AN: This took too long! Finished. Important to note: I aged Mission Vao to eighteen for plot, there are three Interdict cruisers patrolling Taris, and Brejik is an ass (but that would be for next chapter I think).

Special thanks to vitork and Mandalore the Freedom. Appreciate your input!

The Upper City was breathtakingly beautiful. As Heero and Wufei traversed the Upper City walkways – bridges that connected to large platforms that served as intersections to various shops and buildings -Heero could not help but look in awe, at Taris' magnificent architecture. The buildings rose in arrogant triumph, a resplendence made to always look high, to surmount the sky until they reached the glimmering stars. They were a part of a golden age that now waned under the span of the greater galaxy.

The tall, dome-shaped, spires speared into the clouds, their windows reflecting beautifully the shimmering and lustrous glow of the setting sun. The red-domed roof tops when touched by the waning sun, glittered like a newly-minted bronze shield, slowly spreading to all the roofs in a harmonized spectrum dance.

As dusk spread through the city, electric lights brightened into existence. Blue, yellow, and pale white lights painted the buildings in luminescence in-between their metal coverings, as if the lights were emerging from the buildings themselves. They were, in unison, a harmony of iridescence.

The city was alive amid the occupation.

On the platforms, a cacophony of noise greeted the pilots as droids of various sizes and shapes – bipedal, rectangular, and balls – buzzed and beeped around the levels, offering, by their programming, services for the human population. And the humans themselves, of course, sauntered in their immaculate decadence and wealth arrogantly. They declared themselves as Taris's elite, wearing pristine robes, tunics and dresses. The humans walked with a sense of entitlement, claiming, in their gait, Taris's elegance. Their usual faces, set in condescension and egos, were only broken by their new master. For now their wide eyes and frightened looks collapsed their sheltered cages of affluent walls. The sky, the heights of Tarisian wealth and power, could be caged.

The Sith had arrived and struck the Tarisian nobility's civilized bubble with a crushing fear. They were conquerors shrouded in glossy silver armor. The armor covered a black body suit with black gloves, and a thick one-way black visor, obscuring any sense of humanity. They were faceless terrors, the soldiers of conquest, licensed to kill for the Sith Empire.

Their armor shined from the setting sun a reddish-silver, and to Heero, it could have been the blood spilt or coming, while occupying Taris. Although the fusion of color looked warm, the metal appeared cold and menacing. The Sith hounded the walkways like ravenous dogs hungry for blood, their hands cradling their standard blaster-carbines and other necessities for siege and destruction, in an overly-anxious and forceful manner, thundering in their patrols. Where they walked, the Tarisians fled.

Heero and Wufei made their way to a bridge connecting the human residential area to the business sector. A crowd swarmed and passed by them as they approached, in the middle, a transport station. They waited a few minutes at the station, watching kids laughing joyfully, while their parents scolded them: they knew the dangers of the surrounding oppressors. The parents did not know what could set them off, and by chance, their children's ignorance, used as a means of provocation, could enact brutal suppression. One could never know that a sudden change in the air could be a death sentence, the Sith the Tarisians', judge, jury and executioner.

Two Sith officers stood at attention across the opening of the transport line, their hands clenching their blasters. They looked eager for bloodshed, but their obedience to their training, so far, restrained their violent urges. Heero could feel the tension, their bloodlust, as if it was a physical manifestation - and it could have been, considering the subdued mood of the Tarisians.

Heero walked to the railing at the other end of the station and leaned against its cool surface. Hovercrafts and vehicles flew the open skies like a swarm of well-controlled bees, zooming and roaming the hive called Taris. The crafts landed on other platforms that adorned city buildings.

Compared to Earth, the existences of atmospheric, commercialized vehicles used by citizens, besides mobile suits, were nonexistent. Even the colonies, as advanced as they were, never considered any possibilities for atmospheric transportation besides spaceships, helicopters, and airplanes. Then again, the colonies were economically restricted by the Earth Alliance's punitive measures. The older colonies suffered the worst, for they did not have the economy to maintain their colony. Reduced to dilapidation and degradation, they decayed and OZ secretly sought to gas those rebellious to their rule.

A breeze blew Heero's wild, brown hair. He closed his eyes in relaxation, taking in the sounds of Taris, until a voice came up from behind him. "The Sith reek of bloodlust, I can feel it."

Heero peeked open a curious blue eye at Wufei. He took the place on his right, eyes ever watchful of the busy ecumenopolis. Wufei watched the city with a critical gaze that absorbed everything in sight. Nothing escaped from his sight; the subtleties and intricacies of Taris were all processed with a calculative mind. He moved his eyes up, and Heero followed their travel to a silhouette looming in the sky. The enormous ship hovered over the Upper City in space, its presence ominous and terrifying, if one were to look up. There were now, he had learned from a Holonet news report, two more patrolling in different sectors of Taris.

"They're waiting for an opportunity to go wild."

"They won't do anything yet," Heero said, his eyes drifting to the Sith guards at the station. They stood still as statues, but Heero knew they were aware, their eyes hounding the Tarisians behind those black, obscured visors.

"Don't be so sure. Bullies love their own self-aggrandizement, their own vindictiveness, especially when they force it on the weak."

"It's better to be uninvolved right now, Wufei. I have no need of my – or yours, especially – face plastered all over the city. We'll fight, but when the moment is right."

"The whole situation reminds me of OZ and the colonies," said Wufei, his tone touching on something tangible, perhaps a feeling of nostalgia – of their own subjugation under the Earth Alliance. On the surface, his tone was calm, but underlain, in his heartache and pain, anger tremored.

"It is a military occupation," Heero replied bluntly.

"I know. It brings back bitter memories." Wufei closed his eyes.

"OZ and the Earth Alliance... and Dekim… if they had this kind of power in the beginning, that this Darth Malak wields, to crush star systems, the world would tremble before them," said Heero after a pause.

"The kind of power that needs to be silenced forever," Wufei said thoughtfully, opening his dark eyes, and he turned to view the city over the rail. "Treize had it once, but his shortcomings diminished most of it until the Eve's War."

Heero merely nodded in understanding. These guys, the Sith, sounded worse than OZ at their prime. OZ took no liberties in planting disinformation, genocide, and oppression of nations. Treize's legacy was absolutely ruthless, but he held finesse, if one could call it, compared to the Romefeller Foundation, and Dekim Barton's cruelty was another side Heero would never like to see. He still bore the scars from such cruelty, physical and mental and emotional. Heero wondered if they were what the galaxy had succumbed to, complete subservience to bloodthirsty individuals.

A bell rang through the station, signaling the arrival of the Tarisian bus. The bus hovered into the station and landed on the platform. The two pilots, with the ever-growing and shoving crowd, entered the vehicle. Finding no place to sit, they stood. The bus hovered into the air, careening a bit before re-centering itself, and then accelerated into the mass of organized transports. The bus weaved in and out of traffic, passing endless spires until, finally, landed at its destination: the southern district of the Upper City – an area that was further than the residential district, but near the Tarisian Senate. The Upper City South, known as the business district, contained various buildings belonging to Taris's bureaucracies and industries. It also housed the military and the elevator into the Lower City.

The two immediately left the station and headed a distance, on another large and busy platform, toward a large arch that passed through the military base. Inside the arch, stood three Sith soldiers standing at attention. Dim yellow light underneath the arch shined a malevolent glow on their armor.

Three soldiers, thought Heero, not bad odds. Although he was not one for immediate violence when infiltrating – unless he had no choice, for instance, moving from point A to B, like his mission to assassinate the Gundam engineers -, he was confident that he and Wufei could handle the Sith soldiers. They were Gundam pilots after all – reckless fools, as Duo Maxwell would say.

