Disclaimer: No, I still don't own anything Star Wars

Note: Thanks again to all of my reviewers/subscribers/readers and to my awesome beta, Liisiko.

CHAPTER 18 - Investigation

Location: Pellezara Station

The Apprentice woke to a horrible stirring sensation in his head, as if someone had reached in and muddled up all the pieces whilst he slept. Groaning in pain and disorientation, he lifted his head up from where it had been resting against his knees and blinked blearily around him.

What was going on?

Had he blacked out?

Using the wall as a support, the Apprentice pushed himself slowly up from where he had been curled in a far corner, wavering from the continual spinning in his head. His wounds pulled tight as he took a slow step forward, a lance of pain shooting up through his knees. He faltered, lifting his hands to his face, noting that his fingernails had carved bloody crescents into his palms.

Why had he tucked himself away in that corner?

Nightmares?

He took a few uneasy steps until his legs felt stronger beneath him and then moved across to the console to try and get a grip on his current situation. At least fifteen warning lights blinked on the displays, their rhythm partnered with a grating, whining alarm.

He put his fist through the screen to silence the sound, relishing in the splintering cracks and the strange relief that came with the pain. It cleared his head. Helped him to think.

Now. Where was he?

The battered shuttle had emerged from hyperspace and was now drifting dejectedly through the dark, empty expanse. Well, not quite empty. Hanging far below him was the distinct shape of a shipyard and beyond that; a planet the color of rust.

Angrily brushing aside broken fragments of console, he jabbed with unnecessary violence at the controls in an attempt to bring up the holomap. The image the screen eventually threw up wobbled precariously but it was good enough for him to pinpoint his location. The co-ordinates had ended up bringing him above the planet of Duro - a short jump away, which would give him enough time to disappear before his wretched 'brother' caught up with him.

His plan had been simple enough. Land (or crash) on a shipyard and steal another shuttle that could take him safely out of harm's way. If he could just keep his head down and stay off of the radar, then maybe, just maybe, he could fix all of this. Maybe Vader would spare him. Maybe Vader would even take him back so that he could reclaim what remained of his tattered destiny. But there were too many 'maybes' and his head was pounding.

He dropped back into the pilot's chair, cradling his head in his hands as his frustration grew worse. Why wouldn't his head stay clear? Why did those little voices not leave him alone? Didn't he deserve a bit of peace and quiet after everything he had been through!

The ship lurched suddenly, throwing him sideways in the chair, and he struck out at the console, an ephemeral blast of Force power warping the panels and shattering delicate components.

He…hadn't meant to do that.

With a roar of anger he swept himself back to his feet and wrenched the panel away from its fittings, casting it aside in a fit of rage. The result: a state of semi-calm. His yellow eyes flicked to where the Rebel pilot's body lay, face down on the floor. Perhaps he should have spared his life and used him to land the damn shuttle. He made a mental note to take that into consideration next time.

Pilots: useful.

"Guess I'll be doing this alone then. I'd best dispose of you before I arrive, too. You'd cause too much of a stir if they found you here."

And with the shuttle seemingly failing around him, he used the Force to coax it on a downwards path towards the Pellezara station.

"Sir? Sir! You can't leave that shuttle there without the proper documentation. Are you listening? You need to go back the way you came and speak with the shipmaster's assistant. There's a fee and you'll need to give details on what repairs are needed before you can go into the station. Sir?"

The Apprentice froze mid-step and his head turned with mechanical precision to meet the gaze of the worker who had seen fit to question him. His golden eyes narrowed and he veered off course to turn and face him. It was fortunate for the worker that the Apprentice wished to keep his presence here as low key as possible, otherwise he'd have crushed the man without any hesitation at all.

Instead, he drove into his mind, seeking to dominate. It was a surprisingly easy thing to accomplish and feeling the man's will give way beneath his attack brought him a great satisfaction.

"I don't need to speak with the assistant."

