Chapter Six

The cantina on the bottom floor of the tavern was teeming. Aramis squeezed his way through the crowd and towards the bar. He wore a nondescript grey flight suit, which had come with the transport he had bought. He had used his half of the credits he had split with Kylta after they had sold the freighter they'd stolen from the Jedi Temple. He felt extremely lucky that the flight suit had fit, but perhaps that was the Force showing him he had made the right decision in not going with Kylta back to her homeworld.

He had bought the cheapest ship he could find on Dantooine, a tiny twin engine Incom transport that didn't consist of much more than a bridge section in the front and a tiny cargo section in the back that wasn't much larger than a closet. The fold-out bunk in the back was just long enough that only his feet hung over the edge when he slept. What few belongings he owned could be stored in the overhead lockers. The refresher folded out from the wall, and there was no mirror or sink. But the ship had a hyperdrive, and it's background was squeaky clean. The rest of his credits, all eight thousand of them, he hid under the floor beneath the flight chair, along with a single lightsaber he had kept from their collection.

Those eight thousand credits wouldn't last very long, especially in a universe where his name was likely on every Imperial watch list. He needed money coming in or he wouldn't be able to feed himself and fuel his ship, much less launch a campaign to save the legacy of the Jedi. Which was what had brought him to this inn on Malastare.

The room was filled with a diverse crowd, although Dugs and Gran, the native species, made up the majority. Aramis' nostrils were assaulted by the smell of alcohol and the sweat of the beings pressing in around him, interrupted briefly by the sweet smell of a twi'lek who brushed up against him as she passed, carrying a pair of mugs. He made his way to the bar, where a dozen beings stood enthralled with a podrace on the holoscreens.

He squeezed between a Dug and a Gran saddled up at the bar. This inn was one of many in the spaceport of Pixelito, one of the major cities on Malastare. He had chosen this Mid Rim world as his first destination for multiple reasons. First, it was on nearly the opposite side of the galaxy as Dantooine. If the Imperials somehow caught him there would be no way for them to guess which world he and Kilta had stashed their liberated goods on. Secondly, it was a highly populated world, right in the middle of a major hyperspace route. If he was looking for opportunities to make credits, he couldn't stick around half empty worlds like Dantooine. And lastly, although Malastare was a prominent world, it was far enough away from the Core that he could walk down the streets without having to watch for Imperial troops everywhere he went. True...Malastare was part of the Empire, just like most of the galaxy now that the Clone Wars were officially over. But Palpatine's troops were still stretched too thinly to have a major presence on every world.

He caught the attention of the bartender, a portly Bith with two pairs of cybernetic attachments at his back. The attachments were spider like arms that could pour drinks and hand them to customers while the pale, bulbous-headed bartender engaged the next customer. It was impressive tech, and Aramis wondered how a lowly bartender could afford something like that.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked.

"Can you make a meiloorun nutrijuice?" Aramis requested. The bartender paused, and probably would have raised an eyebrow if he had any. "With a dash of Corellian vodka," he added, which seemed to be more in line with expectations. The Bith nodded and moved onto the next customer while two of his arms went to work on his drink.

A sudden wave of shouting erupted around him. Aramis jumped, jerking around towards the door, expecting a wave of clone troopers to be stampeding in. He relaxed when he realized that the podrace had just ended, a close one where two racers had crossed the finish line at nearly the same time.

The Gran next to him slapped him on the back. "You look like you just lost money, meeshku." The gran's hand lingered on his back, a light caress.

"I didn't bet money on the races," Aramis said.

"Everyone comes here for the races," the Gran said, eyeing him curiously. The alien's hand was still on his back, and Aramis wondered if he was drunk. "What brings you to Malastare all the way from...Pantora, right?"

"That's right," Aramis nodded. "But I'm here by way of Corellia." He received his drink, and took a sip, finding that the bartender had thankfully not put a very strong shot of vodka in it. "I'm looking for work."

"There's a lot doing that, especially from the Outer Rim now that the war's stopped. Malastare has got work, but not enough for everybody," the Gran said. "You got any special skills?" The Gran's hand began to go a bit lower down his back, forcing Aramis to finally shrug him off. The Gran's orange face flushed pink, for a moment, in embarrassment. "Sorry."

"No problem," Aramis lied with a smile. The podrace vanished from the screens and a new local broadcast began. This one was from an arena on the other side of the spaceport. The screen showed a flat circular stage, which a white line running along the edge. Men and women of various species stood on the stage, stretching and swinging primitive weapons.

