's not quiet fast enough to lose me, though.

"What the hell was that?" I demand.

"Nothing to be concerned about," she says with another wave of her hand. Before I'm really conscious of what I'm doing, I reach out and grab her wrist.

"Don't even think about it," I snarl. She hauls out and punches me in the gut. I let go instinctively.

"No, don't you even think about it!"

"I'm not the one mind-raping people!" I wheeze, clutching my stomach. "I thought you didn't even remember how to do a mind trick?"

"I thought you didn't fight in either of the Wars?" she challenges. "I highly doubt that; you know too much, and you fight too well."

Okay, I'm man enough to admit; this is where I have a minor panic attack.

"I-what-me-she-" I splutter.

"Exactly," she says triumphantly. "You stay the hell out of my past and I'll keep away from yours."

She seems to consider the matter closed; I don't. It's a conditioned response really, not that that's much of an excuse. But I can't see a smug smile on a Jedi's face- that look like they have all the control over you and there's nothing you can do about it- without wanting to wipe it off. Painfully. Because the Jedi? They were wrong about a lot of things, and having control over us non-Jedi people was one of them.

"No deal," I grit out. "It's not fair to you; anything I want to know- or don't want to know- is probably on the holonet. That guy called you General- you fought in the Mandalorian Wars. It's enough to go on that if I go back a few years in the archives, I'm sure I could find out everything."

"Oh, it's fair," Eshe retorts, eyes flashing dangerously, "If I wanted to find out about you, I could just go straight to the source." She waves her hand again, but this time I can tell she's not putting any Force behind it.

"You could. You could also probably crush my windpipe, or fry me. But you're not going to because you're going to need my help, hot stuff, and if you so much as try, I'll know. And then you're going to be stuck trying to figure out how to fly. You need me."

"I don't need you," she scoffs. "I know how to fly; the Ebon Hawk's my ship, and I've been flying her for over three years. I own that ship, and I have all the credits. Newsflash, pal; you need me."

"Oh yeah? Well, I got a newsflash for you, General," I sneer back. "I don't. I don't need you, and I sure as hell don't need to take any of your manipulative, Jedi crap."

And with that I storm out of the room, making sure to elbow the old crone on the way out. Hard.

~*~

It isn't long before I realize my mistake. Well, mistakes, really. The first one was letting her get to me. Yeah, she had tried to mind trick me, and there's no way in hell I should take that laying down, but it's not like it actually worked. Or could work on someone like me, anyway. When I get angry, I tend to do things I regret, like strangling people, or storming out of my apartment with only the clothes on my back. No worries. I've done that before. Atton's still here. I'm wearing the same clothes too.

I could go back, of course. They're probably both sleeping now, anyways. Pretty much every sane person on Citadel is sleeping at this time of night. And even if they were awake, what exactly am I afraid of? Two not-quite-Sith, two sort-of-Jedi; I've killed more than that. I've killed better than that.

Thing is though Eshe is… Eshe. She's not a Jedi; I'm not too sure she's a Sith. She's just… kind of scary in a post-apocalyptic way that reminds me a bit too much of Revan… and a bit too much of me. There's just something about her that's… I don't know. All I know is that I was stuck in one of the worst situations I've been in since I left the Sith, and now I find myself contemplating jumping back in.

Turns out I didn't need to have worried. Less than an hour passes before Eshe tracks me back to the cantina. Hey, where else do people go to contemplate their sucky, self-destructive relationships?

"You were right," she says without preamble, sliding into the seat across from me. "I do need you. If I have to deal with Kreia all by myself, the next thing you'll hear is that they found her half-baked body in an incinerator down by the industrial sector."

I don't reply.

"Of course, to be fair, I was right too. If you stay out of my past, I'll stay out of yours," she continues after a beat. "It's probably best for the remains of both of our sanities that way."

I still don't reply.

"Look, Atton, I've guessed some about what you did. And I know you've been trying to figure out my angle in all of this since we first met. Truth of the matter is, we're both here because we both don't have a choice, we both don't want to get involved, and we're both living for number one and no one and nothing else."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Whatever you were before all of this started, whatever I was- it doesn't really matter. We're both running from it, and there's no need to keep agonizing over it."

I nod agreeably.

"Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment?" Eshe demands. "Seriously? That's not going to work. You stop interrupting me and I'll just gab and gab forever about the unfairness of there being only female dancers in this place. Why is it that whenever you want to see a guy up on stage shaking his thing you have to comb the underbelly of Nar Shadaa? It'd probably be really popular, too. I know I'd pay good money to see a scantily-clad, well-formed male Zabrak."

I let to corners of my mouth twitch.

"Not going to work," Eshe repeats. "I'm not apologizing for the mind trick. It was the only Force Power I was ever any good at, and I'm damned proud of it. Besides, you totally deserved it for going through my stuff."

I think that might be as good as it's going to get. I don't think Eshe can get any closer to begging me to stay- or saying she's sorry.

"You told me I could."

"I said you could look at porn. Porn. If your definition of porn is four teenagers at a bar, you need to get out more. And get laid. Like, a lot."

"Is that an order General?" I ask.

"Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you?" she mutters.

"Of course. What sane person says no to sex?" I ask. She frowns slightly, confused, wondering if I'd just taken her up on her proposition.

"If you need me," I continue, leering. "Just follow the lekku."

And with that I waltz over to the dancer's break table; Eshe's outraged cry a few minutes later lets me know I've successfully stiffed her with the bill.

~*~

Oh. My. God. This was actually much longer, originally, but I decided to cut it off here because I noticed my page count had gotten up there. And also? I'm sorry, but I never did figure out where Batano was hiding in the game *blushes* So I took the information Wookiepedia had on him and sort of… embellished it from there.