The journey to Nar Shaddaa was the most painfully long one Atton had ever experienced. Sarai always seemed too busy to spend more than a few minutes talking to him, meaning that he faced long stretches of time with nothing better to do than play pazaak with himself. The first day of travelling she spent locked away with Mical and Visas, helping them to build lightsabers. Kreia was furious that Sarai planned to give a Sith assassin a powerful weapon and, to his surprise and horror, Atton found himself in agreement with her. This did little to deter Sarai and, after six hours and several curses that Atton never thought he would hear from a Jedi, Visas emerged with a slender amber lightsaber. If the sight of Visas with a lightsaber irritated him, then watching Mical strut around the ship with his new weapon was enough to plunge him into a black mood for hours at a time.
When she wasn't labouring over the workbench, Sarai spent her time training her new Padawan or being trained herself. Bao-Dur had agreed to give her some much needed lessons in ship and droid maintenance, and would allow her to assist in minor repairs from time to time. At least a small portion of every day was spent in seclusion with Mical, meditating or explaining various powers and combat skills. At first Atton resented that he wasn't party to these lessons. He would lurk outside the closed dormitory door, simmering with jealousy, desperately wishing that he knew what was happening just a few feet away. Finally he was driven to check the security camera. Sarai and Mical were deep in meditation, breathing in harmony. Atton wished that he hadn't witnessed the scene because, although the two weren't touching, there was a terrible intimacy about it that made his stomach twist.
Three hours before they were due to reach Nar Shaddaa, Sarai sauntered into the cockpit. Atton feigned indifference as she took the seat next to him, although his heart was hammering from a strange mixture of excitement at her presence and anger that she had chosen to ignore him for so long. "So," he said casually, "what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be meditating with golden boy?"
Her brow furrowed. "Who are you – Ah, Mical."
"Yeah, him."
"Why do you dislike him so much?"
"I don't dislike him," he lied. "I just don't appreciate having to support a dead weight."
Sarai arched an eyebrow. "Dead weight?"
"You know how much danger we're in. There's a bounty on Jedi that could buy the collector a small planet and a whole legion of Sith assassins on our tail. I just don't think that a librarian is going to be able to pull his weight in a fight."
"And you know that's not true," she said after an irritated cluck of her tongue. "He can handle a blaster as well as anyone else on this ship and he has extensive medical training. He's helped us out of more than one tight spot since joining us. What's your real problem with him?"
"Ever since he came along you've been acting like the rest of us don't exist." This wasn't entirely true. No matter how busy she had been with Mical's training, she had made time for the other crew members. It was just her pilot that she seemed to have no time for. "Aren't we good enough for you now you have another Jedi to play with?"
"Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped, but otherwise made no argument. She crossed her arms and turned her face away. Atton knew that she had something left to say or she would have left by now, but he didn't push her. Experience had taught him that she wouldn't speak until she was ready, and pressuring her would only make it more likely that she would keep her mouth shut. After a few minutes of awkward silence she said, "I didn't realise that I had been… neglecting everyone. Mical is my Padawan. It is vital that I train him if he is to reach his full potential, and - " She broke off, pinching the bridge of her nose lightly. "And I don't want to mess it up."
"Right," said Atton slowly. He took in the weary expression she wore and noted the way she couldn't quite meet his eye. "Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything?"
She grinned wryly. "Because I'm not. I don't know why I bother trying to keep things from you. You're worse than Kreia for sniffing out my secrets."
"Play enough games of pazaak and you develop a talent for recognising a bluff," he said, shrugging. "And I'm not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult."
"It's a handy talent to have."
Atton snorted. "That's not answering my question, and you still haven't told me the whole truth about why you're locking yourself away with Mical every day." He wasn't sure whether he wanted to know the real reason. He couldn't continue to entertain even a small hope that he might have a chance with Sarai if she secluded herself with Mical for any other reason than training.
Sarai grimaced. "I was hoping you had forgotten about that." At his incredulous expression she said, "I know. I should know better. As for Mical… I owe him my time." She held up her hand to silence him as he began to speak. "I knew him," she continued. "A long time ago. He was brought to Dantooine as a Force sensitive child, and I was one of a number of Jedi who taught the group of children he was in."
"That doesn't mean that you owe him anything."
She waved a hand, impatiently dismissing the comment. "The Mandalorian Wars affected the training of new Jedi in ways we – I – never stopped to think about. There were no Masters to train Mical and so he chose to serve the Republic instead. But," she turned tortured eyes on Atton, "there was more to it than that. He turned his back on the Jedi because I left the Order to fight the Mandalorians. I changed the course of his life, sparked his decision to turn his back on the Force, without ever realising it. Although I can't erase the past ten years, now I have the chance to give Mical the training he was once denied."
Atton couldn't deny that he felt relieved. Sarai was expending time and effort on Mical not out of desire or even friendship, but because she felt a sense of obligation towards him. Nevertheless, there was a small spark of anger that Mical had made her feel so guilty. "It wasn't your fault he left the Jedi," he grumbled. "It was his choice."