"Do you have any special skills?" the Gran asked. Aramis glanced over but quickly returned his gaze to the holoscreen, where an announcer appeared. The announcer began to speak about the ceremonial beginning of a combat tournament, which was about to start.

"Excuse me?" Aramis asked as the Gran continued to gaze at him expectantly.

"Sorry," the Gran shook his head. "You said you were looking for work, I was only asking if you had any special skills. Someone big and strong like yourself…"

Aramis ignored the implied sexual attraction. "I have experience with security work. Do you know anyone who's hiring?"

The Gran glanced backwards at the crowd of beings around them. "Everyone needs security now, with all the immigrants coming in." His eyes narrowed in vague suspicion at those around him, apparently oblivious to the fact that he had been hitting on a refugee before his very eyes. "I work for Malastare Medical Corp, we just had one of our clinics hit. They lifted all of the bacta. We had to reorder hundreds of liters."

"Can you put in a word for me?" Aramis asked, placing his own hand on the Gran's back, causing the alien to flush. He didn't mind exploiting him if it could keep him from going broke. "My name is Ara...Arayen."

"Arayen," the Gran repeated. "Yeah, I'll let them know. Oh, I'm Jor'ja Aska." Aramis paused at the name, trying to remember his galactic etymology. Was Jor'ja a male or female name?

"Thanks, Jor'ja," he nodded. The announcer disappeared from the holoscreen and a series of pyrotechnic displays erupted from around the stage. After the smoke cleared the two fighters emerged from beneath the stands. One was a human, the other a Gran.

"The opening match to kick off this year's Pixelito Combat Festival features last year's champion, Leehal Jak, against a local favorite, Ask Ahal Loa," the announcer revealed. Aramis watched carefully as Leehal, a dark skinned human who appeared to be in his late twenties, waved to the crowd, receiving boos in return. Loa waved as well, turning the booing into an eruption of applause.

"The opening round will be hand-to-hand combat," the announcer said. The two combatants took their positions in the center of the circle and bowed respectfully to another. A bell was rung and Loa quickly ran towards Jak.

Loa opened the bout with a series of quick jabs towards the human's face. Jak took a step back, staying just out of reach. Loa stepped in with a left hook, too close and quick for Jak to get out of the way. Instead he slapped the gran's hand, turning it into a deflecting blow that had hardly any force to it. The gran responded with a right kick, aiming towards Jak's midsection, but he raised his own leg, taking the blow to his shin.

Aramis frowned as he watched the fight, finding something odd with the human's combat style. It looked eerily familiar. Jak never counter punched, despite several obvious openings appearing in the Gran's offense. And he never went on the offensive himself, turning every blow that he couldn't dodge into a glancing hit. It's almost like he is using the second lightsaber form, Soresu, adapted for hand-to-hand combat.

Jak's strategy was clearly to stay defensive and let his opponent tire out, although Aramis felt that passing up openings was extremely overconfident. Loa was clearly growing frustrated and gave up his quick paced attack, opting instead for powerful blows that Jak wouldn't be able to deflect. But Jak responded as well.

Loa aimed a powerful kick towards Jak's ribcage but the human answered with a powerful kick of his own, aiming for the Gran's knee. Loa's leg went out from underneath him and he crumbled to the floor. The crowd gasped but their champion got back to his feet, with Jak declining to follow up on his vulnerability. The human went back into a defensive posture.

Loa slapped his knee, knocking some feeling back into it, and then went back on the offensive. He feigned with a quick jab, and followed it up a kick towards Jak's knee, in an apparent attempt at retaliation. Jak dodged the jab, moving out of the way before it was even coming towards him. He took Loa's kick to the side of his thigh, but landed a left hook an instant later, sending the Gran stumbling backwards.

This isn't the second form anymore...its form five, Djem So. Aggressive defense followed by powerful counter-attacks, Aramis thought to himself.

Loa recovered and abandoned caution. He ran directly at Jak, attempting to tackle the human to the ground. The human dodged to the side, long before the Loa could bring his shoulder into him. Loa turned his forward momentum into a spin, and then into a graceful roundhouse kick, aiming to catch Jak in the back of the head. But Jak, without looking, ducked underneath the kick. He spun and aimed a light kick of his own at Loa as the Gran returned to a stable position. Loa went to block the kick with his knee but discovered that the kick was a feint much too late. His three eyes widened as Jak put a powerful punch directly into his duck-like jaw. Loa fell backwards like he had been hit with a stun blast, falling onto his back in the center of the ring. The fight was over.