Heero and Wufei eyed each other briefly before, with confidence and acting bestowed on elite infiltrators, they walked toward the first soldier, who was pacing back and forth mechanically. He stopped walking with their beckoning steps, baring his weapon at the trespassers.

A voice distorted by the soldier's helmet spoke in an automated and cold tone, "Halt. State your business, citizens. If you have no business, then move along."

"We have business with the Lower City, you see," Wufei answered, pulling their datapads out from his pocket and flashing it in the Sith's face, "we're a medical team under Zelka Forn's guidance. We've been tasked to do business with the medical clinic in the Lower City. I'm sure you've heard of the recent casualties by the Swoop-bike gang war."

The Sith roughly grabbed the pilots' datapads and brought it to his helmet. A long silence pervaded their small space with the accompanying sounds of moving vehicles and heavy and impatient feet, longing for a confrontation. The Sith bobbed his head up and down, scrolling through the datapads. Heero's hand drifted slowly to his blaster on his waist. He was beginning to think that they would have force their way in, as the Sith continued to stare at their screens. The deadly silence was compounded with the attention of the other two Sith, their body language threatening – weapons raised and legs spread in intimidation. Wufei glanced clandestinely at Heero, meeting his eye, before returning to the preoccupied soldier. Then, suddenly, the Sith looked up.

"Stay here," he ordered, as he converged with the two Sith guarding the barred door that led to the Lower City. Heero watched the soldiers talk briefly; their voices hushed to a whisper. One of the soldiers, wearing a blue uniform, had a grim look before nodding to something said by their mediator. The Sith returned, his blaster lowered a fraction.

"Everything checks out. I'd give you a bit of warning. Stay away from the Swoop gangs if you can, they'll attack anyone, even Sith and neutral citizens such as yourselves. Also: make sure that you're armed; those alien thugs, if they can, would rob the shirts off your dead bodies before they even turn cold if it could make a profit."

He returned their datapads and backed away, resuming his station. The pilots walked towards the door, the Sith giving them a bit of space, as its mechanical gears unlocked the newly attached padlocks. They stepped into the elevator, the doors shutting loudly and locking and barring any attempt for escaping. They descended to the next level, the shadows of the shaft engulfing the small compartment, and waiting, waiting for its new victims to be consumed in the madness and sorrow of the Lower City.

The transport bus raced through the evening sky, passing the teeming and imposing spires and busy crafts on Taris's airways, roaring by them in impatience; a kind of impatience that was all too common among Tarisians: They were always busy! Their outside lives reflected this very culture – partying, shopping, business and industry, anything to enrich their lives in wealth.

Inside, the occupants' incessant chatter that seemed to provoke an air of alarm – or anxiety masked in jubilance – increased in volume, reaching the ears of Ina, who was quietly gazing at the city. The duo had exited the abandoned Residential building and made their way to a bus station. From there, they took the bus to the Cantina, hoping to gain more information on the Republic escape pods and Bastila Shan.

Fear, which could stab the heart, and, chillingly, paralyze the body, remained the culprit of the passengers' thoughts. Even without the Sith with them, the upper class Tarisians were unsettled by their aggressive appearance to their world. And although they tried to forget these conquerors – by leaving towards the entertainment sector, to lose themselves in escapism, the intoxication of lights and drunkenness – it still crawled and lingered in the back of their minds.

To the two Republic fugitives, the atmosphere was palpable, which only seemed to grow – impatient, fidgeting, raising voices an octave higher, furtive glances, and tightened mouths, and unanswered questions left hanging in the air. Suspicion was king, but no one dared, publicly – or in the right mind – to admit such an accusation to the wrong sort: usually aliens, found mysteriously on Lower City floors, their bodies crushed or hidden in dumpsters, to offworlders, or the occupying Sith.

Irritated, Ina withheld a sigh. She thought she could find some peace of mind from her captain's perfidious attitude, but she could not help but feel her irritation simmer by the disdainful and curious eyes of the bus's passengers. Men, women, and children discreetly looked her way, noticing her odd outfit; an outfit of an outsider, a foreigner, an offworlder. Most would have gone in a fury if she was an alien, alone.

She could not help the way she looked. Being a scout wasn't a glamourous occupation. It usually never paid enough – the near-suicidal jobs did - and the food was terrible. However, what compounded the issue was her superior officer. He, too, was observing her. He had been since they had left the Tarisian downtown apartments. Carth's eyes were dark and calculating as he sat on the crowded bus beside her. He intermittently would glance at her and frown, muscles in his cheeks tightening and deepening, as if pulled and strained by an anchor.

A slow smile descended upon the dark-skinned woman's lips, quickly turning into a smirk. She faced Carth, now, eyes glinting mischievously. "See something you like," she teased, "or do you stare distrustfully at everyone you meet?"

Carth's face turned to puzzlement. He closed his eyes briefly and a slow chuckle built its way in his throat. It was humorless. "Only those that pique my interest."

"In what way?" Ina questioned, her head tilting a bit, like an eager child.

Carth peered at her intently, leaning forward. Ina could see swollen bags underneath his eyes that hung like clouds. He kept his voice to a whisper. "I find it strange that a scout like you survived her way through the invading Sith party unscathed. It's quite an astounding feat, considering the odds you faced. And yet here you are…"

Ina knew by his tone what Carth was implying. "What are you trying to say, Carth?" Ina said lightly, though, his name came out harshly, like a razor's edge. "That I shouldn't have survived?"

"Yeah, maybe you shouldn't," he whispered suspiciously, almost rhetorically, but his eyes widened in horror at his mistake. Ina sneered at the man. How dare he question her on her survival on the Endar Spire; and the lives that, selflessly, paid the ultimate price for her to reach the man sitting before her!

Trask, she thought gloomily. If it was not for him, she would have not made it out of alive. From their cabin to the bridge and the escape pods, they battled fiercely the invading Sith party. She had not really seen much of the man because of their separate shifts, so she had a hard time figuring out his identity, besides someone frightening the stars out of her. He had a booming voice, and his severe and stricken expression didn't make their encounter better.

Amid the chaos and rain of blaster bolts to the violent shuddering of the ship, they stuck it together, defending each other's backs while Captain Onasi instructed them to the escape pods. Climatically, and tragically, in the end, only Ina was able to meet Carth at the escape pods. A Dark Jedi ambushed them on their way to the pods, and Trask, knowingly, sacrificed his life for her survival, to find Bastila, because the Republic needed that hope if they were to survive the war against the Sith.

His final act was the for the Republic through and through, and she would be damned if Carth's distrust would get in the way of the mission; even if she had to do this alone, she would make sure she would find Bastila. She owed Trask that much.

Carth tried to retract his words. "No… I mean… I did not mean that… I mean… damn it!"

"Look, Carth, I don't have time for your suspicion. Our mission was clear - find Bastila Shan. If I can't do this with you, I'll do it on my own."

"I know, I know." He sighed. "It's just hard to understand that someone such as yourself had these kinds of remarkable feats. Your records, I have to say, are quite astounding. Your affiliation with numerous alien languages, your battle skills, and even your knowledgeability of planets and hyperspace routes wasn't something I had foreseen from a person like you on this mission.

"I looked at your skirmishes on the Endar Spire through the camera system and pondered over and over how a fresh recruit could contest the Sith boarding party. It just didn't make sense. Come to think of it – a lot of things didn't make sense. When the Jedi recruited you, they did not tell us a damn thing! Instead, they made demands. They practically took over the whole operation, leaving us in the dark when they boarded," he said angrily.

Ina gave a snort which furrowed Carth's already scrunched eyebrows. "Then how is it my fault? The Jedi came to me. They hired me for this mission."

Ina was afraid if Carth's eyebrows went any higher it would reach past the stratosphere, and maybe hit Darth Malak's ship, causing it to explode, thus ending the war. She chuckled inwardly at the image. If only things like that could happen, the war would have been won. It would had saved the galaxy more lives.

