I'm not going to make excuses – the long and short of it is life got in the way. A new job, a partner, doing four musicals in a row...and it's about to get more complicated, I'm moving in two weeks to a new place and auditioning for a new musical. So, yeah.

I do apologize for, as has been pointed out, taking this story off hiatus only to fall into it again…

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Amatra Lin raised an eyebrow. As a Sumac, the resultant expression was especially striking: Sumac looked identical to humans in all but one aspect; and currently her exceptional red eyes, typical to her species, were trained on Kit Fisto unblinkingly. He only smiled wider under her unflinching, but amused expression.

"Master Fisto; I have now been Quartermaster of the Jedi Temple for almost seventeen years. During those years, I have supplied every piece of equipment you could think of to Jedi Knights. I've found every type of traditional or cultural dress imaginable to allow our fellow Masters and Padawans to blend in on missions to distant systems. I've even tracked down uniforms for the most senior of government positions. But you, Master Fisto, always bring me the most interesting of requests."

Siri and Obi-Wan exchanged a glance as Kit swept into a melodramatic bow before the Quartermaster, who by now was struggling not to laugh. "Why Master Lin, you know that is my speciality."

"And what is it I can do for you this time? Especially since I see you have two wayward Padawans with you?" She winked at Obi-Wan and Siri. Both of them knew Master Amatra Lin fairly well, as they had never worked with another Quartermaster in their service to the Order, and she had a remarkable memory for faces and names. "I've already had a message from Master Yoda that your mission is of high priority and I'm to give you anything and everything you may require. He's given me the basic details of what you've been asked to do, and I assure you, I'll do my best to help as much as I can – though I gather that outfits and equipment may only go so far."

Kit leaned forward conspiratorially. "I must become a merchant with alarming wealth, despicable taste, and few morals. Utterly respectable, and believable, in the eyes of the unrespectable."

Amatra nodded, eyeing Kit up and down. "Of course. I'm sure I can find something to fit that description. Something garish. Over the top, but made of the finest quality. I take it you'll need a hidden microphone; recorder; transmitter in the lining. And jewellery, lots of jewellery."

Kit's face broke into a smile. "Exactly the type of thing I was thinking."

"There's a reason I'm so good at this," said Amatra, winking again. Her eyes flicked to Obi-Wan. "Alright Kenobi, what's your part to play in this undercover ballet of dangerous proportions?"

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, somewhat awkwardly. "I'm to go undercover as a bounty hunter – a fellow Dark Jedi to the man we've traced."

"Walking in the shadows?" Amatra's eyebrows were raised, her eyes suddenly serious. "I'm afraid nothing I give you can help with your Force-signature or presence; that important part will be up to you." She thought for a moment. "There's a few sets of basic black Jedi-style clothing that should fit you; they look well-travelled and authentic. Boots, belt, and hooded cloak are all not much trouble. And I can even get you a lightsaber that holds a red crystal from one of the Vaults. Siri?"

"I'm to be a captive," Siri replied, her voice steady. "Get to our people and help from there."

Amatra's face turned grave. "The hardest role to play – and the most important of equipment. I have access to a small store of Force-suppressor blocker. It's not targeted to a specific type of suppressant, but it will help prevent the effects." She sighed. "But that's probably all I could give you, Siri – any transmitter would be easily found and destroyed; and any other clothing would be suspicious." She signed again, nodded to herself. "Come on, then – this should only take a minute or two".

Some time later, the three Jedi were headed towards the hanger with three cases of equipment for their upcoming theatrics. Each held the items required for their 'roles' as well as standard-issue mission equipment to have on board their new ship – the Falcon having been deemed too 'normal' and 'shabby' for Kit's grandiose alter-ego. Their replacement ship, a PLY-3500 yacht affectionately referred to as 'Pretentious' (and nicknamed 'Pre10') by the hanger staff, was far more luxurious than anything Obi-Wan or Siri had been on before. Between the plush acceleration couches and space enough for at least five Jedi teams, not to mention the chrome accents polished to a high shine, Obi-Wan found himself missing the Falcon very quickly.

It didn't take long for their new supplies to be safely stowed away, and before long Coruscant had dwindled to a grey-blue globe surrounded by stars. What was to come would possibly be among the most difficult things a mission had required of them, Obi-Wan considered as he deftly piloted the ship into hyperspace. He, at least, couldn't remember a mission he and Qui-Gon had undertaken that had required such a level of undercover work – or that had such high stakes riding on the outcome of their infiltrations.

