II. END OF THE LINE

Despite standing more than a foot taller than his second–in–command, Ryder had to quicken his pace to keep up with the anxious Pantoran as she rushed toward the entrance to the dingy nightclub. Without hesitation, she made her way through the various carousers mingling just outside the building and approached its doors, but grimaced when they were stopped by a large, burly Klatooinian bouncer with an unfriendly disposition. Ryder, too, frowned and silently cursed to himself.

Yet another obstacle to overcome.

"Sorry, full house tonight," the bouncer greeted them with a scowl. "If you're not on the list, don't bother."

"This is an emergency. You have to let us pass," Tavora retorted, refusing to take no for an answer. "We will only be a moment, I can assure you."

"Is your name on the list?" the Klatooinian questioned as he looked between the two smugglers. "If so, be my guest. Otherwise, you're wasting your time… and mine."

Tavora opened her mouth to protest, but held her tongue when Ryder stepped forward and rested a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Forgive my friend here," he chimed in. "Sometimes she can be a bit too headstrong for her own good."

Truer words have never been spoken.

He smirked when his comment garnered him an aggravated look from his companion. She would most likely have something to say about it later.

The bouncer responded with a grunt as he shifted his focus back to the impetuous Pantoran. "You don't say."

"But I'm sure we can work something out," Ryder continued, retrieving a satchel of Imperial credits from his utility belt. "There's no reason why we can't be civil about this, am I right?"

Another grunt. No reply.

Flashing a smug grin, Ryder plopped the satchel down in the Klatooinian's awaiting palm. Scoffing, Tavora folded her arms across her chest and glared daggers at the reprehensible bouncer as he accepted the small bag and inspected its contents. He gave the offering a brief once–over before slipping it into his pocket.

"Sorry, pal… still not on the list," he said, his expression cool and impassive.

Ryder wasn't the least bit deterred by his dismissive attitude. "My mistake."

His grin broadening, he pulled out another satchel and handed it over. The Klatooinian held it in his outstretched palm, as if measuring its weight, before tucking it safely away in his other pocket. He then quirked a brow while he mulled over his options.

Everyone has their price.

"Well, whad'da ya know," he responded at last; casually whipping out a datapad and making a show of studying its screen. "You're on the list, after all."

Apparently, that's his…

Her disgust palpable, Tavora followed in tow after Ryder gave a curt nod and started for the door. Bribery was the way of much of the galaxy, but that didn't make it any better.

Shaking her head, she gladly put the bouncer behind her and made her way inside the club; the steady sound of excessively loud music growing more and more deafening, until it was all she could hear. A suffocating haze of smoke wafted through the air and stung her eyes the instant she stepped through the threshold, while the overwhelming stench of stale liquor assaulted her nose. With any luck, they wouldn't have to spend a second longer than necessary in the revolting establishment.

"We won't be long," Ryder called out over his shoulder, as if he had somehow read her thoughts. "Stay close and watch your back."

The club was teeming with gamblers and drunkards, thieves and degenerates, scantily clad women of all different races and species, bounty hunters, cutthroats, the rich, the greedy, those who sought solicitation, those who sought financial gain at any cost, those with blood on their hands… the worst of the worst. The scourge of the galaxy. And like Tavora, he had no intention of sticking around to partake in the debauchery. Why exactly their missing crewmate had selected to visit, of all places, this particular nightclub, was beyond him.

Brushing a wary finger against the handle of the blaster dangling at his side, Ryder cautiously took in their new surroundings. Directly to the right, a quartet of Bith musicians played an uptempo jatz number. Off to the left, a crowd of male spectators rudely hooted, hollered and whistled while several exotic dancers performed on a raised stage. Straight ahead, a fight had broken out between a pair of intoxicated cardsharps. They went mostly ignored as they tussled, threw punches, crashed through a table, and eventually ended up wrestling on the ground.

"How does he find these places?" he heard Tavora shout.

"He definitely has a knack," Ryder replied, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the commotion.

A short, humorless laugh. She was not happy… and who could blame her?

"That's an interesting way of looking at it," she retorted. "So, how do you plan on finding that idiot? This place is huge, and practically bursting at the seams."

Good question.

Peering up, his gaze swept over a wide, spiraling staircase that gradually ascended and climbed to the second floor of the building. "Up there…"

He could detect Tavora's skepticism. "How do you know?"

"Trust me," was his only response.

"Famous last words," she sighed, but followed nonetheless.

Quickly rounding the corner, Ryder sidestepped a drunken couple as they cackled giddily and obliviously staggered along. Hot on her captain's heels, Tavora did the same and narrowly avoided colliding with them before turning her attention elsewhere and glancing over the edge of the rickety balustrade that stood precariously to their left. Looking down at the lower floor of the club from their elevated vantage point, she searched the bustling throng of moving bodies, but still failed to locate their reckless flight mechanic.

Nowhere to be found when he's needed, as usual.

"We don't have time for this," she said with a frown. "If the Empire catches us…"

"They won't," Ryder reassured her.

No sooner had the words left his lips than a luminous Twi'lek woman, face painted with bright makeup and provocatively dressed, emerged from a nearby room. She hastily adjusted and smoothed out the front of her tight miniskirt before starting down the hall in their direction. Spotting the smugglers as they paused to take in the sight, her cheeks flushed and she mustered a sheepish smile; averting her gaze and doing her best to remain discreet while she continued on her way.

