A/N – Took me three months to find the ending of this chapter (just like it took me two months to find the ending of the chapter to another story that I posted a few days ago!) but I'm pretty happy with it. Methinks, though, that I've got to go play KOTOR again. I'm starting to forget what I need to parody, which is something of a problem. You'd think that going on four times through the game would be enough, yeah?

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Chapter 5: In Which There Are a Few Familiar Lines

"That's not a ship."

Thane Sunrider and his party of five (or four, but who's counting?) were standing on a landing pad that threatened to detach from the main dock and fall all the way to the Undercity at any moment. That being the case, they had left Barnone on the dock. He could hear them from where he stood anyway.

"Sure it is," Gizmo replied. "It's got a hull, hasn't it?"

"But can it fly?"

"The flier said it could, and quite well," Garth said. He was standing behind Thane and Brazilla and on the spot the pad threatened to snap in two. When it failed he would either be the first to fall or the only one (besides the walking carpet) to live. "Besides, it's got a flier. That should be a good sign that it flies."

Thane glanced back at him. "You don't get to talk anymore."

"But…"

"No talking."

Garth pouted.

"So, what do we get to call the rubbish heap?"

Silence.

"Garth?" More silence. "Garth?" No response. "Dammit, Garth, you can talk when I ask you a question."

"Well, you didn't say that."

Thane rolled his eyes and muttered something. Gizmo and Barnone exchanged looks. Brazilla frowned. Garth scratched his head.

"Just answer the question."

"The Velour Pigeon."

"Shit," Thane said. "You can't be serious."

"As serious as I always am," Garth said as if it was supposed to act as an assurance. Thane gave him an amused look. The Republic-soldier-country-western-star-wannabe looked hurt. "What? I take life very seriously, from its bone wrenching start to its inevitable heart-breaking end."

"What the hell happened to you," Thane started, crossing his arms over his well-muscled chest, "to turn you into such a pansy?"

"Oh, you know, my wife was killed by my mentor (who is currently circling the city) and my son went MIA but is suspected to have turned into a Sith. The usual mix of tragedy that comes with everyday life." This time he got a couple of notes in.

Everyone else was quiet.

"Well," Thane said, breaking through the silence created by the drone of a hundred speeders and a thousand people. "That's a downer."

Garth shrugged. "I expected it."

"Come again?"

"Nothing good can happen without something ten times worse coming to follow."

Thane lifted his brow. "I must have had one hell of a good life before I met you."

Garth seemed to glower but Thane couldn't be sure. It was just one more tragic look from his compliment of tragic looks.

Gizmo looked back and forth between the two men before pointing at the ship. "Are we just going to stand here talking about it flying or are we actually going to start the thing up?"

Thane narrowed his eyes in her direction, almost as if he had forgotten her existence. It took the big man a moment to find his voice. "Who said you got to tag along, kid?"

"I'm not a kid."

The carpet roared, growled, roared again, and snorted. Gizmo translated: "Bar says that he owes you a life debt for saving him. And where he goes, I go."

"Crap." Thane frowned. "Well, at least I have a new topper on my list of things to never-ever do again. Number one: never save a frickin' carpet if you don't want a pet."

Growl-roar

"He's not a dog."

"You're right. A dog I could like."

"You are aware that he can rip off your limbs, yeah?" Gizmo said with a smirk. "Life debt doesn't equal non-injury pact."

Thane just shrugged. "I can deal with that. I run arms and know where to get them. Besides, I have a feeling I'll grow fond of him eventually. I might even start to care about you, too, kid. Who knows where this thing is going. I certainly never thought I would go back to Dannon."

Everyone looked at him.

"What?" Brazilla asked.

"Yeah, what?" Garth repeated.

Thane shrugged again. "I just sort of feel like I've been there before. Jedi need new arms, too, you know. More than anyone else, in fact, what with their light swords and fight-picking tendencies."

"The point is to avoid a fight," Brazilla said.

"Ha. Show me a Jedi who's avoided a fight and I'll show you an honest smuggler."

"None exist."

"Precisely, dollface."

The woman frowned deeply before turning around and walking up the gangway, disappearing into the shadow of the ship as she did so. Thane watched the other members of his new found group follow her example, his scowl growing deeper as each person boarded. At one point that morning he honestly thought that he would be able to hang out in some dive bar until a job presented itself, at which point he would continue on with his life of crime. Chauffeuring some hot Jedi around the galaxy wasn't what he had in mind. The view was nice, but the sound wasn't.

Following the others, a thought suddenly crossed Thane's sobering mind. It stayed there until he finally found the cockpit. Apparently going straight had been the wrong decision, a mistake he quickly realized when he visited every room twice before finding the cockpit. When he got there, Garth was already in the pilot seat. Thane frowned.

"Hey, cowboy, I'm driving this outfit."

"I got here first."

"And I called shotgun," Brazilla said, turning in the co-pilot seat. She gave him a half-smile that suggested any number of things before turning back to the control panel in front of her. "You have something on your mind."

"Yeah, but I don't think it's anything Garth would want to hear."

The look she threw over her shoulder was smoldering.

"Fine. I can hold more than one thought, thank you very much. I guess I'll just go with the less interesting one." Thane looked at the back of Garth's head. "The Sith put up shields, or so the soldier I was buying drinks for told me."

"I got the codes," Garth said. Brazilla nodded.

"What? Where was I?"

"Unconscious."

"Oh."