"You don't need to speak with the assistant." The reply was instantaneous.

"I can go on my way."

Sluggishly, the man stepped aside, holding out an arm to gesture him through. "You can go on your way, Sir."

He left the shuttle behind and slipped in amongst the crowds, trying to keep the limp from his gait as much as possible and glad for the jacket – Giles' jacket – that hid the tattered clothing and bandages beneath. A flash of memory angered him; the inferior clone pushing that metal into his flesh to pin him in place. The attack had gouged deep wounds into his flesh that he'd managed to wrap with clumsy, shaking hands. It had been an agonizing effort but it was nothing that bacta couldn't fix – given a bit of time. Then, when he was healed and back in control, he could weave his plans to reclaim what was rightfully his. He'd already killed one of his three targets and of the two that remained, only one would prove to be difficult. The woman could be manipulated and crushed as easily as he had killed those soldiers. He also knew that she would have to die last or else risk the inferior clone turning back down the dark path and reclaiming his lost power.

Then he found his anger again to think of being afraid of a clone who was inferior. He had sought out the weak path, chosen to turn aside the destiny that Vader had offered to him. There was no strength in that. No power at all.

So why, then, did he feel so afraid?

Gritting his teeth, he shoved past a dawdling, grey-haired man and hastened ahead. He had to keep control of his anger. Stop thinking about that inferior being and concentrate on how he could reclaim his greatness. No doubt his abandoned shuttle would cause a stir once someone realized it was docked without permission. He wanted to be well away before anyone could start up a search for him. Unfortunately, leaving here without causing a scene was not going to be a swift process. He'd need to find a ship that he could quietly slip away in without anyone noticing.

But how?

His first thought had been to steal a ship, but he was realizing, now, that doing so would cause enough of a disturbance that anyone trying to track him down could do so with relative ease.

No. What he wanted to do was slip off the grid. Disappear altogether. This meant smuggling himself onto a ship without anyone knowing of their extra 'crew member'. Unfortunately, doing this gave him no control of where he might end up and there were no guarantees that he'd even be able to find a suitable vessel leaving within the next hour or so.

Drawing in a breath of metallic, dry air, he lifted his head to check the overhead display on his exact location. A holomap of the area was highlighted against the dull, brown backdrop, casting a faint, bluish glow that touched the smooth surfaces with a simulated radiance. Even this station held a rusty quality about it, as if to reflect the polluted state of the planet hanging far below. Everywhere there lingered the stink of oil, machinery, smoke and the stale sweat of the people milling to and fro.

He passed by a few lounges, an incredibly rundown looking hotel and then a large doorway illuminated by a sign that gave him some sparse hope. A cantina. And where there was a cantina, there were gatherings of crew and their pilots. A long shot, perhaps, but one worth taking.

He stepped inside and took a brief moment to scan the room. It was larger than he thought, shaped like a 'half-moon' with a crescent shaped bar at the far side. It was only sparsely populated and the air quality seemed improved by the tang of the drinks being served. He persuaded the bartender to part with a free beverage (you don't want me to pay for this drink) and settled himself in a corner to listen, closing his eyes in an attempt to help him focus. There was a bustle of life all around him. A group of Duros natives chattered drunkenly in some sort of celebration. A pair of Rodians were muttering quietly under their breath about some knock their ship had taken. An elderly human was trying to impress a younger one with stories of battles long gone. He picked through each conversation, filtering through the information he was able to understand.

It wasn't long before he grew bored and agitated, shifting irritably in his seat as he struggled to find anything of use amongst the drivel. Was there no one who was preparing to set off? No one who was in a hurry to be away from this place?

And then the volume dropped and his golden eyes flashed open to seek the cause.

Not far away, striding smugly across the room to the bar, were three Imperial officers in full uniform.

The clone felt his eyebrows lift in surprise and then he looked away, drawing his focus down to his empty glass. And then questions and plans hastened through his head.