Cries of disgust erupted from the crowd in the arena, and from the crowd of beings surrounding Aramis in the tavern.

"I knew Loa didn't stand a chance," Jor'ja sighed.

"It wasn't a fair fight," Aramis responded, still watching as Jak bent down to check on his opponent. Loa seemed groggy, but managed to sit upright as medical droids floated in from the locker room.

"You think it was fixed?" Jor'ja asked angrily, apparently taking offense. "This is Malastare, not some Hutt world. We don't fix fights, or podraces either."

"I didn't mean it was fixed, just that it wasn't...an even matchup. Loa did the best he could against an unbeatable opponent."

"Oh, Leehal Jak has lost matches before. He won the tournament last year, true, but he's lost matches in the round robin stage."

The matches that don't matter, Aramis thought. "When does the rest of the tournament start?"

"It doesn't start until next week. This fight was just to give everyone a taste before the open registration ends, to drum up excitement."

"Anyone can enter?" Aramis asked. "Is there an entry fee?"

"Five hundred credits. You get it back if you qualify for the elimination stages, and twenty five thousand goes to the winner. Why, you thinking on entering?" Jor'ja asked, laughing. "You're big and strong, sure. You might know how to fight. But not like them."

"We'll see," Aramis said, finishing off the last of his juice. He slapped a few credits onto the bar, which were immediately scooped up by one of the bartender's mechanical arms. I can afford five hundred credits.

oOoOo

Aramis stood facing towards the front of the clinic. It was late in the day and most of the appointments had already occurred. The clinic was a three story building on the east side of Port Pixelito, near the border between the business district and the slums. The white structure stood out amongst its neighbors, which consisted of a used speeder lot and a multi-story supermarket. It was urban, but not the kind that Aramis was used to. Here there was solid ground beneath your feet and open skies above, even if the air quality wasn't great.

The clinic was owned by Malastare Medical Corp., a conglomerate that specialized in medical research on non-human populations. Although it sounded nefarious, it fulfilled an extremely valuable niche. There were an uncountable number of species across the galaxy, and bacta treatment was just about the only form of medicine that was universal. If bacta didn't treat what ailed you, and you weren't human, you needed a specialist, and that's where Malastare Medical Corp. came in.

To his surprise Jor'ja's lead on a job had come through. The Gran had apologized profusely for his behavior when he had contacted him via comlink the next morning.

"I had been drinking heavily, it was the anniversary of my mother's death, she would be ashamed if she knew what I had been doing," he had said. Aramis had eventually confirmed Jor'ja's gender, although it really made no difference to him. He wasn't really consoled by the Gran's excuses...grief was no excuse for inexcusable behavior. But...he did need a job and so he had given him his forgiveness, whether he meant it or not.

Three days later Aramis was nearing his first paycheck. He had just paid his entry fee into the combat festival, and would soon be staring down another payment to the spaceport to keep his docking bay berth. Paying for the berth was incredibly more expensive than if he found some cheap apartment somewhere, but he wasn't willing to give up his ship.

The front door to the clinic slid open, and Aramis's eye's widened as a rutian Twi'lek woman entered. For a moment he thought she might be Jedi Master Aayla Secura, but no, she had been confirmed killed in the Emperor's purge. This Twi'lek wore a thick fur coat over her shoulders and aurodium bracelets on each wrist. She wore a black unibody pantsuit, which fit tightly against her skin and exposed her midriff.

Her eyes widened as well when she noticed him. "Well, hello," she said, her basic featuring a heavy rylothian accent. "I don't think I've ever met a pantoran before. Are you new here?"

"Yeah. Just started a few days ago."

"You're an upgrade. The last guard on evening detail was an obnoxious human from Eraidu. They think they're from the core, but they aren't fooling anyone."

"That's why they adopted the fake accent," Aramis agreed, letting his natural core accent out a little more.

"That's right," she smiled. She stepped a little closer, gaining a better look at him, her eyes squinting slightly. It was then that Aramis noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She was sick. Of course she is, she's going to a clinic, he thought inwardly.

Movement from the hall diverted their attention from each other. A Mon Calamari doctor emerged into the waiting room. Aramis recognized Doctor Hilgral, who had a prosthetic arm which she had outfitted with numerous medical instruments. Unlike most doctors she didn't need a medical droid in order to perform an examination.