Beep

Thane turned around to see a cylindrical droid rolling towards him. Halfway into the cockpit it stopped and headed for the navigation system. A good blast of blue lightning stopped the droid's curious arm and froze him where he stood. Thane cocked one brow.

"That's J4G-GL," Garth said. "He came with the ship. I'm told he shouldn't be allowed near keyboards."

"What use is he then?"

"He's brilliant, even for a droid. It's just the navigation system he has problems with. And dialogue. Put him in conversation with the ship and he'll probably just create a big mess of things." Garth was typing the same pattern over and over again into the console and it was starting to get on Thane's nerves. He turned away from the little black and grey droid to watch the man do whatever it was he was doing.

"Yes?" Garth asked, glancing in his rearview mirror at Thane. Thane turned around to see if there was a window on the other side of the ship that would constitute the presence of such a mirror before turning to look into the unless object and, indirectly, at Garth. A graduation tassel hung from it.

"We're kind of in a rush. Word on the street is that the Sith are going to destroy this planet."

"Yup."

"So?"

"I'm just waiting for you to sit down and put a seat belt on."

Thane blinked.

"I'm a dad. I can't help it."

"Now's a perfect time to break old habits, old dog." Still, Thane sat down and strapped in. He didn't want to end up as a ceiling pancake after all. The fate of the galaxy depended on him. All of the lives on all of the planets in all of the systems of every star in the night time sky were looking to him to save them, even those who didn't know their life was in danger. Or at least that's what that funny dream had told him.

"Naw," Garth said. "I like my old habits. Besides, the galaxy needs you."

"Hey! I was just thinking about that!"

Garth looked at him again in the rearview mirror.

"No, really! I had this dream last night. It was kind of cool. Do you think there's any booze on this thing? I don't feel like myself."

Brazilla turned to look at him as Garth lifted the Velour Pigeon off of her creaking landing pad, which promptly fell into the depth, probably killing a few things before and after landing. Tomorrow there would probably be an earthquake on the other side of the planet.

"Can you think of nothing else except your next drink?" she said.

Thane smiled. "I can think of you and me. Let's get stiff."

"You disgust me," she said. Still, her eyes lingered a little longer than she would like to admit on his sculpted body, each muscle evident beneath his clothing. He wasn't beefy like the men those romance novels you find in line at a supermarket. No, Thane was leaner, longer. Still much larger than your average man, he didn't bulge. Well, not all the time, at least.

"Your loss, honey."

"Can we get back to what matters?" Garth cut in. Both Jedi… Both Brazilla and Thane looked over at him.

"I matter," Thane said. Garth rolled his eyes.

And then the world went to pieces. Or seemed to, at least. The buckle of Thane's seatbelt flew open sending him heading straight for the ceiling as the ship plummeted out of the air. Actually, thanks to physics, Thane was in the same spot he had been. The ceiling just suddenly moved. And then the floor; Thane grunted as his entire body impacted.

"I think the bombardment has started," Garth said tragically.

"You know what I think?" Thane muttered as he peeled himself off the durasteel and back into his chair as the ship bucked, nearly sending him rolling backwards down the aisle.

"That we are going to end up a grandiose fireworks display, celebrating the death of every Bueller this side of the planet? At least now I can join my wife, and maybe my son. If only he was spared from a life worse than death. Maybe then I could be a happy man." Garth stated to hum to himself, singing lyrics now and then, as he evaded warhead after warhead, laser blast after laser blast, until they were clear of the atmosphere and jetting off into space.

Thane was impressed. The man could fly for being such a melodramatic fool. He almost wanted to clap but fought the urge. It wasn't terribly hard.

Once they were safely in hyperspace (which was another tense number of seconds as thePigeon rocked, tilted, vomited space junk, and then finally, reluctantly, made the jump) Thane stood up and stretched.

"Well, that was tiring. I need a drink."

"You only sat there," Garth said, turning in the seat.

"And it was tiring. You've got skill, Garth." He then promptly began to ignore the man. "Care to join me, Mistress? I've got this splitting headache, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. I think some vodka might do the trick."

Brazilla looked at him, her jaw slack. She was about to tell him that it was actually because he was once a very powerful Jedi who had inadvertently caused the death of every life on the planet they had just left because he was the evil of evils, once upon a time, before she had swooped in and basically killed him but didn't, which meant they had some funky psychic connection that she didn't want to admit to finding sort of hot, but chose not to because the Jedi Council liked to be dramatic and wanted to reveal everything to Thane Sunrider (aka Darth Relevent, Superbad Villian Extraordinaire) when the time was just right, which probably meant three weeks too late. So, instead, she said, "You're probably right."

"Aren't you going to try and talk me out of it?"

"We have no use for you until we reach Dannon, so have at the bar as you will. Barnone might be willing to drag you out of the way if we don't chose to use you as a doorstop instead." She stood up. Slowly eyeing Thane, a half-smile on her face, she squeezed past him closer than necessary and sauntered down the hallway. Thane watched her go.

"Yeowza," he said.

"Please restrict your lusting to outside the cockpit," Garth said. In fact, he had just made a sign stating that exact sentiment and was in the process of taping it to the wall. The lettering was beautiful. Thane said as much. Garth frowned. "Some mothers put their sons in ballroom dance lessons, mine put me in calligraphy. Anyone can dance, she used to say, but only a few can write well."

Thane arched a single brow. "Right. Maybe I'll mix a little rum with my vodka."

"That sounds disgusting."

Thane grinned stupidly over his shoulder as he walked off. "No, it sounds like medicine. Nighty-night, Garth."