"What do you mean?"

"Nuh-uh," she wagged her finger playfully. "We all have our secrets, and our secrets are what we cling to when we know that we're all that we have to trust. I'm not ready to divulge such revelations to a person I barely know, and I'm sure you're not either. Right now, we need to focus on the mission."

Carth agreed rather reluctantly, muttering something along the lines of "We'll see." Ina noticed the man had trust issues, and she hoped that this would not come to bite in her ass. It probably would. The man was too uptight and whatever demons he had, he sure could not overcome them. She could see it in his dark eyes. His demons were alive, and they haunted Carth as if they were corporal manifestations standing beside him.

Ina sighed. By the galaxies and stars, I need a better job.

Ina felt the bus land on the platform with a loud thump. The doors opened and the raving crowd left into Taris's brightly eclectic entertainment sector. Neon signs glowed as brightly as supernovas, showering the pedestrians in shimmering light that blinded if one looked too long into it. It was a carnival of lights and sounds and moving bodies that worked in orchestration with the sector. Ina noticed some drunks were staring at the lights, gesticulating and pointing, blinded by the light, jumping up and down, much to the onlookers' amusement. However, silence descended in the area like death.

She and Carth moved to the front of the crowd, elbowing and shoving people to get there. The crowd north of them parted slowly as two armored Sith soldiers approached the inebriated trio. One of the trio decided to point at the Sith, jokingly calling them names until, mouth slacked in fear, the Sith pointed their blasters and fired. Ina was about run to their aid when Carth held her back forcefully.

"Look," he whispered.

And she looked. The drunks staggered backwards, the alcohol working against their bodies, and fell on their buttocks. The three drunken men's state of intoxication all but left them as they stared with trepidation at the two black carbon-scoring spots near their feet. They hurriedly got up and left, their clumsiness forgotten as flight and self-preservation raced in their blood. An uneasiness settled within the crowd and silenced reigned.

The Sith that fired its weapon, head still swiveling, slowly, observing the fearful audience, stated, "Move along citizens. There's nothing to see here."

The crowd slowly dispersed, returning to their promenade in the sector. They were more subdued, more tensed. Ina could see it in their now rigid shoulders as if, physically, the Sith were pinning them against a wall.

Ina felt a wave of burning anger thrash within her. It felt like a raging rancor caged but pounding savagely against its steel walls to break free, chipping away the walls' defense. She wanted to fight them now, but it would be incredibly foolish of her to reveal herself. She looked at the scene with fiery eyes as the Sith vacated the area. Carth put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she brushed it off, deciding to head to the cantina. She heard they had installed a dueling arena, a recent addition, from some sporadic conversations on Coruscant. From what she could remember during her last visit (her head still felt foggy from the crash) they did not have one at that time. Maybe dueling would lessen the boiling volcano inside of her. Carth followed closely behind, eyes scanning all Sith that dotted the streets.

The two wandered to one of the largest and most decorated sites of Taris: the Upper City Cantina. The cantina was a large and grandiose domed-building, glittering with dazzling and flashing lights. The building had a profligacy that personified the world's ills and seemed to jut its existence with unholy magnificence of wealth and self-gratification. It was apparent that the Tarisians, counter to the foreigners and offworlders there, were ignorant of such extravagance: Why would they when they owned and created it on a whim to indulge their own personal pleasures?

A lone Sith soldier stood guard by the entrance. The Sith was apathetic to anything besides its duty. The Sith imperceptibly turned its head. The Republic fugitives strode into the Upper City Cantina.

The voluminous noise and acrid smoke attacked her senses as she stood at the entrance. A go-lucky smile worked its way to her face. She felt the tension drain from her body, not all, but enough to cover her bad mood. They made their way through the Pazaak Den, glancing at calculating eyes and impassive faces of gamblers warring in a fierce game of cards and intelligence. The dim lighting only made the game more intense and intimidating, like assassins in the dark, stalking their prey, the pazaak duelers were hyper-focused on their game, as the shadows played in the dark.

Ina loved pazaak. Competing against rivals thirsty for credits and fame, the game prided itself on skill, talent, and a little bit of luck. Before joining the Republic, she earned herself a name in Coruscant's cantinas as The Mask. Her poker face was legendary and many became frustrated by her unfazed visage, thinking they had an upper hand, when really, she held the game by its throat since the start.

The duo left the players through an open door that led to a circular bar. The patrons decked in their expensive outfits lounged and danced freely, bodies swaying in the flickering red and yellow lights to a rhythm so electrifying that the drums became the personification of the dancers' wild stomps and gyrating hips. They danced like the Sith's occupation was temporary, hardly a nuisance to their daily lives. Their bodies twisted and turned, bobbing and swaying, molding the music into them, becoming the music as the notes rose and crashed, and screamed and pounded, violently, spellbindingly hypnotic.

The band – an alien band with three Bith percussionists, a Rodian drummer, and two scantily clad Twi'lek dancers - jammed, reading the syncopated beats of their audience by playing in tandem a beat so delicious that drove them wild. The Twi'lek dancers moved in synchronization, like one body, in the melody and thumping rhythm, hypnotizing the audience, their bodies following the motions of each dance move like a synchronized water show. Some human men and women catcalled and whooped, while others viewed them in disgust from behind their drinks, whispering snide remarks drowned out by the music.

Ina felt the beat, the groove and rhythm hammering into her body causing her shoulders to bounce and head to nod, but it was not enough to sway her to the alluring dance floor. Dancing could wait. She came here for a purpose, and that purpose involved credits.

"I'm going to find a dueling ring," she said at once, loudly, over the music, in Carth's ear. He slightly flinched at the volume.

"How's that going to help us find Bastila?" he half-yelled.

"It won't." Carth blinked. He was looking at her strangely.

"But it'll help me relax a bit, and we'll get some credits to survive on." She rubbed her fingers as if she had the credits in her hand. "Keep me informed, flyboy."

With a quick nod to a gaping Carth, she set out to the dueling arena, finding the room further toward the back of the floor. A large square room decorated with a series of small screen panels aligned the room in two rows. Patrons huddled over the screens, roaring with animalistic delight, cheering, and to some booing noisily. A soft green and blue light enveloped the room. She walked in, looking in wonderment.

"I think Deadeye might redeem himself! He can beat Gerlon!" a female patron yelled, standing by a screen panel with a man.

The man rolled his eyes. "Please, Lydia. He's Deadeye Duncan," he drawled. "The only thing he's good at is running like a scared mynock, and losing. I bet he has never won a fight in his career." He laughed, receiving a scathing look from Lydia.

"We'll see."

Ina peered at the screen with intrigue, her gaze hungry for entertainment.

Two men were fighting in the dueling ring. A dark-haired man with two, working fingers fired a series of shots at a balding, pepper-haired, older fighter. The older man zigzagged and dodged clumsily the bolts with tight flexibility. The shots nearly touched his person. He was sweating profusely, but his eyes showed a determination and resolution of a winner. He seemed ready to outlast his opponent, if only by sheer determination.

He continued to dodge the bolts, while firing his own, much to his opponent's surprise – he should have been defeated already! The younger man's face sported a mixture of disbelief, and his deep blue eyes glinted in anger that one showed when slighted by fate. The dark-haired man leaped out the way as a bolt nearly grazed his hip.

The older man smiled in triumph; he wasn't going let this advantage go to waste. Red shots flew consecutively at the dark-haired man. The dark-haired man proceeded to roll to his side to escape the danger, as shot after shot struck his previous spots. Suddenly, he stopped rolling. His blue eyes hardened like duracrete steel. From the ground, he fired at Deadeye. Deadeye dodged the bolt, but he was caught off-guard, fumbling his blaster until it clattered to the stadium floor. The dark-haired man's smile was victorious. He shot the helpless man in the face. The older man collapsed to the floor motionless.

