A/N: There's a tiny little reference to one of my favorite sci-fi shows in this chapter. If anyone finds it/figures it out, feel free to message me.

Viidu, thankfully, doesn't make any comments about my timing, or the clearly new blaster burn on my jacket (thank you, Separatists that watch the path), and turns out to be my kinda guy. A well-stocked liquor cabinet and an appreciation of good food and drink are two of my best social qualities. Well, they may be my only social qualities. Plus, he has a collection of fine art. I've smuggled a few works before, so I know a little about it and I like looking at some pieces. Pity that he's involved in my mess of a job. The arrangement he's made for getting me past the blockade around Talloran is not really my style, Pa and Uncle Ze always taught us that surgical precision and barely leaving a trail were better than a pile of bodies, but I'll do what I have to do.

Reki on the other hand, is the kind of man the galaxy could use less of. Exploitation of life, human or alien, was a line Pa, Uncle Ze and their father before them refused to cross, and a healthy respect was deeply ingrained in my upbringing. We never smuggled slaves or paraphernalia. That the one woman with the dark hair reminded me vaguely of Sha'li made it all the harder to just turn and leave after handing over the supplies. I hope you choke on a food cube, scum, I curse as he pulls the box from my hand.

At least the trip to Talloran proves useful in other ways, finding stolen medicine for refugees (who had stolen it in the first place), uncovering a damn Imperial spy (who can't be behind bars fast enough), and, somehow, finding myself destroying a Separatist communication tapping array. It's good for a few more credits, even if I don't care much for either side of this civil war.

A woman greets me when I reenter Renia Frieght. Her skin is unblemished, her dark hair is swept back into a clip, and her figure is generously curved. In comparison, I feel like an overgrown child: too tall, too skinny, too freckled. "You must be the freighter captain Viidu's expecting. It's a pleasure to meet you in person. I'm Syreena."

Something about her instantly rubs me the wrong way, something suspicious in the lay of her eyes and brow, something else in the play of her voice. Or maybe I'm being overly reactive to everything in the wake of the theft. "Pleasure to meet you," I manage neutrally.

"Likewise. My father flew tramp freighters, but I never developed a taste for space travel, myself. Too dangerous. I heard about what happened with Skavak. Can't say I'm surprised. I told Viidu not to trust that scoundrel. Viidu's putting on a brave face for me, but I can tell he's terrified. Is it bad? Should I be worried?"

The advice that I learned when I was knee-high to a nerf comes to mind. "Ines, kiddo, you've got to trust your gut." I lifted up my shirt, pointed to my belly button, and asked, "Gut?" Uncle Ze laughed. "No, your instincts, your feelings, your hunches." After that, anytime someone had said "trust your gut" on the ship, someone would point to me and ask me how my stomach felt.

So that's what I tell Syreena. The advice, not my story. I remind myself to take that advice more seriously and to get a better feel for these people I'm working with.

"Good advice," she ventures, "thank you, Captain. Sorry for keeping you from your appointment. Viidu's waiting in his office. I know he's eager to speak with you."

"I should go."

"Farewell, Captain." The words sound laced with something, but I can't figure out what.

When I reach the offices upstairs, I can smell the food through the open door. My stomach rumbles in anticipation; it's well past lunch time and I'm famished.

"Back already, Captain? Help me and Corso finish this Roba steak. Don't let this fine cut of meat go waste," Viidu says in lieu of normal greeting.

"Don't mind if I do," I reply, carving off a slice and sinking into a chair. "Got anything good to wash it down with?"

"Corellian red, fine vintage, very sweet."

"It's a little to early for wine," I say, though what I really mean is that I need to keep a clear head. "Something local?"

"Boss, quit acting like that's your last meal. Rogun the Butcher isn't gonna kill you," Riggs butts in.

"I won't blow this—trust me." A bit ironic, since I don't trust anyone very much at the moment.

"Until I've recovered those stolen blasters, I'll eat and drink like there is no tomorrow. Here, Captain, try this."

The proffered drink is dark red and almost impossibly sweet, but in a good, tangy-tart way. "What is it?" I ask

"The locals call it 'Red Paradise', it's made from dried local flowers and a couple of spices, steeped in cold water overnight."

"Refreshing."

Pa and Uncle Ze used to argue with Aunt Keki (and Mom, when she was still alive) as to whether or not mixing business and food led to indigestion. It was a pointless argument, really, but Viidu clearly would side with the men on this one. The three of us discuss getting onto Mannett Point and the plan for getting the computer files. Riggs offers to come with me, help I'd be glad to have, since swimming is not my strong point, but his boss has other plans for him.

I'm sliding my jacket back on when Viidu comes up to me. "Captain, I hope you'll understand why I'm keeping Corso here. Last thing I need is him turning 'one man army' out there. Kid will just get himself killed for nothing." I raise an eyebrow. "Separatists wiped out his family a couple of years ago. Corso took it personal."

My throat tightens convulsively. Two seeds in a pod, indeed. My voice takes on an edge, "I don't blame him for wanting revenge."

