Chapter Seven

Aramis was thrilled to be back in a proper gymnasium again. The facility was similar to the areas in the Jedi Temple that specialized in physical training. It was equipped with weight lifting equipment, pedal bikes, punching bags, and gymnastics rings. At the center of the room was a hard mat, perfect for practice duels. In some ways this facility was actually nicer than the Jedi version. The Aven criminal family, to which Uraala belonged, lacked the Jedi propensity for austerity.

Aramis stared at the combatant across from him, a young Twi'lek man with green tinged skin. Uralla rung the and the Twi'lek charged at him, aiming a punch for his face. Before he could get in range Aramis struck out with a kick, striking him in the stomach. The Twi'lek went down, gasping for breath.

"Aww, come on cousin," Uraala called mockingly. "You said you could take him."

Aramis bent down and extended his hand, offering to help him to his feet, but his hand was batted away. "If you want advice...you shouldn't charge in like that," Aramis said. "You focused too much on my face, where your attack was going, ignoring the rest of my body."

"I don't want your advice, offworlder," the Twi'lek spat.

"If you can't last more than five seconds, get off the mat," Uraala ordered. "Arayen would be better off training with a bag," she said, using his cover name. The young man shot her a look that seemed a mix of anger and resentment, but he got to his feet and walked slowly towards the locker room.

"You said he was a good fighter...he's got potential. He moves well, he just doesn't think through his actions," Aramis said.

"That applies to more than just his fighting," Uraala smiled. She was more energetic today, having received another treatment the previous night. It was her third since Aramis had met her, almost a week ago, and he already knew that her energy would only last about twenty four hours before she became lethargic. Her treatment was staving off her illness, but it wasn't curing it. He suspected it was a problem that couldn't be treated with medicine. "And I said he thought he was a good fighter, not that he actually was one. He needs to be humbled a little bit before he gets older and starts getting some real responsibility."

"Maybe he thought he was a good fighter because his friends are afraid to hit back?" Aramis asked.

"There is probably some truth to that. His uncle...my father, is the most powerful crime lord in the system. Can you blame his friends?"

"Speaking of your father…"

"The dinner is still on," Uraala said, shaking her head before he could raise any further objection.

"Who brings a bodyguard to a family dinner?"

"In my family? You'd be surprised," Uraala said, laughing. She approached, barefooted, stepping lightly on the mat until she stood before him. She placed her hands on his. "You know you are more than just a bodyguard."

"Well…" he began. She kissed him, cutting off any protestations. He closed his eyes, enjoying the softness of her lips. He breathed in her scent, a mixture of spice and sweetness. With an underlay of the bacta odor her treatment caused. Smelling the bacta gave him new sensations, one he associated with being in the presence of that strange tree deep within the Jedi Temple.

She broke off the kiss and stared into the pupils of his black eyes, a big smile playing across her face. "You should take a shower and get dressed. I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"Which won't be a surprise if I tell you about it. Go and hurry up."

"Yes ma'am," Aramis said, already replaying the kiss in his head.

oOoOo

Wind whipped through the air as they sat in the back of one of Uraala's speeders. Growing up and living with the Jedi had taught him to get by with only a handful of possessions, but even he was aware that most people didn't own eight speeders. Normally Uraala would be flying, but she was restricted from doing so by her doctors. Instead a Rodian flew for her, although she wasn't complaining about it today. She sat leaning against Aramis' shoulder in the back seat, her hand entwined with his.

They were on their way to the spaceport, speeding through the air high above Pixelito's streets. The spaceport, one of three located in the city, was arrayed like a series of concentric circles. The circles, around which numerous ships of all sizes docked, intertwined in an array that reminded him of the petals of a flower. It was rather beautiful.

The speeder slowed and descended, arriving at a v.i.p landing pad on the upper level of one of the rings. Aramis hopped out of the back first and then turned to help Uraala out as she stumbled a bit over the speeder's door. They left the Rodian behind with the speeder and entered the busy spaceport, which was crowded with middle of the day traffic.

There were members of every species present, and suddenly Aramis felt like he was back on Coruscant. "Where is the surprise?" he asked.

"Just follow me," she answered coyly. She wore one of her customary fur coats, this time over the the top of a more utilitarian business dress. Gradually, as they got know each other, Aramis had noticed she had begun dressing less ostentatiously. Apparently she had realized she didn't need to dress up in order to impress him.

They passed a visitor area of the spaceport that included a sundry shop and a non-alcoholic bar. Vidscreens above the bar show a fleet of Republic...no, Imperial...warships hovering above a forested island. It was the invasion of Kashyyyk, being covered on a holonet broadcast from Coruscant.

"Hold on," Aramis said, turning towards the screens.