A waitress came to clear his glass away and he caught her by the wrist, startling her. His grip tightened briefly until he remembered he didn't want to kill her. Talk. Not kill. Talk. Don't cause a scene.

Pulling her closer, he gestured towards the Imperials with as subtle a motion he could manage. "What're they doing here?"

The woman took a brief glance before turning back, her brows furrowed with concern. "You done something to upset them?"

"Answer the question."

"Uh, they come by now and again. Not the same men, mind, but people noticed that they've been showing up more recently, though. They say something's going on somewhere in this sector. Don't trust 'em."

"They?"

"You know, people here."

He let go of her wrist and said no more. The woman, seeming confused, took his glass and set it on her tray. "I'll bring you another?"

He barely heard her, lost in his thoughts of the possibilities this presented. Would the officers stay long? Would he be able to go with them? If they were involved in something important, could he use it to his advantage? Could he contact Vader? Tell him of his partial success? Convince him to give just a little more time to carry out his orders and prove himself worthy to be his apprentice? Surely he deserved another chance. Surely he'd done enough to prove that he was willing to carry out these orders and that he was not having a weak change of heart. He would not falter at cutting off the ties his original had created. He would not.

He took the offered drink without a word and slouched over it, mulling over the possibilities as he tried to hone in on which one would see him in the greatest advantage. The overwhelming sense of implausibility ran his thoughts into exhausting circles. He could see no clear way out. No way to bring everything back under his control. Even if he managed to carry out his orders and kill the faulty clone and that wretched woman, Vader was not predictable.

And what if Vader turned on him?

Would he be able to harness the power of the Dark Side to defeat him?

And if he did, what then? A master-less apprentice without a purpose. Without meaning.

A stab of pain ran across the surface of his skull and the glass in his hand shattered. He jerked to his feet, startled, and his eyes snapped up to see the backs of the officers as they left the cantina.

Shoving the fussing waitress aside, he hastened to follow them, deciding to go by instinct and spontaneity instead of thinking and planning ahead. He'd carry out Vader's orders and deal with the consequences of his failure later. Time was out and every moment he wasted, the gap between him and that inferior clone grew shorter and shorter.

Thankfully, trailing the men proved relatively easy. The crowds parted to let them on their way, clearly no one willing to risk angering the armed men as they marched. He followed, not really sure where he was going but aware that the walkways were becoming emptier and less traveled. The lack of a crowd had him hanging back further and further to avoid being spotted. A group of passing mechanics gave him odd looks and he turned his head away to prevent eye contact. There was no time to stop for questioning, or even to stop to kill them.

And then, at last, he heard the officers slow to a halt followed by a murmuring of voices and the grinding sound of a door sliding open. They'd finally arrived, then? Drawing in a deep breath, he stepped out of cover and moved down the corridor. At the far end, the door had already moved closed again and a heavily armed Imperial soldier stepped forwards to bar his way. The man was neatly groomed, his dark eyes sharp and suspicious. He raised his rifle to point directly at the Apprentice's chest.

"Stop right there."

The Apprentice did as he was told, raising both hands in a sign of amity.

"What's your business here? Do you have the access codes for this area?"

With no sense of morality, he drove into the man's mind, mildly surprised to find him briefly able to struggle against the push for control. The struggle was futile, however, and in the end only encouraged the Sith to press harder. Too hard, in fact. The soldier cowered and then, with a cry of hysterical fear, made a break for it, tripping over himself in his desperation to escape.

Now alone, the Apprentice eased open the door with careful precision and stepped through into a private docking bay. In the closest bay sat a small Imperial shuttle, engineers bustling busily around it as they made their final preparations. One engineer cowered under the raised voice of one of the officers, clearly trying to explain himself out of a tricky situation. The exchange was brief, the officer dismissing him with an angry exclamation. Then he moved to board the ship.

