A/N: Posted late because FFnet seemed to be having problems for a couple of days. My appologies.
For nearly two days after her unwelcome introduction to the pointy end of a tranquilizer dart, her fingers refused to navigate the terrifying tasks of fastening her britches or buckling her belt. She'd slopped caf down the front of a clean shirt, twice, and exploded in a tirade of expletives more than once. Thank the stars the infuriating impairment passed before she flushed herself out the airlock just to relieve the frustration.
"So, the attack on Eiattu. Hutt or some new threat?" Corso broached the subject once he was sure she was willing to talk.
"Hunter for sure and could be either," she'd replied between taking bites of toast. "If it were GenoHaradan, we'd not be having this conversation. Spacers say that if you see one, it's already too late."
"Heard of them, don't know much about them," said Corso.
"Nobody does. Ghosts in fog, part myth, part bogeyman and, evidently, everywhere. Or so I've heard. We need to be careful on Denon, and Nar Shaddaa is gonna be its own brand of headache."
Corso nodded. "I just hope the others are safe."
"Yeah, me too."
Long tripindeed. Not that Ky wasn't used to traveling days through hyperspace with nothing but the hum of the drives and the popping of the hull as it went through heating and cooling cycles to keep her company in the wee hours. But, this trip wore on her more than usual.
Everything was the same, but not. Subtle as a laser sight between the shoulder blades, a niggling feeling that something was amiss, gnawed at her.
She glanced balefully at the bottle, gauging how many more shots she had until she was trying to wring the last drops from the long glass neck. Not that she drank a lot at any given time, sloppy drunks were a health hazard, but she did appreciate the solace and clarity a sip or two, or more provided.
She raised the glass to her lips, seeking answers from a liquid oracle. Her mind traveled the short distance to her room and the lovely man who slumbered there. He'd grown quiet of late and avoided close contact in any place other than their quarters. Life with her had changed him in some fundamental way, diminished the bright beacon of optimism he'd carried like a torch the day they met.
Belsavis had been a tipping point, throwing her world off its axis. A barely discernible wobble of the one person, the one constant in her orbit, threw her even further off balance.
Something Rona Riggs had said to him on Coruscant wormed its way into her thoughts, 'go home farm boy, you're just too good for this universe.' That was the crux of the blessing and the problem that was Corso. If her existence were a drowning pool, the weight of her sins would drag him under too, and he deserved better. He deserved more.
Ky tipped the glass from side to side, lazily sloshing the mute seer back and forth, and still, the amber harlot offered no alternate solution to their present course. Her damnable pride had put them all on this collision course with disaster.
Damn! Akaavi would be verbally bitch slapping her right now and heartily berating her for boohooing over shit already done. Risha would be telling her to suck it up, and Bowdaar would merely want to know who was next on her kill list. They'd all be right, of course; self-pity and two credits would get her a lousy cup of caf and nothing else.
Boot, meet ass.
She tossed back the remainder of the glass, capped off the bottle and headed toward that lovely man sleeping in her bed.
The sheets on her half were cold, and she sidled into Corso's space, shivering at his side until he raised his arm so she could slip underneath and huddle in his warmth.
"You ok?" he asked, voice muddled with sleep.
"Not yet, but I will be," she replied.
Why the hell do the last few hours of a jump last forever?
Whether a simple drop off or pick up or walking into a shit ton of 'who the hell knows;' that one kriffed up perception of time remained the same.
Corso was in the crew quarters performing final cleaning and maintenance checks on their weapons, and she sat in the cockpit, feet propped on the console, ankles crossed, absently rubbing her fingers over the raised scar on her neck.
Someone flying solo had attacked them on Eiattu, but what or who waited for them on Denon? She couldn't leave the ship alone once they landed, Corso would have to stay behind. If they were both taken, all was lost, but as long as one of them had possession of the box there was leverage. He wasn't going to like this, not one little bit. She lowered her feet to the floor and with a long exhale settled her shoulders into a stiff wall of unassailable resolve.
The sweet odor of gun oil lingered, even though Corso had finished up and was putting away the rags when she entered the room. The gas cartridges released a small amount of tibanna when he slipped them into their chambers adding an acrid undertone to the fruity aroma of the oil. She loved that smell and the man who often wore it like his own brand of cologne.
"Hey, babe. We need to talk," she said, stopping short of where he stood with his back to her.