"Mixing personal grudges and business is like dropping a thermal detonator into a fuel dump. Everything burns and nothing feels right ever again." From the tone of Viidu's voice, I can't tell if he's giving me advice or talking about Corso. I glance over at him, and his expression is unreadable. I'm about to ask him about it, but Syreena interrupts with news of a holo from Rogun. This time, the panic is clear in Viidu's face.

I'm out the door in microseconds.

For some reason, every person with a possible request seems to read "civilian" as "do-gooder", which I am not, by nature. I don't go out of my way to help people, but when faced with decisions, all those lessons I was taught growing up kick in. Still, credits are credits, until I hear the stories of some of these folks, and I can't accept rewards. Every family torn apart becomes my family, every broken mother or father is my Uncle or Aunt, and credits cease to matter. I even wind up handing some creds to a kid trying to escape what can only be described as enslavement.

Yep, give me the opportunity, and I'm a regular bleeding heart, especially when a situation involves children. More importantly, the busier I stay, the less time I have to think about my family, my old life, or my ship.

The downside is that every extra task I take on adds to the time it takes for me to complete my to-do list. Searching for missing sons and holodiscs and doctors will probably double the time it takes for me to get back to Viidu in Fort Garnik. I'm not sure if the extra credits and the warm feeling are worth it when my ship, my life, and my home are in jeopardy.

Once I actually get into Reki's house and decipher the schematics, the sun is little more than a pink wash in the sky. My stomach rumbles again and I reach in a jacket pocket for a protein bar. I search Reki's kitchen (well, whatever passes as a kitchen) for a glass, wash it off, and swallow a few sips of water. I'm exhausted, so I figure I'll sneak in a quick nap before infiltrating the base after dark has fallen. As the majority of the house looks unwashed and filthy, the floor will have to do.

I wake up an hour later, my chrono beeping, refreshed enough to keep moving. Dark provides a nice cover for me as I sneak down the path to the base. The back door is relatively unguarded and almost no one is inside. I start the download of the Separatist personnel roster and some other files that look like databases and schedules. Hopefully, one of them has Skavak's info.

"Come on, Foursen, say it just like I taught you."

"The Republic lackeys will drown in lakes of fire and blood, master. Death to all who oppose the people's will, master."

Hurry up, will ya, data? The telltale clack of boots is getting closer.

"Hey there. We've had some trouble with the power relays. I need to check on the computer core. You mind?"

The droid that accompanies the booted male manages to both save my skin and put it at risk. "Master, I detect the presence of several non-functioning humans. Specifically, the bodies over there. Setting alert status red."

"By the stars! Republic troops have invaded our base!" Acting is not one of my talents, but "Boots" and his droid buy it.

"Oh, no! Foursen, activate combat protocols! We've got to warn the others!"

"Master, my sensors detect no evidence of hostile forces."

"But that doesn't make sense..."

"When was the last time you calibrated that droids sensors?" I ask.

"Not recently enough to take any chances. We need to put the base on alert and rally the men. Good day, Comrade! Come on, Foursen."

Comrade? I resist the urge to giggle. The word is just so odd. Sneaking back out is as easy as sneaking in, and within a few minutes I find myself splashing my way back to the mainland. The water rinses away the dust and blood on my exposed skin, but it also soaks through my clothes and the wind blowing is chilly. I'm not familiar with the threat posed by local fauna, so I elect to take a taxi speeder back to the base. The wind from the high velocity chills me more, and by the time I reach Rendia Freight, I'm straight up shivering.

The voices from inside make me pause outside the doorway into the warehouse proper.

"You really don't have to work so late, sweets, there's a nice, warm spot back in my bunk."

"Leave me alone, Bracco! If Viidu knew about this, he'd-"

I'd barely come to the chin of the Zabrak, so he absolutely towers over the petite Syreena. "Viidu?" he laughs. " You're trying to tell me you actually care about that blob? He can't even protect himself. It's only a matter time before Rogun the Butcher punches your fat meal ticket for good. You'd better start thinking about the future, girl." He raises his hand and runs it along Syreena's face. "When Viidu's gone, you'll need new friends."

I'm leaning on the door frame, hair tie around my wrist, vigorously shaking my hair out in an attempt to get it to dry a bit when he delivers that last line. "She's got new friends," I lie. " She's got me, and besides, Rogun's got his eye on her. Think of his reaction when he discovers you messed up his favorite."

"Th-That's right, Bracco. You don't want to get on Rogun's bad side. I'm sure your life would be very unpleasant."

"He's already scoping out his future trophies, huh? Just proves Viidu ain't long for this world." He turns and makes to leave. "Let's go, guys."

I shake my head again to rid my neck of the damp touch of my hair. "Men..."

"Thanks for stepping in, Captain. I was so frighted." She hardly looks it though.

"With guys like that, there's no telling what they'd do. At least they were gullible enough to buy it. I wasn't looking forward to a brawl."

"Bluff? It's closer to the truth than I'd like to admit." She sighs. "What Bracco said was true, though. Rogun will kill Viidu if those blasters don't turn up."