Obi-Wan sighed to himself and idly stared out the viewport window.

Hold on, Qui-Gon. We're coming.

oooooooooooooo

Vaynai looked like a blue marble from orbit. And not just blue in that it was the dominant colour among a patchwork of lands and cities, but in the simple topographic fact that the planet was almost totally one vast ocean. What land there was was reduced to a chain of islands, which housed not only the only land-based spaceport on the planet but also the thriving tourism trade, made up of various extravagant resorts and health spas.

Due to the expansive ocean, the core of Vaynai's tourism was based in ocean-life and exquisite seafood-based delicacies. The health spas were given great stead thanks to Slick, a medicinal compound found in a specific kind of seaweed. These allowed Vaynai to be visited by some of the most influential people in the nearby galaxy, to be catered to at every moment of their stay. Though it was a double-edged sword – there was a darker side to the pleasant and sunlit archipelago, as Slick produced a temporary euphoric state when used, and the overuse of this had created many 'VIP' areas where the wealthy could abuse the stuff in the privacy of luxury. Corruption ran just below the bright and clean surface, as money could (and did) get visitors anything they desired.

It was just the sort of place that a moral-less and greedy Dark Jedi would present himself to his investors, Obi-Wan considered as he sat next to Siri while she flew their craft through the dense cloud-layer. Where morals and low and everyone looks the other way for money, but still pretentious enough to gain attention and admiration. Anyone who could afford the same level of hospitality as Nalvas had already proved their monetary value simply by being here, but that wasn't going to be enough. They had to win him over with personality, and make Nelvas believe Kit's new persona was not only the kind of being he could trust as far as low dealing were concerned, but the kind of merchant he wanted at his auction. The right kind of rich but corrupt.

"So. Will I do?"

Kit's voice made the Padawans turn in unison. Siri stifled an incredulous giggle.

Kit stood before them in a long and beautifully tailored purple shimmersilk robe. Fine gold threads in an ostentatious fringe brushed the floor of the cockpit, and the edges of the sleeves glittered with crystal woven into the material. Around Kit's waist was an ornately woven best, inset with gold and small shards of amethyst. Gold too, was the jewellery that adorned Kit's wrist and fingers, in intricate bracelets, armbands and rings of filigree. Matching accessories were threaded onto Kit's head-tresses to complete the outfit, and as a final detail he had placed contacts lenses into his eyes to change them from black to maroon. While this was not anything out of the ordinary for a Nautolan, it was an incredibly striking difference from the Kit they knew.

Kit spread his arms wide and turned for them, the purple fabric sweeping along after his motion. "Do I look outrageously wealthy?"

"Very," Siri said, still grinning. "And with just a hint of not having any fashion sense. I think it's perfect."

Kit nodded. "Excellent." Hepicked a stray thread off one cuff. "The transmitter is in the collar, and there is a backup microphone in one cuff. While I do not think Nalvas will have surveillance equipment around him to detect any devices, I cannot be sure. Record whatever you can."

"Of course, Master Fisto. We will stay here as your on-ship crew and be sure not to venture out, so you can be sure we'll be listening." Obi-Wan reached over and tinted the viewports. "That will prevent anything basic from seeing us, and it's not uncommon for a docked yacht to have the ports tinted to stop spying."

Kit nodded. "On that note, on no account are either of you to reveal yourselves to Nalvas. No matter what you hear or what you think might be happening, I will get myself out of it. If I dawn comes and I have not returned, take this ship and leave. Return to Coruscant and update them on our progress."

"Yes, Master."

Kit sighed, suddenly looking weary beneath the glittering gold. "This will not be easy," he said, more to himself than the two Padawans. "Nalvas is a very clever man, I will have to be convincing." He looked up at Obi-Wan and Siri. "Bring us down at the edge of the landing pad for the largest resort."

Nodding, Obi-Wan turned his chair back to the controls of the yacht and guided it along the pre-determined spacelane. The largest of the resorts that Kit had requested was called The Golden Velaine, after the sweet-smelling flower. It was a towering monstrosity, looking somewhat out of place among the natural surroundings. Numerous wide, blue pools could be seen around the resort's base, along with patches of bright foliage. Sunshades and parasols were in abundance and, as they drew closer, so too were well-dressed servants of the resort itself, catering to every whim and need of those staying there.

Obi-Wan bought the yacht into a gentle decent at the edge of the large landing platform, among a number of others of high quality. The Falcon would certainly have looked out of place here, but in this craft they drew no unwanted attention.