"I always hate it when you say that," he wiped his hands and turned around, crossing his arms over his chest. An unconscious defensive posture warding off any physical contact.
"Oh, you're gonna hate this for sure." She prepared herself for the inevitable backlash of telling him he'd have to stay on the ship.
"No, absolutely not." He raised a finger in front of her face to make the point. "What the hell are you thinking? After what happened on Eiattu? Are you insane?"
"A tad insane maybe, but if we are both taken, if they get the box our lives won't amount to a steaming pile of bantha dung. Always leave a bargaining chip up your sleeve, you know this."
"Why didn't you just have the crew board a liner and meet us here? The travel time was nearly the same."
"And how the hell does one disguise a Wookie? Oh, yeah, this is my very tall uncle who has a hormone problem. Please ignore all the facial hair. Akaavi and Gus maybe, but Bowdaar? They wouldn't have made it to the spaceport, and I'm not willing to take chances with their lives."
"But you'd chance yours?"
"It's my life to risk. I'm still the Captain, and the decision's already been made."
"Dammit, Ky, you can't pull rank like that. Not with me."
"I just did." She wrapped her hand around that one finger he still waggled under her nose and drew it to her lips. "Get ready, we're almost there."
The northernmost spaceport of Denon known only as The Annex sat at the very edge of the icecap that supplemented the water supply to the planet. The ice field, unlike the pristine white of Hoth, had a gray tint from decades of pollution from the city world. It barely reflected the light of the sun and processing plants dotted the icescape feeding water to the giant pipes that crisscrossed the surface.
Less than a dozen landing bays fanned around the small hub building that, even from this distance, seemed in need of repair. Ky doubted this place saw much besides local traffic. Unlike the larger spaceports which tractored incoming vessels into the hangars, a manual landing was required. Corso was directed to docking bay 5 where the dock crew began the refueling process as soon as the repulsors were disengaged.
"So far, so good," Ky said exiting from the cockpit, Corso close in her wake.
She resettled her blaster and knife on her hips and verified her datapad in the inside pocket of her vest before pressing the hatch release and extending the ramp.
A hand tightened around her wrist, an arm coiled around her waist and she was drawn into his gravity, breasts flattened against the hard plane of his chest.
"Come back to me," his lips whispered before they covered hers.
"You know I will," she replied as he stepped aside to unblock the exit. Her back straight in a posture of bravery, head up and alert, she sauntered down the ramp automatically assuming the spacer's strut that simultaneously demanded attention and told the universe to 'fuck off.'
Her continually moving gaze scanned her surroundings, the workers whose eyes appraised her from head to toe, the scaffolding above and the rough, pitted durasteel floor held nothing of concern. The bay entrance leading to the less than impressive concourse had blind spots on either side, but she doubted an assailant would strike so openly.
She fell in behind two women with chattering children and paused briefly by the door to the port commissary, which appeared to be small and ill stocked. Foot traffic was light, most likely families of the men who worked here. The entire place was hardly bigger than a depot, only useful as a layover for those not wanting to be seen.
An occasional poster, faded with frayed edges, touted escapist lives these people could only dream of or extolled the virtues of the Republic. A block of flimsy wanted posters outside the courier service office were the only things shiny and new. She didn't recognize any of the faces, sighed and moved on.
As she neared the end of the concourse, the sound of jukebox music drifted from the left of the T junction. The carpet was dirtier and more threadbare as she rounded the corner. Straight ahead, the holo sign above the door blinked 'Last Tap' in garish red and yellow.
Sidestepping, so her back was against the wall, she stopped just inside the doorway to sweep the room for her contact and possible problems. Hell, she didn't even know who she was looking for, but trouble she could smell a parsec away and so far, her spine was tingle free, but the hairs on her neck had started to wave to get her attention.
The bartender gave her a cursory glance when she entered and went back to swiping his towel across the bar top. Two men sat at the bar, another at a table close by the holo dancer and a fourth in a booth at the far end who nodded and raised his glass in a toast before slinging back the contents.
The place reeked of disinfectant and week-old vomit, but she'd been in worse. The man by the holo rose from his table and headed toward the 'fresher, she watched his progress before pushing off from the wall and strolling casually toward the booth.
"You don't drink, you don't stay," the barkeep growled as she approached the bar.
So much for hospitality, no wonder the place was empty.