"...Imperial troops have taken control of the capital Rwookrrorro, as well as major cities Awrathakka and Kachirho," a human correspondent was saying.

"What prompted the takeover?" the anchor asked.

"A separatist plot amongst the Wookie government whipped local militias against the Clone battalions stationed there after the battle of Kashyyyk," the correspondent answered. The view changed, this time showing hundreds of wookie prisoners being led to into an Acclamator assault transport. "The militia responsible for the uprising will be brought to Imperial criminal courts offworld…"

"Those aren't militia, those are civilians," Aramis said, shaking his head in disgust.

"They are enslaving them…" Uraala said, just as upset as he was. "Trust me, I'm a Twi'lek. I know a slave round up when I see one."

"I should've known the Empire wasn't going to stop with the Jedi…" Aramis said. Uraala looked at him curiously. They hadn't spoken of his past yet. She hadn't brought up the subject, as she didn't want to risk pushing him away with too many questions.

"Come on, let's go," she said, taking him by the hand and leading him away from the visitor area. They walked around the ring-like spaceport in silence, hand in hand. Eventually they came to an escalator and she led him downwards to the the lower floor. A short while later Aramis suddenly realized where they were headed...the docking bay that his little transport still sat in.

His apprehension grew until they arrived at the docking bay doors outside of the bay he still had under reservation. Uraala released her hand from his grip and withdrew a passcard from a hidden pocket inside of her fur coat. "Don't worry," she said, misreading his sudden anger. "I didn't steal your passcard. When you're an Aven, there are certain people you can talk to that will get you inside of any door."

"That's not what I'm worried about," he whispered. The doors opened, revealing his docking bay. But his ship was no longer inside of it.

"Where's my ship?" he asked, his voice lower than she had ever heard it.

"I bought you a new one," she said. "When you showed me the transport you were living out of...no bodyguard of mine will live like that."

"I...look, this is amazing, but I need to know what you did with my ship. Right now," he said, his brow furrowed.

"Are you really telling me you were attached to that thing? The bathroom in my apartment was bigger."

"It's the not the ship itself I'm concerned about...it's what I had hidden in it," Aramis said between gritted teeth. "What did you do with it?"

"Relax, your ship is fine," she sighed. "I had it moved to a family lot. It's probably safer there than it is here."

Aramis let out a heavy breath. "Alright, I suppose that's fine. I just wish you would've told me beforehand."

"Yeah, sorry," Uraala said. "Maybe this was a little impulsive, even by my standards. I should've have thought things through a little bit."

"It's fine," Aramis said, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "So...new ship. It looks beautiful," he said, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"It's a Hyrotii Crescent-class," she said. She walked into the docking bay towards the ship. It was the size of a medium freighter, shaped like a crescent moon with its forward swept wings. It's hull was polished durasteel, reflecting the image of Aramis and Uraala as they approached. "I also lied, just a little bit. I didn't buy this ship for you...I already owned it. It's my favorite, and I'm giving it to you."

"Uraala…" Aramis said. "You don't have to do this. I was fine with my tiny ship," he said with a slight laugh.

"I want to. I'm not going to be needing it much longer, and I don't want to pass it on to one of my siblings or cousins. I want you to have it." Despite her smile there was a sadness in her eyes.

"Uraala, you shouldn't talk like that. You're not going to die."

"Yes, I am," she said. She blinked away a few tears and then smiled even more cheerfully. "Come on, let me give you a tour."

oOoOo

Aramis squirmed in the formal suit that Uraala had picked out for him. The turbolift hummed softly beneath them as they sped upwards. The transparisteel window behind them offered a grand view of Pixelito City's business district, the other skyscrapers glinting in the last vestiges of the sunset. He had never worn a suit before, especially not one as nice as this. The Jedi idea of formality was a new robe. Maybe a little polish on the lightsaber.

"How did you get my measurements?" Aramis asked. Uraala likewise was dressed up, wearing a silver iridescent dress that complemented her blue skin. Her dress was not revealing however...she wasn't comfortable revealing the blotting that marred her skin. "I have my ways," she smiled, keeping her gaze on the door. Aramis didn't need eye contact to read her expression. Her lekku twitched rhythmically, the head tail equivalent of an uncontrollable grin.

The doors of the lift opened and they emerged into a corridor of black marble and aurodium inlay. A security guard nodded towards Uraala as they passed. They exited the hall and arrived in a richly decorated sitting room. A huge window along the wall offered another expansive view of the horizon. Although he knew this high rise was much shorter than any on Coruscant, the lack of other buildings crowding around made it seem just the opposite.

The sitting room was filled with Twi'leks, most of them rutian like Uraala, although there were a few with green or orange skin. Aramis spotted Uraala's cousin, the one he had brought down with a single kick earlier in the morning. He spotted Aramis as well and whispered something into the ear of the older Twi'lek that stood beside him. Neither of them bothered to hide the cruel stares they cast in his direction.