And there we have it! Gerlon has done it again. Deadeye Duncan is down for the count. He almost had his shot at reclaiming his diminishing prestige. Too bad. Until next time!

Ina glowered at the announcer's voice. The announcer had a way with words. It was flattering for the winner but equally disparaging for the loser – especially if the loser held little to no worth as a fighter. Still, the battle riled an inner fire, a calling to her to test her skills, metal against metal, flesh against flesh, against Taris's dueling elite. From what she heard from the chatter of the room, a Hutt named Ajuur was in charge of Taris's dueling arena.

She spotted him easily amongst the crowd of sports admirers, laughing jovially, and relishing in the wealth attained from the fights. He was the gastropod in the far back, reclining on a red sofa; his long and large form was the most indistinguishable person in the vicinity. The alien's bulbous, oily body resembled a slug, a large slug too big to squash. The Hutt had a beige front side and an oily, dark blue, backside.

Ina eyed the alien carefully. The Hutts were shrewd business people, and she hoped to get more out of the deal than what she had now – which was not much. She sauntered to the alien, his laughter thick and boisterous that rumbled his large stomach like ripples in water, now, ended, at her presence. He looked at her as if she was just nuisance, then curiosity. His blue serpentine eyes regarded her like some sort of jewel – all of her – something he could parade and a slow, a creeping smile turned his large mouth upward. Ina had to withhold a shudder at his perusal, holding back some traitorous thoughts of slamming a fist into his face.

The masculine Hutts (some Hutts were hermaphrodites), apparently, had a fetish for young, svelte humanoid females – humans, Twi'leks, Togrutas, Zeltrons, Zabraks - that could on command, perform a very sensuous and erotic dance. They were entertainment.

From Nar Shaada to Nal Hutta, to the deserts of Tatooine and many more, the Hutts gravitated toward wealth and power with lust ever-present in their wake. Collectively, their species controlled a large swath of the galaxy. The Hutts were powerful people, and they were not to be crossed, even those that dwelt in the Upper City. Ina was fortunate to have never gotten on the bad side of a Hutt. Some if not most were said to hold eternal grudges.

"So you must be Ajuur," she started, her voice light, "The owner of the arena. Have a good night?"

The Hutt chuckled, which sounded like rocks tumbling down a mountain. He spoke in Huttese but she understood it well enough to communicate with him. It was one of the perks of being an accomplished linguist. Speaking in different alien dialects came natural to her as breathing.

"It wasn't the best night considering who fought today, but a profit is a profit. It'll keep pouring in regardless of who competes."

Feeling him relax, Ina struck. "The names Ina Anor. If you like profits, sign me up. I'm sure that I'll make you more than your employees ever could."

He scrutinized her, his eyes on her longer than she felt comfortable. He laughed – whether it was at her or at something else, Ina did not know. She didn't really care, either. "Big talk, big talk. Many people have said that, so what do you have that others don't? What makes you special, to hold the attention of the fans, and to fatten my pockets?"

"You'll have to see, won't you?" she said smoothly.

The Hutt chuckled again. "I like that. A mystery."

His larges became wide and a slow smile crept on his face at a sudden realization. "You. You'll be known as the Mysterious Stranger. No history, no past, no name. It would seem as if you came from nowhere, a new challenger from nothing. You'll be an underdog from the shadows, climbing the challenging ladder of the dueling hierarchy. You would be a spectacle to behold if you perform adequately. Otherwise, I'd be wasting credits on an insignificant."

"But I do have name!" Ina countered, pointing a finger at the Hutt.

Ajuur scoffed. "Noah! That won't attract a crowd; they like mystery, something new, something fresh. Names only have meaning when they create a stir, birth acknowledgement and devotion. When your name shakes their hearts and their foundations, it will have power! Dignitaries and people of affluence will crowd around you, greedy for your time and fame – that's when you know you've made it!"

Ina begrudgingly accepted his offer, and the two delved into compensation and profit sharing. The Hutt declared he would share a rough cut of her profits, about 10 per cent. She bargained for more, arguing that by the time she faced all combatants, she – and only she – would stand triumphant over their bodies. The Hutt had given her another curious look, his expression eager. He gave her 20 per cent, no more, no less. She took it, and entered her first battle.

According to Ajuur, the stadium had energy suppressor shields which would render casualties, such as death, low, although, the chances of permanent injury could happen. Unsurprisingly, it was the easiest match she had since her run-in with some drunken Exchange thugs on Nar Shaada. She overcame Deadeye Duncan by being faster and smarter. The poor man, Deadeye was out cold before he recognized his defeat.

The crowd wasn't so enthused, but the profits made up for it. Her next opponents, Gerlon Two-fingers, Ice, the only female competitor, and Marl, were tough, and outsmarting Marl was tougher than she expected from the staff-wielding man. He gave her a couple of lumps she would never forget. Her last opponent was a Rodian named Twitch. From what she heard from Marl, Twitch got his name from how fast he pulled the triggers on his blasters, as if was instinctual, intrinsic, like a twitch. Marl was afraid of the berserk Rodian.

Later, she found herself, again, in a large stadium in the Upper City. The audience roared in elation. The audience roared for blood. From her spot in the center ring, the people, high above the ground, melted together in a sea of color and faces. Ina could feel the vibration in her ears of their cries of anticipation. She, herself, found the excitement fun though disconcerting. Their animalistic cries for grew louder.

Her opponent did not seem to mind the noise. The Rodian looked indifferent, shifting on both legs and hands, reflexively gripping and releasing his blasters in his hands. Twitch's voluminous large black eyes watched her, as if she was the only thing he saw at the moment. Nothing, neither the elated crowd nor the announcer seemed to deter his stare. His antennae twitched and his green reptilian scales darkened with anticipation.

"Beware! Be fast! Cause Twitch is gonna smoke your ass! Red and holes. Black smoke! Beware! Be fast! Cause Twitch is gonna smoke your ass!" he spoke suddenly. "Be fast! BE FAST!"

"Just shut up," Ina whispered.

The pre-bell tolled and the crowd quieted. The announcer spoke, his voice bombastic. And now, we have what you've all been waiting for! The final match is here, between two of Taris's elite duelists in our very short history. In one corner, we have our champion Twitch, whose rise to fame has captivated the dueling circuit, and in the other corner, we have the Mysterious Stranger, whose dramatic expedience to the top has left us clinging to the edge our seats. Can she unseat the champion, Twitch, or will she fade into obscurity. Let's find out! Begin!

A buzzing sound that commenced the duel screamed in the air, and Ina became alert. Two red bolts soared in her direction at the blink of an eye, and she ducked her head and turned her left shoulder to the right, while raising her right arm. The two bolts sailed harmlessly away, and she breathed a sigh. She started to run, a plan forming on how to deal with the quick-shot as bolt after bolt barreled after her. The bolts were relentless.

Unsurprisingly, Twitch did not move. He was probably confident in his skills to shoot her from a distance. She'll just have to manage that. She fingered her frag grenade and drew her blaster, amid the red light hurdling in her direction. Her blaster bolts screamed at the Rodian, but missed, hitting the area around him.

"Sith spit!" she cursed. The Rodian sure wasn't letting her get in a clean shot.

The Rodian, startled, started to laugh insanely, like a sound of many coils flailing, as he ran from her attacks, striding while attacking. She predicted this movement and aimed at the floor, dodging a bolt at her hip and neck, feeling the heat against her skin, sizzling fine hair. Running to the right, she aimed a few precise shots at the floor at his feet, hounding him backward.