"That's what he said. Doesn't make me feel any better though." She sighed and shrugged, as if ridding herself of the subject. "Now, can I say what I came here to tell you?"
He regarded her warily. "Alright."
"Don't look so worried," she said, grinning. "I just want to talk about what's going to happen when we get to Nar Shaddaa."
"What does our fearless leader have planned for us?"
"A night off."
Atton stared at her in black shock, his eyebrows almost disappearing beneath his hairline. "A what?"
Sarai frowned. "I'm not that much of a taskmaster, am I?"
"No. It's just that I thought your idea of a good time was gutting assassins and mercenaries."
"Very funny," she said dryly. "We could all do with some time away from each other; we've been under each other's feet since Dantooine." She looked at him pointedly. "Are you telling me you're turning down the offer of a night at a cantina?"
"No, no," he said quickly. "I was just shocked."
She smiled sweetly. "If I don't see you before, have a good night." With that she left the cockpit, presumably to tell the others the good news. The next three hours went quickly. Atton could hear Sarai moving around the ship, talking to their crewmates and completing small maintenance tasks. She slipped into the cockpit a couple of times, fidgeting nervously and drumming her fingers on the back of Atton's chair. Eventually she disappeared into the quarters she shared with Visas. An hour after that, Atton landed the Ebon Hawk in the refugee sector and made his way to the communal area of the ship.
Although Sarai had given them permission to do as they saw fit for the night, Atton didn't feel comfortable leaving the ship without her. Something about her behaviour over the last couple of hours unsettled him. There was nothing overtly strange in her speech and actions, but she exuded an air of nervous energy that had everyone on edge. Perhaps that was why those who had expressed an interest in exploring Nar Shaddaa – himself, Bao-Dur, Mical – still lingered in the communal area when they could have left long ago. Atton played a few hands of pazaak with Bao-Dur, only half concentrating on the task of computing the numbers to twenty, while Mical pored over a datapad, occasionally making small noises of revelation or understanding.
It was after several such noises that Atton shoved aside his cards and turned to glare at the other man. "Do you have to do that?" he demanded. Behind him, Bao-Dur sighed and threw his own cards down. He had learned from experience that once Atton picked a fight with Mical he would rarely let it go easily and, although he would follow the General to the furthest reaches of the galaxy if she asked it of him, it was not his job to bring jealous pilots to heel. He rose from his seat to search for something edible in the vicinity.
"Do what?" asked Mical, glancing up from his datapad.
"Make those noises all the time."
"I wasn't aware that I was making any noises."
"Well you are and they're annoying, so cut it out."
"General." The respect and surprise in Bao-Dur's voice was enough to make Atton forget his irritation and jerk his head around to find the source of the Zabrak's surprise. It didn't take him long. Sarai stood in the entrance to the communal area, but it wasn't Sarai as any of them had ever seen her. She had discarded her usual garb of battered armour and bulky robes in favour of a gown of pale blue. Atton didn't know what it was made of, but the material looked expensive and accentuated her usually hidden curves. Over the top she wore a light weight white robe and at her throat hung a small gem. Most strikingly of all, her hair, normally tamed with a variety of pins and ties, had been allowed to fall past her shoulders. It had been brushed until it was smooth as the surface of a lake on a calm day, and the pale colours she wore made the flaming red of her hair seem all the brighter. A lump at her hip suggested that she hadn't forgotten her lightsaber.
As they scrutinised her, she crossed her arms defensively across her chest. "What?" she demanded. "Do I have something on my face?"
"No," said Mical quickly.
"But you look..." mumbled Bao-Dur.
"Different," finished Atton.
Sarai scowled at them. "You three really know how to turn a compliment."
All of them rushed to reassure her, resulting in an incoherent clamour. Sarai rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You can tell me how beautiful I look later. I'm running late." Without another word, she turned on her heel and hurried from the ship. Atton was on his feet before he realised it, drifting after her. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to follow her, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to relax without knowing where she was going and who with.
"Where are you going?" asked Mical.
"Cantina," said Atton casually. "She said we had the night off, didn't she?"
He flicked on the ever present stealth field generator as he descended the loading ramp. There were enough shadows in the refugee sector that he probably didn't need to use it, but his motto was 'better safe than sorry' when it came to Jedi and Sarai was no exception. He doubted that she would fly into a murderous rage if she discovered she was being followed, but he was certain that she wouldn't appreciate it. As he watched her, he noticed something strange about the way she moved through the streets. On Dantooine they had talked a little about Nar Shaddaa, and Sarai had given him the impression that she had never visited the Smuggler's Moon before. But now she walked with an assured stride, clearly confident of her destination.
She led him out of the refugee sector and to a large hotel, one of the cleaner establishments in the area. She nodded politely to the guard at the door and Atton slipped inside after her. In the lobby someone rushed forward to take her robe but she refused, presumably wanting to keep her lightsaber hidden. She murmured something to the man who had tried to take her robe, and he pointed her to another door with a nervous smile.
