Chapter four, courtesy of me. Hold your applause. Yes, I know they're on the short side. But if you read my Identity fic, you might have noticed some of the earlier chapters were shorter.

Oh, and "italics" is an alien language—Huttese or Shyriiwook or what-have-you. And if anybody freaks out at the end, do remember that Zara is an adult—maybe not very responsible, but an adult.

Zara pressed her back to the wall, hoping the Sith wouldn't notice her and Carth trying to sneak away. Then one of the Duros said something—she didn't quite catch it—and there was a blaster shot. "And that," a nasally voice sneered, "is how we deal with smarth-mouthed aliens."

She threw her vibroblade before she could stop herself and shot the two droids at the unarmored neck. Ignoring Carth's soft groan, she walked up to the Duros.

"I'm sorry about your friend."

The green-skinned alien shrugged tiredly, offering her the hilt of her vibroblade. "Ixgil never could be silent. But perhaps this will be the last Sith patrol to bother us."

"Perhaps." Zara said skeptically, wiping her blade clean on the uniform of the dead Sith. She also relieved the body of its purse and started gutting the droids.

"I will take care of the bodies."

"Thank you."

The Duros merely nodded and began his task with the body of the human.

"Tell me, why were you just a mechanic?"

Zara sighed and finished with the droids before answering. "After the Mandalorians, I was sick and tired of dealing out death." She looked down at her hands. "Didn't plan on any more, but that didn't work so well. On the ship, I was more use as a mechanic anyways. Not like there was much to fight on that ship, unless you count those snooty Jedi."

"You had a choice?"

"Sort of. So, tell me about yourself."

"Well… uh… I've been a star pilot for years—"

"Hold it right there, flyboy. You're pretty famous. No need to tell me what I already know." They'd been walking a bit, fast enough that they were close to the shop.

"Pushy, aren't you." Carth muttered. "The shop's just down here."

"Don't think I'll drop the conversation so easily, flyboy." Zara cautioned before entering the shop. "I'm a tenacious little beast."

He sighed.

The cantina was buzzing and the smell of alcohol was relaxingly familiar. She could sense the alcohol-fuzzed minds and the occasional clear and sharp mind. "Shot of tihaar, if you've got it." She sat down at the bar, pulling out a few cred chips.

The bartender grunted. "Lucky for you, I do. Ten."

She slapped the chip down and he slid a glass full of the clear alcohol at her. She took the first sip slowly, savoring the fruity taste, before swallowing the rest of the shot. While Zara had very little good to say about the Mandalorians, they had good alcohol.

"Gutsy."

She flashed a grin, all teeth, at the speaker. "I can hold my alcohol."

"Loser pays the tab?"

"I hope you're prepared to pay up."

"Zara, we aren't here to get massively drunk." Carth hissed.

"Whatever, doll. Corellian whiskey alright?"

"Sure, boyo. Flyboy," she turned her attention to Carth, "place your bets on me, if you please."

The bartender looked between the two, sliding the first two shots across. "If you're rowdy drunks, you'll be thrown out in short order."

"Don't worry." Zara took a sip of the whiskey, smiling before knocking it back, "my new buddy will give you a very good tip."

"First to unconsciousness loses." He retorted.

Two more shots appeared. Zara raised hers. "To me, then."

Twelve shots later and Zara was feeling dizzy. The pilot was worse off, slumping forward. The next shot and thirty seconds sent him snoring.

"You part Wookiee?" The bartender asked.

"A merc." She gestured at her mismatched armor. "I've got a healing implant, but that fool never asked." She grabbed his purse. "So, how much does he owe you? And that was a very cheap Corellian whiskey, let me tell you."

"Six hundred."

Zara counted out the chips and then some. "I didn't forget the tip, courtesy of stupid." She stuffed the remaining credits in her own purse. The bartender raised a brow. "What?" She asked innocently. "He's just asking to get robbed if he's passed out at the bar. So, flyboy, what are the bet returns?"

"Doubled what I've got, which isn't bad."

"So," she whirled on the barstool, "how can we get to the Lower City? I've heard I'm more likely to find work there. Since I'm stuck here and all."

"Only Sith can travel through the levels of Taris. The elevators are all guarded."

"Ah. Thanks for the info. Ready to jet, flyboy? We need to check out other seedy apartment buildings."

"This is gonna be fun." He muttered.