The Rodian jumped back for distance, and that was when she threw the frag grenade. It volleyed through the air among the loud cacophony of the audience, and screaming of the bolts, and was shot out of the sky, the grenade exploding and thundering.

"Hutt slime!"

Twitch looked at her and smirked, spinning his blaster between his fingers. He then as quickly aimed and shot. Ina felt pain shoot her arm. She quickly dove to the left as more bolts hounded after her. She got up and ran towards the Rodian. She needed to close the distance and fight close-quartered against thim. Ina hoped he liked have a vibroblade in his face.

Ina fired and fired at the Rodian, gaining a few feet while barely dodging his shots. When she was in distance, she jumped, withdrawing her vibroblade. Two more shots struck her in the torso, but it was enough for her to pounce on him and strike him at the base of his neck.

She fell on him, tumbling to the ground. The two combatants did not move.

By the Center of Everything! It looks like we have a double knockout! The Mysterious Stranger and Twitch are down! They are motionless! Is this it? Has the match become a draw? Wait! One of them is standing up! Could it be…? The Mysterious Stranger!

Ina staggered to her feet, clenching her abdominals in pain and panting harshly. She hurt like hell. She stumbled a bit, but kept to her feet. Sweat poured from her face yet a dazzling smile adorned her face. Her suicidal gambit paid off. In a real match death would have claimed both of them yet the energy suppressors allowed for such a bold move. And what a move, as Twitch remained unconscious!

And there we have it! Twitch is down! Twitch! Is! Down! We have a new champion! All hail the Mysterious Stranger! All hail the Mysterious Stranger! People will be chanting your name for years to come! Congratulations!

After seeing the arena's medical unit and receiving kolto packs for her injuries, Ina left the dueling arena with a certain confident swag in her gait. The amount of credits she earned was astronomical, although, this put her out of business indefinitely. Ajuur had looked a cross between delighted and sad – at the same time. His revenue from Ina's matches was great, but he could no longer compensate her – "Who in the world would want to duel her?" he had said.

Leaving the dueling arena and heading toward the bar, she saw Carth at a table conversing in low tones with an older man whom seemed to be a spacer. He was of average build with tan skin and messy black hair, hunched over his drink. She was about to greet him, and surprise him with credits, when a woman blocked her path. Judging by her uniform, she was an off duty Sith Officer. Ina paused, slowly reaching for her blaster. Did she know who she was? Was her cover blown? she thought wildly.

She fixed a pleasant smile on her face. "How can I help you?"

The Sith officer studied her as an object of great import, begging to be appreciated in all its contours and angles. Her brown hair was in a regulated bun and a few wisps surrendered down and pressed to her face. Her brow glistened in sweat and her cheeks were flushed – either from the alcohol or dancing, Ina was unsure which, but she knew that look of desire that, presently, announced itself, boring into her.

She wore the usual blue uniform however, her collar was unbuttoned. The woman smiled a sultry smile that seemed to hint on what her future actions would be. She bore confidence that declared that she always got what she wanted and she knew the methods of achieving such goals. She glided closer until she was a breath away. Ina could feel her breath against her skin, the booze wafting off her in a spicy dizziness, a familiar scent of Abrax.

"I saw the way you pulverized your competition, and I had to admit it was intoxicating watching you smite them, showing them that this wasn't just a man's game. That we women can stand atop the proscenium, too," the woman complimented. She had a posh accent from one of the Core Worlds.

Ina smiled. She was safe. She decided play along and see where the situation and fortune would take her. "It wasn't much competition, but I'm sure a Sith like you found me dreadfully boring. Compared to your work, I don't think I'd stand much of a chance."

"Not at all," the Sith waved away, smiling. "Your performance was eloquent, I'm sure you had lot of training, Mysterious Stranger." She glanced at her form in unabashed appreciation. The alcohol made her bold and seemed to excite her growing desire as brown eyes gleamed in the flickering lights.

Ina shrugged. "I can't help it if the talent here is mediocre, though it helped me unload some steam. Being grounded here has got me tightly wound."

"You're an offworlder?" Surprise spoke on her face.

"Yes," said Ina.

"I'm sure you're worried over the occupation."

Ina shrugged nonchalantly. "Not really. My attitude has just changed," Ina said, smiling, as she pushed back the strands of the woman's hair.

The Sith blushed, looked around, briefly, then back at her, grinning. "Say a couple of us Sith officers are having a party tonight to blow off some steam. A lot of us are going tonight. I would really like for you to come, if you don't mind tons of silver armor," she said, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shiny.

Ina jumped happily inwardly. This was too good to be true. A couple of Sith officers, all drunk, in one place, this could develop into something spectacular to get inside the Lower City. Who knew what treasures lied around inebriated Sith soldiers?

"I'm in," Ina said with a wink.

The woman smiled, and leaned closer, brushing her lips against Ina's ear. "The name's Sarna and we're at the residential area sector in the Southern District, in apartment 324, on the third floor. Don't be late." Sarna gave a lingering kiss to Ina's cheek before walking off into the Pazaak Den.

"That worked better than expected," Ina chuckled.

"What was that about?" Carth said, his gaze questioning. He looked between impressed and terrified: Impressed that a Sith did not attack them and openly declare their affiliation as Republic fugitives, and terrified at conversing with one.

"It was our ticket to the Lower City. I hope you love parties, Flyboy, because we're about attend a Sith one!"

Heero leaned against the wall of the entrance of Zelka's Lower City clinic, watching the stream of aliens flood by in mass, a never-ending stream of strange people and noises he had ever seen or heard. They came in all variety and sounds: some gurgled, others clucked, some rumbled, some garbled. Others had tentacles, or more than one head tail, or some looked like reptiles, their tongues hissing in a strange sibilant language; some had large yellow heads and large black bulbous eyes; some had large bulbous blue heads and red eyes with thin lips; others had two eyes with long necks attached to a slouching body. It was a quite strange phenomenon for Heero, who had thought he had seen everything known to humans, experienced the greatest terrors – only to be astounded by the mere fact of different aliens ambling about the streets.

They were the Lower City Tarisians that lived in the shadows of the kilometers high, grandiose skyscrapers of Taris. They walked carefully, eyes zooming in all directions. The atmosphere was boisterous but it was also subdued. The inner city gangs were feared in the areas and, on a moment's notice, could precipitate an unmeditated attack on the populous, indiscriminately firing on innocent bystanders, in a turf war to demolish their rivals. Heero saw the emotions in their manners and gestures, their heightened senses, and watchful eyes. His eyes drifted across the people, to two humans, one with a severe scar over his eye, graying short hair, an athletic build, silently watching his comrade harping down intimidatingly over a smaller alien, who looked scared out its wits, its large black eyes wide in fright.

Heero dragged his blue eyes from the subdued crowd to the towering buildings where streams of light flooded from the Upper City dawn. The towering buildings nearly obstructed the sky. They looked infinite from the bottom, towering into space. They felt confining like walls built to entrap, a claustrophobic panic of a world imprisoned by its towers that seemed like guards – or the lower classes' jailors. The Lower City had a dark aesthetic, compared to the Upper City: and it wasn't just the lack of light that towers stole. The air was polluted, and a sense of timidity and suspicion crowded and permeated the world. It was those negative feelings he felt inundating the populace.

It had taken them awhile but they finally found the clinic. It was near the residential sector, in a storied building. They were fortunate that some people spoke their language, calling it Galactic Basic. The aliens were familiar with the language, and gave them a brief rundown of the Lower City Tarisians residing in this dark and loud and populated society: the Rodians, Duros, Bothans, Sullustans, Trandoshans, Gand, Twi'lek, Quarren, Bith, Ithorians, Gamorreans, Drovians, Humans, and so many more that made Heero's head spin. There were an extraordinary amount of sentient beings that crowded the world.