Definitely his type…

Tavora turned and cleared her throat once the woman had gone. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Ryder shrugged, knowingly. "You wanna knock, or should I?"

Who said anything about knocking?

Impatiently clenching her jaw, Tavora approached the door to the Twi'lek's room and kicked it in with one fell swoop. Not wasting any time, she marched inside and glared at its single occupant.

"Get your things together," she ordered, placing a hand on her hip while she stared down at the nonchalant man. "We're leaving."

"Hello, love…" he answered with an infuriatingly arrogant smirk; his tone casual and relaxed as he sat at the edge of an untidied bed and pulled on his boots. "You do know how to make an entrance, don't you?"

"Hurry up, it's time to go," was Tavora's terse reply.

"And where exactly are we off to in such a rush?" he asked, unperturbed by her sudden outburst and still moving at a leisurely pace. "We've only just arrived. Besides, I was just beginning to enjoy myself."

"Yes, I can see that," Tavora retorted in annoyance. "Catching up with an old friend, were you?"

The mechanic chuckled, but his smirk slightly faded when Ryder stepped into the room and joined them. "This isn't a drill, Diggs. Gather what you need and come with us."

A moment later, the conversation came to an abrupt end.

Screams! Ear–piercing, hysterical. A thunderous roar!

Tavora spun around with a start. Reaching for the hilt of her trusty vibroblade, she refrained from drawing the weapon and apprehensively watched as Ryder dashed toward the balustrade just outside the room to pinpoint the source of the noise. Always the first to spring into action, he was through the door with his blaster in hand the instant he heard the disturbance. Diggs, finally losing his smirk completely, grabbed his own pistol and held it at the ready.

No more music. Nothing but the sound of fear, terror.

Ryder only took a moment to weigh their options. Holstering his blaster, he wasted no time as he retreated back into the room and started for the ornate armchair resting in the far corner.

"What's going on, boss?" Diggs spoke up.

"Looks like the local police are dropping by to say hello," Ryder replied as he snatched the chair up from the floor and hoisted it over his head.

Local police. Stormtroopers.

Giving no warning, he hurled the extravagant piece of furniture at the nearest window; the impact shattering its flimsy transparisteel, and sending a wave of sharp, broken shards flying through the air. The distinct crash of the chair smashing against the duracrete streets below was drowned out by the shrill screams and pure pandemonium of frantic clubbers.

Turning to his two crewmembers, Ryder motioned for them to follow suit as he climbed through their new escape route. "I hope you're not waiting for an engraved invitation."

And with that, he leapt from the windowsill.

3 Days Later…

The weary Togruta gently rubbed her brow in a vain attempt to ward off the migraine that had been slowly but surely developing in her temple; no doubt due to spending far too many hours sitting in front of brightly lit security monitors. Releasing a labored sigh, she allowed her eyes to shut for the first time since she had discovered their mysterious prisoner.

He claimed that he had suffered from amnesia two years earlier. Whether or not she believed him, she had yet to decide. It had felt sincere, but he had been less than forthcoming. After hours of questioning, he had told them his name and little else.

Ryder Jinn. Qui–Gon Jinn. Merely coincidence?

Then, just when she had been prepared to give up, he had revealed something far more troubling. He had told them of his first memories…

A hooded figure. Mechanical breathing.

Exhaling, she once again lifted her eyelids and concentrated on the row of glowing monitors. She winced and squinted against the harsh light, but refused to look away. Leaning forward in her seat, she once again scrutinized the shimmering image of their captive.

Same hair, same eyes, same nose. No scar.

They needed to find answers. She had to focus… had to uncover the truth. No matter what, she would not rest until the mystery surrounding who or whatever it was that they had stumbled upon was unraveled. Did he mean them harm? Could he grasp what his very existence meant, even if she explained it to him? Or did he already know the answers, and he was simply deceiving them?

"Am I interrupting?"

Sinking back into her chair, she couldn't help but smile when she sensed a warm presence just behind her. "No, I was just… thinking."

The tension in her neck immediately slackened as a set of strong, callused hands slid over her shoulders and began to gingerly knead her taut muscles. Somehow, he always knew how to make her feel better.

Soldier. Ally. Friend. Confidant.

"You can't keep this up forever," a familiar voice softly chided. "Our guest can wait until tomorrow. You need to sleep."

The admonishment was to be expected. Always, he was worried about her; either fearing for her safety, or afraid that she would become too overburdened. She both loved and hated that about him.

"Do you believe in fate?" she wondered aloud.

"I'm no philosopher, but I suppose anything is possible. I don't presume to know how the galaxy works," came the typical, noncommittal response. "Now, why don't you go and get some rest? I can take over here for a while."

"No, you're right… he can wait until tomorrow," she replied, reaching up to give her partner's hand an appreciative squeeze before rising from her seat and turning to face him. "I am getting tired. It's been a long day."

Together, they departed.

Author's Note:

I apologize if my latest fics have seemed somewhat rushed, but I've been trying (unsuccessfully) to give my 'Beyond Good & Evil' story my full, undivided attention. As a result, I've been cranking my other ideas out faster than I normally would just to get them out of my head. In a perfect world, I'd have more free time to give all my fics equal attention…

Now, for the standard disclaimer: I'm a poor, starving musician. If I owned Star Wars, I would be eating lobster instead of bread and water.

Cheers,

ThoseWereTheDays