The clone hesitated for just a moment, considering the possibility that this could be one of the worst mistakes he ever made. But what choice did he have? It was this or remain and confront his other self and he wasn't ready to do that yet. He needed to be at full strength. He needed to clear his head.

Swiftly, he crossed the open expanse of the docking bay, sliding behind some cargo to stay hidden as a couple of dock workers walked by; datapads in hand.

The deep, steady rumble of the Imperial shuttle powering up masked the voices of the workers as they passed him by. Then, in that moment, he had approximately ten seconds to cross the temporarily empty expanse to the shuttle and board before anyone could notice.

He ran.

"We've lost too much time." Galen paced the cockpit impatiently as Juno guided the Rogue Shadow down onto the station, her expert hand bringing the ship down with smooth and precise movements.

"Maybe not." She tried to assure.

"Open the ramp." He insisted. "I need to get down there."

"Wait. Let me come with you. Two pairs of eyes are better than one." Though that wasn't her only reason for wanting to go with him.

"No. You need to stay here with PROXY."

She set her jaw stubbornly and drew up her shoulders to meet his defiant gaze. "Don't be ridiculous. You are not yourself. Let me go with you."

"Juno-" He cut himself off, exasperated, but realizing – at the same time – that he needed to choose his words carefully. He didn't want to fight with her about this. Not again.

"The likelihood of him still being on this station is slim. Let me help. Every second we waste here arguing is another second he's got to get away."

Instead of replying, his eyes snapped up to the holodroid who was waiting for orders of his own. "PROXY, make sure she doesn't leave the ship."

"Of course, Master."

"What? No!" She grabbed him by the wrist in a lame attempt to stop him from leaving.

"Please don't argue with me about this. I won't be long."

"Are we always going to be fighting about this?" Juno replied. "You can't do this alone. Don't you trust me to help? I might not be a Jedi but I can gather information. You can't keep shutting me out like this."

"Of course I trust you. But you're more help to me right here."

She shook her head but his pleading gaze silenced any protest she might have made. Those dark, dark eyes were so incredibly earnest and worried. It was so hard to be angry with him when he gave her that look.

"Please?" He urged gently.

After the briefest of pauses - her face stern with the grim admittance of defeat - she activated the loading ramp with an infuriated slap. She heard the mechanisms working as the ramp was lowered.

His eyes grew apologetic but she turned away; a touch of bitterness hardening her features. She felt his fingers touch at the inside of her wrist but she stepped back away from him, refusing to be consoled. "You'd best get going then."

"Juno—"

"—Time's wasting." She interrupted. "Go."

And he did. He left.

And only when she was certain he had gone, did she vent her anger, cursing so colorfully that even PROXY seemed at a loss for words.

Furiously, she brought up a damage report and began compiling a list of components that needed to be purchased to bring the Rogue Shadow back up to speed. Then she hastily backtracked. Without funds from the Alliance, there would not be enough to make all the necessary repairs. The problem with a prototype ship is that they often ran on more expensive equipment and it might do more harm than good to replace those expensive components with cheaper versions that could negatively affect any number of things.

Again she thought of the future. A future where she wasn't involved in the war that raged furiously through the galaxy. A future where she wasn't 'Captain Eclipse'. A future where she was just…just an ordinary woman. She wasn't sure how she felt about that; giving up everything she had worked for. Yet, at the same time, she was tired of it all. This life had brought her such incredible heartache. Was it worth it? Was it worth such sacrifice when, in the end, she'd just become another forgotten statistic?

And then there was Galen to consider.

She was worried about him. Desperately worried. It didn't help that he refused to let her share the burden. Refused to let her put herself at any sort of risk to better things. He was afraid, and she could understand that, but he couldn't always protect her. Nor did she want him constantly having to look out for her. She could defend herself if need be.

Her eyes slid across to the blaster lying idle in its holster – looped around one of the cables.