"Miss Uraala, it's nice to see you again," Hilgral said, nodding in her species' approximation of a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Ship shape doc," Uraala smiled, her lekku twitching slightly.

"You can head back now. We've got your bath ready," Hilgal said. "Arayen, you can lock up and head home," she added, using the hasty alias he had given Jor'ja and been forced to stick with ever since. "Miss Uraala is our last patient for the day."

Aramis went to the front door and waved a security card from his pocket in front of its sensor. The door buzzed and two heavy blast doors slammed shut.

"Are you leaving?" Uraala asked in mock sadness. "Why not let him come back and join us?"

"Um...ma'am, Arayen is not a medical professional. He's a security guard," Hilgral said, her barabels twitching nervously.

"Obviously," she said, eyeing Aramis. "I don't care," she shrugged. "I don't like taking the bath alone.

"That's against policy," Aramis shook his head. Despite having the job handed to him after going through mild sexual harassment, he had studied the clinic's policy handbook. After working in the Jedi Temple Security Force and training under Commander Yen, he had become a fan of rules.

"Uraala, head back. Arayen will accompany you," Hilgal said reluctantly. The Twi'lek smiled mischievously at Aramis and headed down the hall.

"I really shouldn't do this," Aramis said as Hilgal approached him. Years of Jedi rules were bouncing in his head, and gone though the Jedi may be, he hadn't quite abandoned their ways.

"She, and her family, are very wealthy donors to Malastare Medical. We will do whatever she asks," Hilgal said, placing her non-prosthetic arm on his back. He watched as an instrument on her prosthetic arm twirled. He wondered if she was scanning him. He also wondered if she knew he wasn't a Pantoran.

"Alright," he finally gave in. He would do what he had to. The universe was no longer safe for Jedi idealism. He followed Hilgal through the hall and into the deeper recess of the clinic. She came to a security door, similar to the blast door at the front door of the clinic, and waved her security card in front of it.

"Wait in here," she ordered. Aramis entered the room and the security door closed behind him. The room was about the same size as the waiting room, but much nicer. The walls were a soothing light blue color, and the floor a soft spongy material he couldn't recognize. There were colorful flowers placed in the corners and incense burners hung from the ceiling. The room would have reminded him of meditation chamber in the Jedi Temple, were it not for the pool at its center.

The pool was not deep, probably barely knee high if he were to stand in it. Medical instruments lined the white rim, lights flitting on and off and scanners beeping softly. The pool was empty, although several holes in the inside indicated how it would be filled.

Another door, which blended seamlessly with the wall, opened behind him. Uraala entered the room, wearing now only a nerf fur bathrobe.

"Arayen," she said, a mischievous smile returning to her face. Her eyes stared into his, an inner light shining through despite her illness. Hilgal followed, her eyes buried in a datapad.

"We are going to have to concentrate the dosage," the Mon Calamari said, continuing a conversation that Aramis had missed the beginning of. From the way she worriedly gazed at her datapad he took it whatever exam she had given Uraala had gone badly.

"Do whatever you want," Uraala sighed. She shed her robe, without modesty, and got into the tub. "Don't avert your gaze Arayen, I didn't ask you to join me so you could stand like a tree in the corner."

Aramis obeyed, and watched her as she lay down in the liquid and turned to face him. She was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. But gazing at her broke his heart. Her body was covered in mottled flesh, dark purple blotches that otherwise marred her flawless skin.

Hilgal bent down and activated the pool. It hummed to life, lights flashing in quick succession. The vents opened and a silvery liquid began to fill the pool. The smell of bacta hit his nostrils, followed by an odd sensation at the back of his head that had nothing to do with the way Uraala gazed at him as she lay facing him.

As the pool filled the sensation grew stronger. They only thing he could compare it to was...was when he had infiltrated the Jedi Temple with Kylta and Commander Yen. It reminded him of the white tree in the ancient, abandoned part of the Temple, where the Force was so strong even he could feel it. That liquid teemed with the Force. But something felt off about it.

"What is that stuff?" he asked.

"It's a proprietary solution," Hilgal said simply.

"It's a witches brew," Uraala smiled, wriggling her toe around the liquid as it began to cover her torso. "Bacta, stem cells, some semi-autonomous nanites. And a bunch of weird materiel they gathered from all over the place."