The next room was so crowded that it made using the stealth field generator almost impossible. Atton had experience of using stealth units in the middle of a crowd, and the results usually weren't pretty. Someone would feel an invisible elbow or hip press into them and panic, raising a cry that drew far more attention than was wanted. Deactivating the one he wore now, he slipped into a group of people and made his way over to the bar, always keeping one eye on Sarai. Once he was seated and had a glass of juma in his hand, he studied his surroundings.
The room was divided into three: the bar, a dining area filled with elegantly decorated tables and an area given over entirely to gambling. All were decorated lavishly, filled with groups of finely dressed people drinking the most expensive alcohol the establishment had to offer and occasionally drawing on cigarras. The clientele consisted almost entirely of criminals, mostly high level members of the Exchange. Some were accompanied by men and women who had undoubtedly been rented for an evening's entertainment. Dressed in their best clothing, petty thieves wove their way through the crowd, dipping their hands into pockets to fish out credits or other valuables. This in itself was not surprising: crime thrived on Nar Shaddaa. What was surprising was that there was a Jedi in their midst. Atton couldn't understand why Sarai, who strove to eradicate corruption wherever she found it, would come to a place like this.
From his seat at the bar he watched her make her way to the dining area. Even from a distance he could see that she was nervous by the way she twisted the sleeves of her robe. Something caught her eye and her face relaxed into a grin. Following her line of sight, he saw a man beckoning to her. He was a head taller than Atton and well built, dwarfing Sarai as he swept her into a hug. After a long embrace he released her and they sat at one of the tables.
Atton glowered at the couple, throwing back the remainder of his juma and ordering another. So this was why Sarai had given them the night off, why she had been incapable of standing still on the ship. He had been so worried about Mical that he hadn't stopped to think that he might have other competition. Watching them now, he wished that he could read lips. There was no way that he could hear their voices over the hum of activity in the room. Over the course of the evening they gave signs that they were old friends, perhaps even former lovers. Sarai would spontaneously grab the man's hand and squeeze it, or he would lightly touch her hair and smile. Certainly he watched over her as protectively and faithfully as Vogga's infamous kath hounds, glaring threateningly at the men who approached her.
As he watched, drinking until his head swam, he tried to figure out who he was angrier with. The unnamed dining partner was the obvious target for his fury. Who was he, and why did he have a right to Sarai's affections? Had he risked his life for her as Atton had? Had he worried for her as she charged headlong into a group of enemies, bandaged her wounds when the fight was won? Then there was Sarai herself. She might be a redeeming light in his life but she also cast a dark shadow, albeit unintentionally. Only she could inspire the corrosive bitterness that surfaced every time she laughed or smiled with Mical. More than anyone else, Atton was furious with himself. There were plenty of obliging women on Nar Shaddaa, and yet here he was pining over a supposedly celibate Jedi.
Finally, Sarai and her companion stood to leave. She murmured something in his ear and then quickly kissed his cheek before hurrying to the refresher. The man handed a few credits to a passing waiter and then leaned against his chair, waiting for Sarai to return. It didn't take long for Atton to notice that he was watching something – or someone – intently. A woman – black hair, curvaceous, clinging dress – smiled at him coyly from across the room. The man smiled back, tipping her a wink.
Unreasonably furious that the man's eye should stray when he had Sarai as a companion, Atton slid off his stool with the intention of warning him exactly what would happen should he hurt Sarai. With the room spinning so disconcertingly, it took Atton far longer than it should have done to reach him. He managed to make it across the room without falling once, and attempted to shove the man threateningly. However, he was forced instead to grip his arm to remain upright.
The man looked at him strangely. "Do I know you?" he asked.
"No, but I know you. You – you better watch yourself," Atton slurred.
The man raised his eyebrows in a gesture that seemed very familiar, although Atton couldn't quite place where he knew it from. "Do you have a problem with me?"
"Yeah, I got a problem with you. Leering at that schutta when you're here with Sarai."
His eyes widened. "You know Sarai?"
The man's shock gave Atton some satisfaction. Clearly he was afraid of being found out. "I know her, and I'll tell her what you're really like as soon as she gets back."
"Listen, you've got the wrong idea." The man gently pulled his arm from Atton's grasp. The movement unbalanced him and, with nothing to lean on, Atton crashed to the floor. He heard light footsteps hurry towards him and then a cry of mingled alarm and exasperation. "This guy says he knows you, Suki," said the man.
"I know him," replied Sarai, kneeling next to Atton and placing a soft hand on his forehead. "He pilots my ship. Is he alright?"
"For the moment, but I'm betting his head will feel like it's splitting open in the morning."
Sarai's worried face appeared over Atton's, her hair tickling his cheeks. He tried to smile reassuringly at her but found that he didn't have the energy. "Can you help me get him back to the ship?" she addressed the man although her eyes remained fixed on Atton.
"Sure."
The last thing Atton was aware of was two pairs of hands lifting him off the floor, and Sarai muttering that she would never give him another night off again.