She wondered what Kota would do in this situation and felt the touch of a smile at the corner of her mouth. She knew exactly what he would say.

"Stop being so stubborn and pay attention to me, boy. I may be an old man but I'm not going to stand aside while you send everything to hell."

Her fingers curled tight into fists. Okay, so she wasn't a Jedi. She couldn't move things with the Force. She couldn't fight off a Sith or wield sabers or perform amazing acrobatics. But she could shoot a blaster as well as any soldier and she was smart, too. Smart enough to know when to back down and hang low. Smart enough to know when to press the attack. She could think quick on her feet, push herself to her limits and succeed where others couldn't.

She was Juno damn Eclipse and she was not going to sit idle when she could be doing something to help.

Without warning, she leapt to her feet and reached for the blaster, slinging it around her waist and fastening the buckle.

PROXY regarded her a slight tilt to his head; confused.

"I'm going to go and track down some parts for the ship." She announced. "Take care of things while I'm gone, okay?"

"Sorry, Captain, but Master did say I was to stop you from leaving."

"Yes, that's all well and good, except I'm not going out to look for a murderous Sith. I'm going to look for a trader. Besides, you can see the store from here." It was true enough. The trader's horribly tacky sign was lit up in sleazy pink. What wasn't true was that she had no intention of spending her whole time there – just a small portion of it.

"But I don't think that—" The droid faltered.

In the time it had taken the holodroid to turn and inspect the trader's store and look back again, she was gone.

The droid gave a long, sorrowful sigh. "Things would be so much easier if humans could be reprogrammed."

The Apprentice crouched in the cargo hold, knees curled tight to his chest, head between his hands. His fingers curled into his scalp, pressing tightly against his skull in an attempt to keep the pain at bay. It worked – to some extent at least – but the memories came as they always did. Taunting him. Mocking him. He must have cried out at some point, because he was brought back to awareness by the heavy tread of Imperial boots.

He felt shadows drape over him; partially blocking out the synthetic, harsh glare of the light emitters above.

"Looks like we have ourselves a stowaway, men." One of them sneered.

The Sith lifted his head.

"What are you? Some sort of refugee?"

The pair of officers were well-armed and backed up by three stormtroopers. They could have had hundreds at their side. It would have made no difference. The clone would have torn through them all the same.

"What's wrong? Scared? You should be. We don't take kindly to freeloaders."

He gave them no warning. No snarl of anger. No battle cry. Not even a subtle twitch of his fingers as prepared to reach for his sabers. One moment he was seated, hunched amongst the cargo and the next; the contrasting blades were alive and hungry in his grasp.

He paused for only a moment to see the stark realization reflected in their eyes and then he fell upon them like a blood-thirsty Drexl.

They died easily. Too easily.

He stood over them, in pain and seething with rage, and wished they would get up again so he could break them a second time. But they lay there motionless and bleeding; no threat at all. Pathetic.

With a growl, he swept them all aside with the Force and returned to his corner, crouching in the shadows, feeling the waves of tormenting pain roll over him once more. The memories returned to him again. Some belonging to a dead man. Others belonging to him.

"I was made for this." He hissed lowly in the dark. "I was made for this."

Somewhere, lying discarded close by, a com-link chattered to life. The voice of a gruff male hissed across the line, the tone distorting through a damaged speaker. "Jacobs…ort…dge… Report to…bridge." There was a stretch of static and then the voice came again. "I repeat: Report to the bridge. Jacobs? Do you…py?"

The Apprentice estimated he had about ten minutes before more troops arrived on the scene to find out what had happened to one of their commanding officers.

He was wrong.

It was more like eight.

"So you're going to organize for this to be taken away, right? We can't just have an abandoned ship here. If these friends of yours don't come by to collect it or pay for repairs, we'll strip it down and use it for parts." The engineer wiped a greasy palm against the leg of his overalls.