"Uraala...he doesn't have anywhere near the clearance to even be in here, much less know about the treatment," Hilgal admonished. "I could be fired if my supervisors find out."

"They better not find out then," Uraala said. She slid her back down the side of the pool until her whole body was submerged, only the tips of her lekku visible.

Hilgal turned to leave, but grabbed Aramis' arm. "No one can know you came in here," she warned.

"I get it."

Hilgal glanced at Uraala, who was still submerged. "And don't go in the pool. Don't even touch the liquid."

"Okay."

"I'll be back in fifteen minutes. I need to monitor her data from the control center." Hilgal left through the concealed door.

Uraala emerged from the liquid and then drifted over towards him. She placed her forearms on the rim of the pool and rested her chin on them. "Come closer."

Aramis complied, but stayed just out of reach. "I don't mean to be rude. But you aren't contagious are you?"

"No, I'm not contagious," she shook her head. "But they barely know what this stuff will do to me, much less to you."

He sat near the pool and crossed his legs. He could the feel the Force radiating from the liquid.

"Arayen isn't your real name, is it?" she asked.

"How did you know?"

"The way your eyes hesitate when she called you by it. What's your real name?"

"It's Aramis."

"So similar to the real thing. Not a good idea."

"It came out inadvertently and I had to stick with it. What experience do you have with aliases?"

"You'd be surprised." There was a few moments of silence between them. Uraala closed her eyes, apparently resting as the liquid soaked into her pores.

"May I ask what's wrong with you?" Aramis asked, curiosity overtaking his sense of propriety.

"Sure," she said, smiling wearily even as she kept her eyes closed. "Most people are afraid of asking. During the war I was conducting some...family business. Moving goods around between Separatist and Republic worlds."

"That's not easy to do."

"No," she agreed. She leaned backwards and drifted on her back, allowing her body to float. "My family runs one of the best smuggling operations in the outer rim. We would could move anything, no matter how illicit. When the war started, moving everyday stuff became just as profitable. Even more, actually."

"But then something happened."

"Yeah. I had just finished apprenticing for my father, started going out on my own jobs. Had my own ship, my own crew. We were moving mundane supplies, foodstuff, medicine...I got greedy. I started slipping in some nasty stuff amongst the crates."

"Spice?"

"No...much worse. I don't suppose there is any harm in telling you." She sat upright in the pool and gazed at him carefully. "Nightsister artifacts," she said in a mockingly spooky voice.

Aramis went cold. "How did you get stuff like that off Dathomir?"

"You know who the Nightsisters are?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yes. They are Witches who deal in the dark side."

"That's right. How did you know that? Nobody knows about them."

"I know a lot of things," Aramis said darkly.

"Then you aren't just a good looking body, you've got a brain in that bald head of yours." Aramis blushed in spite of himself, his face going a darker shade of blue. "And you've got secrets bigger than mine."

"I'd rather not…"

"Your secrets are yours to keep. In exchange you have promise to hang out with me."

"Hang out?"

"Look good while standing next to me. Stare menacingly at those who would do me harm."

"You offering me a bodyguard position?"

"I can offer you a lot more than this place is paying."

"Alright. Deal." She held out her hand above the pool, and for a moment he reached out before hesitating. "Sorry, I don't think I can shake on it. No offense."

"None taken," she smiled. "No handshake necessary. It's probably a temporary position anyway." She glanced at the medical scanners.

"So...you never got to the part where the thing went wrong," Aramis pointed out.

"Right. Some Republic commandos attacked the meetup with my buyer, a Separatist commander. A missile hit my ship, it exploded, and I got showered with this weird energy. I've been dying ever since."

"I'm sorry."

"I brought it on myself."

Their conversation was interrupted by the return of Hilgal. She spotted Aramis sitting so close to the pool and angrily motioned for him to get back. He exchanged a knowing look with Uraala, got to his feet, and took a few steps backward.

Uraala emerged from the pool and Hilgal began speaking with her about her treatment. Aramis noticed that her barbels twitched. He knew from watching Akawa that it meant she was nervous. Uraala looked increasingly unhappy as the conversation continued. Eventually she angrily shooed Hilgal away and turned to Aramis, a gentle smile instantly returning to her face.

"I'm going to get dressed, and then get something to eat," she said. "You're coming with."

"Sounds great," Aramis said. He hoped that if Uraala paid well enough, he might be able to get a ship big enough for him to lay down in.