Aramis spotted a handful of bodyguards standing against the wall, each of them gazing absently, as if they weren't paying attention to the party. Having spent plenty of time on guard duty himself, he knew their detachment was a show, especially in an indoor setting like this. He spotted a bit of empty wall and moved to occupy it, but Uraala grabbed him by the forearm and led him towards the center of the room.

"Father," Uraala said, bowing her head slightly to the overweight Twi'lek who stood at the center of the room.

"Darling," her father answered. He enveloped Uraala in a quick hug and then kissed her softly on the cheek. Aramis noticed a bit more sweetness in the kiss than might be normal. The father was clearly lamenting her illness, savoring every moment he had left with her.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet," she said. "This is Arayen," she said, using his cover name. Aramis was grateful for her discretion. "Arayen, this is my father."

"Hmm, well met," her father said, offering his hand. He didn't look thrilled to be introduced to his daughter's bodyguard just like any other guest. Aramis took his hand, not letting any of his own reluctance show. "My name is Palor Aven."

"Nice to meet you Mr. Aven."

"A Core Worlds accent. But you're a Pantoran? I can't say I've met one of your kind before."

"My people have adopted the Core accent," Aramis lied. He actually had no idea what accent Pantoran's had. He should probably figure that out if he was going to keep passing himself off as one. "They think it makes them sound more well-to-do, and less like the Outer Rimmers that we are."

"Well, I can't blame them," Palor said, his own Rylothian accent suddenly becoming more pronounced. "The only thing worse than a Core worlder's superiority complex is a rimmers inferiority complex."

The other family members laughed at his joke, except for Uraala, who clearly wanted to steer the conversation away from Aramis' background.

"So," Palor continued. "What brings you to Malastare?"
"The combat festival," Uraala interjected. "He's competing."
"Is that right?" Palor asked. He suddenly seemed to understand her interest in him, although he really didn't understand it at all. "Is that why you showed my nephew the ropes? How hard did you say he kicked you, Tyrapa?"

Uraala's cousin looked more uncomfortable than ever, and he avoided their gaze, as he suddenly became angry. "The stomach," Tyrapa said, his lekku twitching uncomfortably.

"Uh, brother, I don't think…" Tyrapa's father began.

"Oh, come off it," Palor shook his head. "The kid needs someone to toughen him up a bit." Now everyone in the room was uncomfortable.

"Well, I'm starving," Uraala said, cutting through the tension. "Is dinner almost ready?"

"I...yes, I'll make sure it's on its way," Palor said, glancing angrily towards the dining room, in overreaction to Uraala's question. Aramis didn't know if he'd always been so accommodating towards his daughter, or if it was a more recent development. He tended to believe the latter.

"I apologize for my father," Uraala said towards her uncle. "You know he thinks highly of Tyrapa."

"Not as highly as he thinks of you," her uncle muttered. The elder smiled towards Aramis, his pointed teeth looking slightly predatory. "My name is Charro."

"Nice to meet you," Aramis said. "Your son is a good fighter. Just could use a good teacher," he added, attempting to defuse any hard feelings.

"He's had good teachers," Charro snarled, the handshake suddenly growing slightly tense.

"The appetizer course is ready," Palor called from the edge of the dining room. "Main course will be ready before we are are."
"Thanks father," Uraala answered. She glanced around the room to all of her relatives, most of whom were staring at the interaction between Aramis and Charro. "Shall we?"

The dining room was a long room, styled in the same black marble as the rest of the apartment. A single table, also black, ran the length of it. Palor took the head of the table, near the window. Uraala took the next seat to him, on the right hand side. Aramis hesitated as the other family members sat, making sure that the unoccupied chair next to Uraala was indeed meant for him.

He took his seat just as waiters, a mix of rodians, humans, and a bith, carried out trays of appetizers from the kitchen. A plate was lowered in front of his face, revealing some kind of deep fried pastry. He watched as the others bit into it, using their hands, and copied them. He found the inside of the pastry was filled with cheese.

He glanced at the Twi'lek seated next to him, a woman who appeared very similar to Uraala, except for her eyes, which were slightly rounder. They could be sisters, he thought.

"Hi," the woman said, noticing his gaze. "I'm Virina."

"Sisters?" Aramis asked, motioning towards Uraala.

"Cousins," Uraala said, leaning forward. "On my father's side. How is the little one?"

Aramis glanced downwards, suddenly realizing that Virina was pregnant. "We just found out she's a girl," Virina announced.

"Do you have a name yet?" Aramis asked.

"Viera," Virina revealed, smiling as she placed her hand over her belly.

"It's beautiful," Uraala said, nodding cheerfully.