Galen frowned at the broken shuttle. "And you say you don't know what happened to the guy who brought it here?"

"Nah-uh." The eyes narrowed. "He's your brother or something, right?"

Galen felt his anger pull taut. "Something like that."

"Riiiiight." The engineer drawled, edging away slightly. "Just tell us what to do with the ship."

"I can't tell you what the decision will be. It's not my call. I'll have to come back and let you know. Can you at least point me in the direction the guy went?"

The engineer, at this point, seemed to lose faith in ever finding out about what to do with the shuttle. "Uh, where everyone goes." He pointed towards a large door that led away from the huge docking bay. "Probably hiding somewhere in the crowds. He a criminal or something?"

"That—that is none of your concern."

The engineer deadpanned.

"Can I get information on what ships left this station in the last few hours?"

"Not from me. You'll need to talk to the dock master. He'll be in his office just through there. Don't expect him to be of any help, though. Confidentiality and all that." He indicated with a bored flourish of a hand. "Now, if there's nothing else, will you let me go and do my job?"

Galen glared at him. "Fine."

He turned and stalked off across the busy docking bay, wondering how exactly he was going to arrange for the shuttle to be retrieved. Perhaps Viedas was already dealing with it. He supposed he ought to contact Juno and get her to organize it, but, he had a feeling she probably wouldn't want to talk to him.

He sighed.

Okay, so maybe he had overreacted, but until he knew that the clone was dead, he couldn't help but feel she was in danger of being targeted. It was more than likely that Vader's orders had been for his new apprentice to kill all three of them. Surely she could understand his desire to ensure she was safe?

Summoning his courage, he called through to the Rogue Shadow. "Juno, you there? Juno?"

There was a brief pause before a rather sheepish sounding PROXY replied. "Sorry Master. The captain is not here."

"What?"

"She insisted on seeking out parts to make repairs to the—"

"—PROXY, what was it about 'don't let her leave the ship' that you didn't understand?"

"I'm sorry, Master. I couldn't stop her without using force."

"No, no. It's alright. It's not your fault." His breath came out in a rush. "Where did you say she was?"

"Looking for parts for the ship at the trader's store."

"I'm right across from it. She's not there."

"Juno wouldn't lie, would she, Master?"

"Yes she would. File that in your memory for future reference, will you?" He cast his eyes about. "I'm going to look for her."

The duel blades extinguished with an angry snap and, stepping over the lifeless bodies, he wondered how long it would be before everyone on the ship lay dead. It hadn't been his intention to kill at all. Unfortunately, circumstances had called for it and now the second squad sent down to investigate the unresponsiveness of the first lay dead.

And how pitiful they had all been. So weak and easily broken; their blaster fire easily deflected, their soft innards easily scored by the lightsabers now deactivated at his belt.

He wondered, idly, how easy it would be to replace such men – these officers – and another memory came to him.

"The Emperor must not discover you. Leave no witnesses. Kill everyone aboard; Imperials and Kota's men alike."

The memory drove that all too familiar, blinding pain into his skull and he recoiled into himself, hissing through his teeth in an attempt to expel the unwelcome presence in his head.

"Yes, Master." He responded to that memory, his swimming eyes wavering across the dead faces of the slaughtered Imperials. The stench of their seared flesh knotted in his stomach and he exited the room only to stagger down a corridor and into a passing patrol.

He didn't give them a chance to flee or even to raise their weapons. The Sith Lightning blasted from him and engulfed them in horrific blue light; their twisted screams the thing of nightmares.

Everyone would die. Just as Vader had instructed.

'Leave no witnesses.'

Soon, he thought to himself, soon I will be able to release this anger. I'll find a way to complete my mission. And maybe then, with the inferior clone dead, the voices would disappear and he'd be able to rise up to his full potential and take his rightful place at Vader's side.