His thoughts were interrupted when Wufei walked out the clinic. He stopped beside him, eyes listlessly wandering the crowd along the streets, watching speeders and throngs of aliens and humans stream through.

"Any luck?" Heero spoke first.

Wufei snorted. "Luck? You know as well as I do that luck here, in the slums, is transient. But I did come away with something." Wufei turned to him, his eyes darker. He crossed his arms. "You're not going to like it."

Heero's full attention turned to Wufei. Wufei sighed. Excitement was the furthest thing from his face. Wufei looked more annoyed and wary. "Kaz, Zelka's assistant, was kidnapped by the Black Vulkars, according to the damaged protocol droid. I had to repair some functioning problems for it to operate. The Vulkars did a number on its vocabulator. I was able to gleam what I could. The Black Vulkars had stormed into the clinic to kill any wounded Hidden Bek members. Blaster bolts riddled the floor and walls. The cowards! They raided the clinic! They took their injured and grabbed Kaz in their haste. The droid had tried contacting Zelka after the immediate situation, but fell into disrepair. It wouldn't have mattered anyway – the conduits to the communication servers were severed."

"So Kaz's held hostage to act as a doctor to heal the injured Black Vulkars?" Heero speculated. "I would think they'd already have their own medical assistance."

"It goes to show the Vulkars could demand and take what they want. They did it as retribution, for aiding any opponent of the Black Vulkars, disregarding protocol for clinics as neutral zones," Wufei said.

"The only option is infiltrating the Black Vulkar base, then," Heero concluded. They had to find some way into the Vulkar Base. From their little tryst around the Lower City, the Vulkar Base doors were sealed, guarded, and only recruited members were known to enter. A full frontal assault would be suicide but they had to find some way into base. There had to be a hidden passage. Heero suspected it may lie in the Under City, but the Under City gates were tightly guarded by the Sith. Automated turret defenses followed any sign of motion or threat.

Annoying obstacles kept blockading their routes.

Heero nodded. "Let's go."

As the two merged into the crowd, Heero felt a hand insert into his jacket pocket, grabbing all that it could in one scoop. As the hand pulled away, Heero immediately clamped on it, seizing the wrist like a black viper about to crush its prey. The thief turned around, revealing his large black abyss-like eyes, his scaly green skin, and wide mouth. A Rodian thief! He tried to visibly shake away Heero's grip, only to be surprised by how strong it was wrapped around his wrist. The Rodian's antennae twitched in panic, and he tried to make a break for it, only to be reeled back to the Gundam pilot, who's now glacial eyes held a murderous intent.

The Rodian grunted a few more times, until he finally shouted, forcefully, in his language. His voice was soft, but it seemed to hold a malicious undertone, as he patted his holsters and referred to a black armband, confidently – or as confident as one could with the strain of having an arm on the cusp of breaking in two.

Another person entered the fray, laughing a little. This man looked near-human, his skin had a pinkish tinge, and small horns protruded from his bald head. "You might want to let my pateesa, my friend, go if you know what's good for ya, humans."

"Surrender," Wufei said, his arms at his sides, but his knees slightly bent, his dark eyes boring into the pink alien. "It's the only option you have for weaklings like yourself."

"Surrender?" the alien chuckled roughly, brushing off Wufei's request. He leered at them. "Stoopas!"

He patted a black armband on his right arm. "Ya stuka this?" he referred. "Jee-jee izz Black Vulkars. Jee-jee own this part of the Lower City, so if ya don't want any trouble, and jee suggest ya don't, ya let my patessa go, and we'll leave you alone, instead of dead bodies. Oh yeah" - his eyes brightened maliciously, moving his hand out – "Give us all yar moulee-rah while yar at it as payment. It's only fair in exchange for yar lives. Ya don't want trouble with us, Black Vulkars."

The man sounded confident, like he had done this one too many times and, unlawfully, got away with it. Heero, in return, tightened his grip and the Rodian fell to his knees, wailing in pain. Heero could feel the bones in his arms, and a little more pressure would render the arm useless. All he needed was to squeeze a bit more.

"Nobata!" cried the Rodian, panting, his face frightened. He looked around helplessly.

"You were saying," Heero said, seeing the other alien flinch at his tone. There was nothing in his voice but the promise of death. He foresaw it if it came to the inevitable. He was never one to hold anything back, especially if they threatened his life.

The male alien quickly pulled out his blaster but Wufei was faster. Wufei's left hand parried the alien's wrist, causing his hand to fly upwards. The blaster bolt rang in the street as the bolt took to the sky. With his right hand, Wufei threw a quick thrust punch into the alien's solar plexuses, and the horned-alien fell to the ground unconscious, his blaster smattering to the floor. A loitering crowd quickly scampered away. They knew involvement in any violent matter could end in innocents' deaths through collateral damage. No one wanted to be the next murder victim.

"Now, I suggest you leave and take your friend with you." Wufei glared at the Rodian thief. The Rodian scrambled away, leaving his cohort out unconscious on the ground.

"Not too bad of a job," an impressed voice announced.

It was the man, the muscle that had been harassing that Rodian from the alleyway. He was a heavy man, massive muscles flexing from under his black shirt and brown vest; his arms were as large as Heero's head, his hair a military grade cut and graying. A large scar marred his scowling visage and seemed to render him unapproachable. His physical immensity made both boys, compared to his muscularity, look like brittle sticks. He wore beige pants with knee-length, worn and scuffed metal boots that gleamed in the dank light. A black tattoo emblazoned his left deltoid. His hands cradled a large prototype heavy repeater, a massive blaster longer than his arms. The man was a fighter, Heero observed subtly, by the way he spoke and his posture, at peak fitness, ready for the unpredictable. He looked unafraid, his gray eyes holding a calculating gleam as if deciphering an interesting code.

"It would have been better to completely crush their hope," the man derided, his tone condescending. He chucked a wad of spit on the ground to emphasize his point. "Hmph. But they don't learn do they, those spineless Black Vulkars, acting tough when their nothing but slugs with blasters. You could've done more, but I agree with you. Sometimes those cowards aren't worth the time.

"Now, I'm usually not impressed too often but what I've seen with my own eyes, just now, has got me thinking. Cowardice and deceit and strength make perfect beds in this city. Only the strong survive as to not get eaten alive by the numerous weak who seek to become the strong. You two are strong. It's unbearably obvious after that little showing.

You might try to hide it but I know soldiers when I see them. Or mercenaries. You two got the look of veterans, men who have touched war. You can't deny it; I see it in your eyes. War has molded you. Not everyone has it, and some want to forget it."

The man narrowed his gray eyes. "Strange, you would've been too young for the Mandolorian Wars, and deserters, especially from this war, have got that stench of cowardice on them. I sense none of that. Or maybe I'm wrong but I know what I see."

He gave them a hard stare, appraising them with his cold gray eyes. He then smirked. "Say, I got an offer for you. My name is Canderous Ordo, Davik's right hand man, and we're recruiting an unspecified number for a job in the Under City. Davik's done much of the selecting, but I want you two for insurance. Come to Javyar's Cantina, to the lounge, if you're interested. I'll be waiting."

He disappeared into the thick of the crowd, swallowed by the mass of moving bodies.

"Should we take it? This sounds too good to be true," Wufei remarked, his eyes on the crowd, looking unimpressed.

"Even so, this opens up new opportunities we can't ignore."

The two arrived at the cantina and made it past the anxious bouncer. The Rodian bouncer gestured to his holster, and shook his head. He then spoke a few short words. His eyes drilled into them. Heero interpreted the Rodian's threat as a warning for no fighting. Heero inclined his head in the affirmative.