"Rogun won't kill anyone, Syreena. Those blasters are as good as being back here." I smile. Again, I'm reassuring myself as much as the person I'm talking to.

"I hope whatever course of action you're pursuing pays off, Captain. More lives than your own depend on it."

I sneeze. The chilly damp of my jacket is getting to me. "Don't worry about it, you'll be alright. Now, I've gotta to see your boss before I catch a cold." I sprint off towards Viidu's office and rub at my arms, hoping the friction warms me a little.

Viidu and Corso are waiting for me in the conference room-slash-office. Corso's pacing and Viidu's enjoying what looks to be a late-night snack while fidgeting with a datapad.

"Captain!" Corso says as a greeting.

"Hey-ya, Riggs." When he smiles, just a tiny corner of the world straightens out and comes back into balance. Once I get the Shadow back, maybe I can convince him to come with me. I could use a crew member or two to help out, especially ones with contacts and their own weaponry, and if even a corner of my world is fixed, he'd be worth it.

"Finally! I thought you'd never get back," Viidu exclaims. "Tell me you got those separatist files!"

I slide the datapad across the table. "Yeah, I got 'em. And I had some fun while I was out." I brush a lock of damp hair behind my ear again.

"I hate missing all the fun," Riggs pouts. "Next time, can I join?"

"You did good, Captain. Corso found us a terrific little slicer kit, so we're ready to decrypt that data. We'll know where to find Skavak soon."

"I can help with the slic—Achoo!" I sneeze loudly.

"Jeez, Captain, you're shivering," Corso says, noticing my appearance for the first time. "Let us handle the slicing."

"You sure?" I cross my arms over my chest to try to stop the tiny tremors.

"We're sure," says Viidu. "Corso, why don't you find Captain Valis some dry clothes and a place to spend the night."

"Sure thing, boss."

"And Captain, I have a job to talk to you about in the morning."

"Couldn't we just talk now?" It's not as if I'm not alert or I have that much patience.

"You need to warm up and get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

Riggs rests a warm hand on my shoulder. "C'mon, Captain. Let's find you something dry and a spot to bunk down." I follow him downstairs to a set of lockers. "We all keep some spare clothes in these lockers, just in case. Hey, Syreena, you still around?" He calls, and her head pops up over a nearby shipping crate. "Can you help me find something for the Captain to wear?"

Syreena laughs. "If anything of mine fits her, I'll be surprised." She sidles up to us and palms her locker open. "Let's see...how about this?" She holds out a pair of leggings, a belt and a shirt. I hold them against my frame and laugh almost immediately. Everything is too short. The leggings reach the middle of my shins; the shirt would barely cover my stomach. Syreena shrugs. "I told you it'll all be too small. The Captain's tall." She uses her hand to indicate my height.

Riggs fumbles for a minute with another locker. "One of the old workers left some of her stuff here. It might do." The pants inside are wide for me, but fit well enough in the length. There's no shirts though.

"It's ok. I'll just leave my undershirt on."

"You'll catch a cold in that wet stuff," Riggs says, before opening another locker and tossing a simple t-shirt at me. "Here. As for a place to rest your head..."

"I can find a room, don't worry."

"Nah. You can use our back room. There's even a 'fresher in there." He leads me to said room. "Go get yourself cleaned up, Captain. I'll get the room ready."

The 'fresher has a real shower in it, so I set the spray to hot and powerful, and scrub myself down. The mud and muck soaked through my pants to my legs, and it feels good to get the caked material off. I do my best to rinse the dirt out of my leggings, socks, jacket, and shirt, then hang them to dry. My borrowed pants are scratchy and require a good deal of cinching from my belt, but the shirt is soft and worn, and pleasantly large on me. I step out into the room again, rubbing at my hair with a towel.

The room itself is rather small and narrow, but there's a small area for food prep in the corner. A miniature holo-projector sits opposite. There's just enough space for a couple of people to stay. Rendia Freight probably gets overnight guests every now and then. There are two cots sitting side-by-side on the near wall. They weren't there before.

"Why are there two cots?" I ask.

"Figured I'd stay here with you," Riggs says innocently.

"Riggs, I ain't that kinda girl."

He blushes furiously, from collar to forehead. "Don't mean it like that, Captain. Just don't want you to be alone if something happens."

"I don't need a babysitter," I reply.

"Look, if Rogun's thugs show up, wouldn't it be better if you had some backup?"

I shrug. "Guess not." I sit on one of the cots and run my hands along the hem of the shirt. "So my pants belong to someone no longer here, but who's shirt is it?"

"That would be..." he clears his throat and looks away, "mine."

I nod. "Nice of you to offer it. Thanks. I'll give it back to you. I'd wash it too if there was time."

"Don't worry about it." He gestures with his hand. "It's late, why don't we get some rest?"

I settle back on the cot and pull the blankets over me. They're soft, and warm, and comforting. They don't smell right, but the only place where the bedding smells right is my bunk on the ship. "Thanks for everything, Riggs."

"No problem, Captain," he replies.

I fall asleep the moment my eyes close.