Galen found her speaking with the dock master; clearly one step ahead of him and already deep in conversation. And, as irritating as it was, he had to admire her for her ability to gather information so quickly and readily – even if she was putting herself at risk by doing so.

"I understand that I'm asking for a lot." She said. "And I don't ask lightly, I can assure you that. If the situation wasn't so dire, I wouldn't be here, but our leads have run dry and we really need to track this person down before he can cause anymore damage."

The dock master rubbed a hand over his wrinkled brow. He was a short, rounded man with grey threaded thickly through his unkempt beard. "Even if I did give you the information you're asking for, how could you use it to track him? The numbers are expansive."

"From what we know of this man, we're hoping that we can strike off most of them."

He sighed, looking torn.

"You have my word that no one will find out where this information came from."

"Nowadays, having someone's word doesn't seem to count for much."

"I have nothing to offer but my word." Juno replied.

"I'm sorry, I can't help you."

Galen stepped forwards to intervene, but Juno continued to press on and he hung back.

"What would we have to gain by revealing the source of our information? All we need is the destinations of the recent ships to have left and you won't ever hear from us again. Please."

His watery eyes narrowed and he sat heavily back in his chair. "Why exactly are you hunting for this man?"

"He…killed some very important people and stole one of our shuttles – which he left abandoned on your docking bay. He poses a dangerous threat if left to his own devices and not just to those who openly oppose the Empire. He's a loose cannon. He'd turn against his own men if given the chance." She hardened her eyes. "I'm surprised that he didn't cause trouble when he was here."

"He could still be here." The dock master pointed out.

"He knew we were coming for him, he'd have made his escape as quickly as possible."

"Listen." The man stood again, his joints popping. "I'll take a look through the listings myself and if anything unusual crops up, I'll let you know. Maybe you should go and do some investigating. He had to have spoken or been seen by someone here. Close up the time frame and maybe I can avoid giving you confidential information needlessly."

"Then you'll help us?"

"I'm not making any promises."

"No one will find out about this." Juno repeated firmly.

He gave a low grunt. "Come by when you've got more information for me and I'll see what I can do."

Galen, who had retreated to wait outside of the man's office, stepped in alongside her as she exited. "Funny. PROXY told me you would be at the trader's place."

"How did you get on?" She asked, clearly not wanting to start up another argument.

"They want to know what is going to happen to the shuttle."

"We'll contact the Commodore once we're done here." She came to an abrupt halt and fixed him with a firm glare. "Let's head into the station and ask around."

He looked like he wanted to argue with her, so she seized the moment, taking him by the hand and leading him across to the station's main entrance. "Stop worrying. It'll be like that time on Nar Shaddaa when we were looking for—" She caught herself. When they had been looking for Kota.

Kota was dead.

It took her a moment to gather herself and continue where she had left off. "I was with you then and nothing bad happened."

"Fine, fine. Okay. Just stick close."

She squeezed his hand and he felt strangely unsettled by that victorious smile curling at her mouth. He wondered, very briefly, if he'd ever win an argument against her or whether she'd get him every time.

They ended up separating almost immediately upon entering the station, sharing the rooms between them as they moved up the corridor. Small lounges, cluttered workshops, convenience stores and information desks. Mainly, there were crowded waiting rooms filled with dirty, bored pilots and crew or engineers on their breaks. Some people, when asked, had recalled seeing a man with golden eyes, but none of them had a clue where he'd been heading.

Their paths crossed and Juno gave a weary sigh, leaning tiredly against the wall. Galen leaned back next to her.

"Any luck?" He asked.

"He was here, but that's all I can tell. He was clearly trying to keep a low profile whilst he was moving about. How about you?"

"Much the same."

"So, where to next?" Juno continued, glancing around.

"We've got three more places in this sector of the station. One of which being the cantina. Maybe we should have checked there first."

"It's hard to predict anything that he might do." Juno pointed out. "Come on, we'll try there next."

To be continued...

Next update scheduled for: 10th December