The Gundam pilots soon found themselves in a small dark lounge, surrounded by intermittent, incandescent, flashing lights of yellow, green, and red, greeted by scantily clad Twi'lek dancers on a dais, erotically gyrating their hips and slender bodies to the thumping of a jazz-esque music, a haze of smoke that polluted the room, lingering, as it to suffocate their lungs and burn their eyes, and the gathered patrons, the miscreants and odd folks and aliens, who hid in flickering shadows, their drinks in hand, impassive and indolent expressions among most of the lot, lounged in their seats.

They found Canderous leaning against the wall in the back, surrounded by about fifteen people either standing or sitting in seats watching him. He was staring intently at one of the female dancers, her sways of her voluptuous hips gyrating in hypnotic and enticing motions, her yellow skin glowing in the lights, her dark eyes on his, returning his scowl with a demure smile, a hidden invitation. She knew he was a big a spender, considering his employer. It was a private conversation in a language born of lust and carnal desire. One needed not to look too far, if one was ready, to fulfill such desire. However, in a city filled with instant gratification, which rarely rewards in the long run, such desire was always available. He gave her a lascivious smile, and then turned his steely eyes onto the Gundam pilots. From his inclined eyebrow, he knew exactly when they entered the lounge.

"I knew you would come. We were all getting a little too antsy," he said, bringing the attention of his colleagues.

They appraised the two Gundam pilots in incredulity, arrogance, and interest. Two human males sitting closer to Canderous scoffed and laughed at them. A curious male Twi'lek watched them, idly fingering his holster. Indifferently, the pilots placed themselves to the back of the group amid the stares. The group, after a moment of sizing the newcomers, returned their eyes to Canderous.

"Good. I see those that answered my invitation are here. Wise. Davik doesn't like refusal." He peered at them with critical eyes, watching and analyzing them. His gray eyes could cut steel, and he seemed to be doing that to his audience – cutting them to pieces with his eyes. Canderous had to make sure they were the right sort, the sort who could endure a dangerous situation. By his sweeping look, he did not like what he saw. With the crowd before him, he left the wall, moving a few steps to the front.

"I'll get straight to the point. Davik wants to venture into the Under City to recover anything – people, weapons, items – from the Republic escape pods."

This statement drew a murmur of disbelief and interest in the crowd. Many looked taken aback, seeing if he was joking. His scowl stated he wasn't.

"Be warned – there are dangers everywhere, especially Rakghouls. We also aren't the only ones. The Sith and Vulkars scum are scouring the Under City as we speak. Invitation to a battle for the spoils is welcome, might be inevitable. Expect heavy resistance. I would rather have trained men as an escort than you lot, but were short on time and patience, and my opinion doesn't matter too much these days." He snorted. This gave a way to a clamor of laughs and snorts.

"Don't you worry about Davik, I can take care of myself," one said from his seat, tilting his hat.

An encore of Yes swept in, and Canderous smiled, but if one looked closely he wasn't smiling or signing away his approval. It was a cold smile, a condescending one that scoffed at the people inside. "Well. I see we have few people ready. Good. Expect the worse."

"How 'bout pay? I don't want Davik to jiff on what he owes," a human male said.

Canderous chuckled. "Davik will be sure to reward you for your efforts.

"I'll remind you all – stay together, and if you get separated, oh well, we'll leave you and have you find your own way back, if you do survive. We'll be scavenging for two pods that landed in the northern and eastern part of the Under City. There'll be some gang activity there. But the real test, between beast and warrior, are the Rakghouls. If you are bitten or infected, I'm putting a blaster bolt through your head. That's my mercy. Don't get infected."

The room dropped completely into a stony silence. Looks of horror betrayed most of the audience's hardened exteriors. They shifted awkwardly the silence seizing some in fright. Heero knew Canderous would do it. He didn't seem like the sort to make excuses for his behavior. Like a silent predator, he seized on their apprehensiveness, smiling with his steely eyes. "Well, let's go hunting."

"See, what did I tell ya, Flyboy? Worked like a charm," Ina said, disrobing her Sith armor. The silver armor clattered to the floor of the Lower City ground. She holstered her blaster and re-sheathed her vibroblade on her back. The two Republic fugitives were hidden in an undisclosed alleyway, where a mountain of garbage and refuse shielded them from suspicious eyes.

"I hate to say it – I really do - but I agree. Too bad about your night, though," Carth chuckled, and Ina pouted.

The Sith party had been one grand and intoxicating adventure. The music had been on full blast and all the Tarisian Ale freely available. Ina had met Sarna at the door and together, under the dim lights, talked and drank and danced and kissed until their sudden and sexual urges announced itself through heavy touching, where they escaped to a bedroom. However, after a few minutes, the Tarisian Ale kicked in for Sarna, and she fell asleep in the heat of the moment.

Damn, alcohol. If one wasn't a Tarisian, or veteran alcoholic, then falling under was as easy as drinking water. She left to find all in the living room, except Carth, on the floor in a drunken stupor. Ina and Carth, then, though Ina still excited and agitated, stole their uniforms, tricked the Upper City guard, and now found themselves in the bustling Lower City, in the early morning hours.

"Well, let's head to Javyar's Cantina. You said that spacer from the Upper City Cantina told you they had more information there?" Ina watched from the alleyway through the gaps in the garbage, seeing the bars of early morning sky light illuminate the streets. The Lower City was still how she remembered it; dirty, crowded, and impoverished. From her vantage point she could she the homeless, in their rags, huddled over a shell of an open-headed R-8009 utility droid, using its head as a fire pit to warm their bodies. A few stragglers were out in the morning headed to the Force knows where.

"According to him, it's one of our best bets. He said, most likely, information would be there. It's where the villainy and scum and mercenaries congregate, a hive for the nefarious and ambitious, and the ones eager to make a quick credit through criminality."

Ina pursed her lips. "How pleasant."

Carth merely shrugged and patted down his coat. They climbed up the wall of garbage and jumped down into the city streets. They walked the streets until they found the broken sign of Javyar's Cantina, its neon lights flickered on and off like a light bulb's final moments, and the Rodian bouncer, hand on his holster, staring them down with fathomless dark eyes, hovered near the door, slightly wary, slightly anxious, and all the more silent and hostile. The two entered and soon found themselves caught at the ingress of the main lounge and bar, in an ugly situation that was sure to be deadly.

A short man with the skin the color of mocha in the dank yellow lighting, wearing a white cap, a blue jacket and black armor and impenetrably black goggles, sat nursing a drink in one hand, and staring at a datapad in the other. He sat behind another human male who was conversing with a yellow, female Twi'lek. The unperturbed man was beset by two aliens, a Rodian in an orange jumpsuit and a Twi'lek, looking down on him in contempt, smug smiles spread on their green faces. The two aliens taunted the man, laughing, and the patrons, who had turned their attention away from their drinks and entertainment, found new entertainment at the unfolding scene. They watched in the silence of the rhythmic, fast-tempo music blaring around them, seemingly heightening the tension.

"Big, bad, Calo Nord, the famous bounty hunter," the Rodian chuckled, grinning. "What a surprise."

"He doesn't look so tough, looks more like a runt, a little ant," a Twi'lek said, his thin lips smirking. He appraised Calo's appearance in a glance, finding nothing imposing or threatening as he took a step forward. Calo continued to read his datapad, as if their presence were invisible, hardly any concern for trouble, which the two thugs were seeking.

"Go away," the man responded, his voice a deep baritone that made his small stature larger. His voice commanded attention. However, his tone had taken on disinterest.

"We only came to say Hi to big bad man, huh tough guy?" the Rodain taunted.

Calo continued to read, however, when he spoke, it was clear and foreboding. "One."

The Twi'lek laughed. "One? One what? There are two of us and one of you." He withdrew his blaster and pointed at the Calo's face threateningly. "Whatcha gotta say now, little runt?"

Calo put his datapad inside a pocket in his blue jacket and placed his drink on his table. "Two."