Kit made his way through the lushly carpeted acceleration lounge to the main door of the craft, waiting for it to open. As cautious as he knew he must be in this guise, he couldn't help but feel the first shred of – was it anticipation? – in coming face to face with the man responsible for all the trouble of the last few months. Kit had not had chance to practice his undercover abilities in a new role for some time, and a small part of has always enjoyed the thrill of creating an illusion.

"Good luck," Siri called as the door to their ship hissed open, sliding seamlessly into the wall.

Kit winked before the door slid shut. "A Jedi has no need of luck."

Through the now tinted viewport, the Padawans watched Kit swagger away, idly spinning a white silk parasol on one shoulder. It was adorned with crystals that glinted in the sun. He looked every part a rich and thoughtless merchant form the Outer Rim, here to enjoy a relaxing visit, spend big, and probably yell at a few workers too. Obi-Wan knew Kit had a few large credit chips in his pocket to pass out subtly as tips for those who caught the edge of his persona's wrath, as it was unfortunately one of the things that would doubtless catch Nalvas' attention.

If, of course, he was easy to find.

ooooooooooooo

Quinlan Vos scowled in the half-light. He'd managed to track the Zygerrian Slavers to a run-down apartment block in one of the outer circles of the city, but it all seemed too quiet. There didn't seem to be any guard posted on the door, or even a reinforced entrance for that matter. This couldn't be one of their usual hideouts, Quinlan considered, which only led weight to the fact that they had gone after Aayla on purpose for her being more than just one of their usual racial targets. This was out of their way, they weren't prepared for being here and lying low like they had done on so many other planets.

Quinlan stretched out with the Force, trying to feel for Aayla's Force-bond. It was there, but very faint, and Quinlan couldn't tell through their budding connection if it implied she was in there, or had been here previously. Quinlan's grip tightened on his lightsaber. Was she still even planet-side? His search had taken him longer than he had wanted; she could have been transported by now. The Force was telling him this was the right place, even if it gave no outward signs of being so. Either way, he had to be sure.

Keeping to the shadows of the street, Quinlan pulled up his hood and started indirectly towards the door he could see ahead. At this time of night there were few being on the street for any more than leisure, and even then most weren't exactly in a condition to notice anything amiss. They certainly wouldn't notice a quiet and hooded figure casually slip into a side-alley.

Once out of sight of the street, Quinlan pulled his hood back and surveyed the wall before him. It was made of simple stone, worn from years of pollution and the evidence of shootouts that had once taken place here. There was no side door to the hideout, but a window on the second flood was clumsily closed – it appeared broken and would no longer shut properly. It was high enough to be ignored by those below, and thought of as no security risk – except for a Jedi, of course. Gathering the Force around him, it was an easy feat for Quinlan to jump to the window and pull it open in one motion, steadying himself against it before dropping quietly into the room beyond.

The place was seemingly abandoned. Quinlan cursed softly. He couldn't feel Aayla at all now, faint or not. There were signs that people had been he recently, but not for a few hours now. The scraps of food and trash were not covered in grime or dust, but had been abandoned earlier. Quinlan methodically searched the building top to bottom, following the patterns of disturbed dust but finding no sign of Aayla or her whereabouts.

He stood on the lower floor and reached out to the Force. It came to him after some convincing, which was odd, but Quinlan was too preoccupied to notice. There was another level below here, the entrance hidden. It didn't take much to find once Quinlan knew what he was looking for, and he wrenched the secret entrance open before sprinting down the sloping corridor that had been revealed.

It wasn't until the first pirate sprang at him from the shadows with a metal bar that he realised the Force was slipping from him and had been ever since he entered the building. There was something in the air, making him sluggish and cutting him off.

He'd walked into a trap. Fool.

Quinlan fought back as best he could, disoriented and feeling faint. Whatever was in the air was meant just for him, the slavers around him were all wearing re-breathers, and when he tried to use the Force to clear the soporific gas from his lungs it was no longer there for him to reach. There were more salvers now, armed and watching him as Quinlan valiantly held them off. But it was no use, he could feel his mind slipping in and out, closer to unconsciousness.

All they would have to do was wait it out, and he'd collapse without trouble to them. And then what? Where would he be taken? Where was Aayla? What would happen to them both?

oooooooooo

Sorry it wasn't more action-packed.

Amatra's my little creation. Jedi Quartermasters do exist, and that is what they did, but none have (as of yet) been named in-universe. I do love the idea that the Jedi have masses of specialised equipment and clothing available for whatever a mission might need.

Reviews appreciated, as always.