Aramis spotted the waiters entering the dining room once again, and he hurriedly took the last bite of his pastry before they took his plate. They replaced it with a bowl of steaming noodles. He took a careful sip using the ceramic spoon left in the bowl, finding them spicy and sweet at the same time.

"So, Arayen, you're a fighter?" Palor asked. Every member of the family dropped their own conversations to stare at him. The stares from Charro and Tyrapa were less friendly.

"That's right," Aramis nodded.

"What styles are you trained in?"

"I studied Echani martial arts," he answered truthfully. When the Jedi had dropped him from the classes for those who would soon become Padawans, he had replaced their training with non-Jedi lessons. "As wall as several combat styles utilizing melee weapons."

"Any fencing?" Palor followed up. Aramis paused as Uraala's father gazed at him. He very much wished he had the ability to read minds, like a Jedi.

"Yes, quite a bit," he nodded.

"Very good, you sound qualified," Palor said. "Where did you find this one?" he asked, looking towards Uraala.

"He was working as security for the clinic," Uraala revealed.

"Someone with your qualifications working odd jobs?" Palor asked. Aramis suddenly realized Uraala's father was cleverer than he let on.

"I worked on the security detail of a diplomat during the war," Aramis said, quickly concocting a cover story. "During the battle of Coruscant...well, my employer suddenly didn't need my services anymore. Because of political concerns I had to look for work elsewhere...and that's what drew me to Malastare. The clinic was just short term work until the tournament started."

"Ah, I see," Palor nodded, seemingly buying the story. "Well, good luck. I'm putting my money on Lehal Jak."

"Not a bad bet," Aramis nodded. "I watched him in the opening bout."

"He's humble too," Palor said, laughing. "I suppose you're the type that let your fighting speak for itself."

"Winning speaks for itself," Aramis said.

"Well put," Palor agreed.

Aramis changed the subject by digging into his noodles, which had cooled enough that he could quickly eat them. The rest of the dinner continued relatively easily. Uraala's father occasionally engaged him in conversation, but the rest of the family demanded enough of his attention that he couldn't focus solely on Aramis. For his part, Aramis kept to himself, speaking only when spoken to. He spent the moments he was unengaged mentally going over his cover story, memorizing the parts he had already spoke of and making sure it all fit together convincingly.

Eventually he noticed that Uraala was beginning to look fatigued, although she was trying not to show it.

"Are you feeling alright?" Aramis whispered. Although only she could hear his voice Charro glanced over knowingly. Her uncle was keeping a close eye on her.

"Yes," Uraala said sternly. "I'm fine."

Palor noticed her speaking. He had been so involved in conversation he had almost forgotten his daughter's condition. "You can take off whenever you like, sweetheart," he said. "If you're beginning to feel tired…"

"I feel fine," Uraala spat angrily. Aramis noticed she was sweating, even though it wasn't hot in the room.

"Well, I'm feeling unwell," Aramis lied. "I don't think my stomach is quite used to the spices on Malastare yet."

Uraala glanced at him and realized he was attempting to cover for her. "Fine, we can go," she said coldly. They got up from the table, Uraala wobbling slightly on her feet. Her father stood and they exchanged a quick hug. A few moments later they descended the turbolift in silence. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Then maybe we should work on some silent signal," Aramis said. "You're clearly not feeling well, and everyone could see it."

"Only after you pointed it out," she said angrily.

"Was I supposed to wait until you passed out at the table before saying anything?"

"No, of course not," she said, taking a deep breath. "But there is more going on than you know."

"I think I've got a good grasp of it."

"Oh, yeah? Why don't you try saying it."

"You were the heir to the family business," Aramis began. "Because of your sickness, Charro is positioning his son as the heir instead. But your father isn't happy with Tyrapa. Which he alluded to with not much subtlety when we first arrived. That's why your uncle and cousin are so upset I made him look weak this morning."

"Okay, you did pretty good," Uraala agreed reluctantly. "My father wouldn't be happy with anyone except for me, by the way. It has very little to do with Tyrapa's capabilities."

"I don't know Tyrapa very well yet...but it might have something to do with it," Aramis said.

"Yeah, maybe," Uraala said, finally smiling a little bit. She leaned against Aramis' body, allowing him to wrap her up in his arms. She closed her eyes as the lift descended. "I'm going to have to go in for treatment every day now...I don't know how much longer I can keep this up."

"I'll fly you," Aramis said. "You can sleep on the way, and I'll be with you the whole time." He kissed her gently on the cheek.

"Well, alright, then," she agreed, her voice growing soft as she began to fall asleep. By the time the lift reached the parking garage at the foundation of the enormous building Aramis had to carry her, but he didn't mind. She wrapped her arms around his neck and slept as he made his way to her speeder.