"Counting? Counting what? How long it'll take to squash you," said the Rodian, laughing, "Do you see this black arm band?" He pointed to his shoulder. "Did you get a close look, runt. We're Black Vulkars, and we own this turf! You and everyone else need to get in line and –"

"Three."

In a flash of speed, Calo launched a grenade at them. The room was flooded in bright white light. Ina couldn't see a thing, and her eyes burned from the light's blinding exposure. She hurriedly closed her eyes and dropped to her knees to avoid any stray shots. Flash grenades were the worst. The weapon not only blinded the targeted but disorientated them through a loud ringing noise.

Three blaster shots rang in the air. Three screams of mortal terror echoed around her, and two bodies dropped to the floor. After moment, Ina opened her eyes, finding the room a bit blurry, but she could discern the two shapes on the ground. They were the two Black Vulkars, in all their failure and pride, dead.

Another scream tore in the room, and Ina looked to her left to find the human male behind Calo, hunched over on the table, glasses spilled, his head smoking, and the Twi'lek's terrible face of pain and terror. Ina grimaced. One of the stray shots missed Calo and hit the unaware bystander.

She turned her attention to Calo, who seemed unfazed by the bodies and the terrible silence that was awkwardly filling the room while the upbeat, pulsating music continued as if nothing had happened. He quickly turned on his heels and headed towards them. Ina felt her belly tighten as Calo, for some reason, stopped. Calo came to her shoulder but his presence was magnified by his ruthlessness and legend. She couldn't see anything behind his black goggles.

"Move."

Coming out of her stupor, Ina realized, in surprise, she was blocking the entry into the lounge and bar. She stepped aside.

"Good." Calo slightly turned his head to her, and then stared. His frowned lips seemed to thin. A beat passed but, to Ina, it felt like an hour. The man didn't move, only his long jacket billowed. He stared as if seeing through her. His gaze was heavy and searching. She was about to enquire about his staring when he swiftly turned his head and, again, paused, his black goggles penetrating Carth. Calo then faced the entrance, but didn't move. A small smirk, uncharacteristic of what Ina had heard of the man, a man who prided on stoicism, rested on his lips. The world turned upside down.

"I saw your matches in the dueling ring. Not too bad. You wasted too much time dodging Twitch's blaster bolts but you made up for it with surprise, some say a suicidal move, something he did not expect. Nice work."

Calo Nord departed the room. The people in the cantina breathed a collective sigh.

Ina furrowed her brow. "What in world was that?"

Carth shrugged, looking as bewildered as she felt. "I think that was him flirting. Have you met him before?

Carth then smiled at her. "You are beautiful."

Ina shook her head. "Carth, stop. That's disturbing."

"What? The beautiful part?"

"No. For you suggesting that the Calo Nord was flirting with me. Calo Nord and flirting are outrageously incompatible. They don't fit together like the head of a Rodian on a Twi'lek's body. And yes, I am beautiful. But I'd rather forget about Calo Nord flirting with me.

"If legend is true about him, then we should stay far away from him," Ina warned.

"Legend?" Carth inquired.

She leaned closer to Carth and whispered, "Word has got around that they he's killed more than Iridian plague. From his little display of power and his, um, efficiency, that's not hard to believe. I heard sinister tales from my Outer Rim days of him. The man is definitely bad news."

Carth frowned but didn't say anything more. The two set out to gather information. They explored the bar, finding its inhabitants drinking away, conversing in soft tones, or, merely, scanning the crowd for any sign of threats. Tension, as usual, for any seedy cantina, still swarmed the air.

"Don't wanna mess with him, eh Big Z," replied a blue Twi'lek woman. "That man ain't right. Gonna get on his bad side and he's gonna shoot you dead. I still can't believe those blaster-happy Vulkars tried to pick a fight with one of the best bounty hunters in the galaxy. I mean, I can believe it, but to actually do it in person, man, Big Z, those Vulkars are getting dumber and more violent by the day. "

The Twi'lek had a young face, about eighteen, and wore a black tank top with her midriff showing over a gray vest and shorts that revealed her dangling long blue legs from her seat. Her lekku, headtails, were bound in a black and red head band where strands wrapped halfway down her lekku. She had an amused smirk on her lips, her eyes were very playful, and Ina had feeling that she would like her.

Next to her was a large, hairy creature, covered in shaggy brown fur, lounging against the bar, which, compared to him, made everyone infinitely small to his height and width. He towered over everyone, even the Quarren bartender. The alien had a large, black snout and sharp teeth. It wore a red, bare fabric, vest. Attached to his back, from a black strap, was a bowcaster. The alien was a Wookie, and he seemed far from his home world of Kayshyyk. It was certainly a strange scene in front of Ina, a Twi'lek befriending a Wookie.

The Wookie growled and then whined in guttural sounds. Ina chuckled, understanding the Wookie's language, Shyriiwook. Calo had disrupted his quiet drinking time.

"Come on, Big Z, you had enough to drink, let's go exploring while the day is still young! We can probably do some cheap jobs and get a quick a credit while we're at it. I'm pretty sure Gadon must have something for us to do, ya know, like moving parts or hacking some systems for the big swoop race. Maybe get on the search in the Under City."

The Wookie whined again, turning to his plate of unfinished food. "You can eat that later, you're not gonna starve after that hacking we did for those goons down by the residential area."

The Wookie shook his head. "Don't be like that Big Z."

"You've guys been into the Under City?" Ina asked, finding her chance, she walked towards them, with Carth behind her. The Twi'lek's amused smile never left her face. "Depends."

Ina knew her game. "How much do you want?"

"How much you offerin', lady, my work ain't free – even for information," she said, crossing her arms. "And knowing you," – she scanned both of them – "Ya don't know a thing about Taris, offworlders."

Ina cocked her head to the side. "How did you know?"

The Twi'lek continued to smirk. "Never seen you two in my life, and I pretty much know and met everyone here. Well, at least once. Mostly. And ya got that spacer vibe, ya know, the one where ya stick out. Yet," – the woman turned to Ina, pointing – "Ya stick out more like an overweight Gamorrean at an Upper City Tarisian ball. And they already stick out more than enough as it is."

Ina blinked. "What?"

"Is that so," Carth spoke, lifting a brow. He seemed unmoved by her observation. "Miss…"

"Mission Vao, at your service," Mission introduced. "I don't know who ya are old man, but I certainly know her, Miss Taris-Dueling-Champion or the Mysterious Stranger," the Twi'lek said in a sing-song voice.

"Everybody and their momma were bettin' on that competition like they do on Swoop racing. Many here are big Twitch fans; he's the local favorite. He came outta the slums and won every match. Beat Marl, too! It was wizard! But ya surprised us. Who'd thought you'd beat Twitch!" the Twi'lek chuckled.

Carth gave Ina a hard stare. Ina tried not to recoil back in embarrassment. She guessed dueling wasn't the best way to relieve some stress in a hostile environment. If Calo Nord was a fan of the dueling ring then, inadvertently, she might have brought serious attention to herself.

"Anyways," Ina changed the conversation or less Carth's eyes would eventually blast her into oblivion, "How about fifty credits for info?'

Ina handed a fifty credit chip. The Twi'lek smiled at the lucre, and deposited it into her belt. "What do ya wanna to know?"

"We're trying to get into the Under City; you know any way down there?"

"Of course! I know Taris like I know the back hand. We – me and Big Z or Zaalbar, here – have explored every nook and cranny of this city. Yep. Nothing too far from our reach. Ya couldn't have asked anyone better than us."

"Well, my partner and I need to get down there."

"Follow me and we'll show ya how." Mission rose from her seat. Big Z grumbled and lamented over the loss of his meal but he followed. They left the Javyar's into the crowded Lower City streets.