"Whiskey, and it's on him," she growled back, pointed her chin at booth man and continued on.
"I don't know you or your business. Keep it clean and cordial or take it elsewhere," barkeep snapped and slid a glass across the bar in her direction.
"Relax, slick. I won't be giving him a blowjob under the table if that's your worry," she smiled, picked up the glass and gave a wide berth to the two men who snickered as she passed by.
"Aragath?" the man asked as she leaned her hip against the side of the booth so she could see him and the room.
"That's me," she answered. "You have something I need?"
"Trick question?" He grinned, crinkling the deep scars that marred the right side of his face. The smile did not reach his eyes which remained obsidian hard and focused on her. "Sit, please. What I have for you is best kept from prying eyes."
She slid into the booth staying at arm's length. "Look, whoever you are, can we cut the crap and get this transaction over with? Your employer has me on a bit of a schedule, and I don't think it'd be wise to disappoint him."
"My employer has the patience of the ages, but you are correct that it might be unwise to test it."
She carefully observed his hand that disappeared into his jacket, removed a square, string bound, leatheris envelope and slid it to her under the table.
"Twenty thousand, after my cut of course," he said.
"Of course," she smirked, tucking the envelope away and reaching for her glass.
She'd usually have downed the whiskey in one gulp, but instead set the glass back down. She didn't know Scarface or the barkeep, and given the circumstances, she'd rather drink from a glass she'd filled herself or from a bottle she'd broken the seal on. Best to err on the side of caution.
"Here," she said, pushing the glass across the table. "You paid for it anyway, and I need to be going." She patted her vest. "Thanks for the delivery."
"My pleasure," he replied. "Now about that blowjob," he chuckled at her retreating back.
An upraised middle finger over her shoulder seemed an appropriate reply. His laughter escorted her out the door.
Too public, she thought as she left the cantina unable to shake the feeling that someone watched her. She walked the middle of the concourse, avoiding darkened doorways and slipped into the commissary to see if anyone followed.
Halted in the liquor section, she perused the overpriced bottles, her eyes flitting to the door from time to time. It wasn't Scarface, but holo dancer man who stopped outside the window to glance inside. He wasn't trying to hide which was comforting, or not.
Ky paid for a cheap bottle of whiskey, and instead of turning toward bay 5, she pivoted and strode over to holo man who hadn't moved.
"If you've got something to say, then say it. Otherwise, don't follow me, it makes me twitchy," she said, hand resting on blaster grip, narrowed eyes meeting his.
"Ky Aragath, also known as the Voidhound. We still monitor your whereabouts from time to time. Seems you've stumbled into something and I'm offering you a way out," he responded.
"Huh," she grunted. All things considered, he wasn't bad to look at. Tall, lean, black hair, blue eyes, and an unflappable disposition. He smelled of whiskey and cigarettes laced with a hint of spice, maybe to help him sleep, maybe to help him forget. Everyone has their demons, and she had problems of her own.
"You have me at a disadvantage, Mister?"
"Jonas Balkar, SIS. I was in this sector, and you might consider this a courtesy call. I've come on behalf of the Jedi Council. They request an audience with you on Tython for a discussion about a certain transmission a colleague of mine intercepted and partially decrypted a few days ago. It might be wise of you to accept their offer."
"Oh, this is rich. The Republic threw me to the wolves, and the Jedi couldn't be bothered to intervene on my behalf? They let Saresh take away my livelihood, and now they want to parlay? I put my life on the line for them, so unless that offer comes with a boatload of credits, I'm not interested. The Jedi are nothing but a bunch of self-righteous pricks who only saw my worth as long as they needed me for something. I've had a bellyful of being used."
"Don't shoot the messenger," Balkar said flinging up his hands. "I've had my say, you won't see me again. The Jedi will send others who won't be quite so amiable. All I know is that whatever you're mixed up in is dangerous."
"Life is dangerous, Mr. Balkar. Or didn't you get the memo?" Ky spun on her heel and walked away, feeling the weight of his gaze on her back.
She briefly stopped by the hub office to pay for the refueling charges, seething inside at the unmitigated gall of the Jedi Order. Sanctimonious assholes!
Corso had the ramp extended and was sprinting her way as soon as she entered the hangar.
"Stars, babe, you're shaking like a leaf," Corso said as he folded her in his arms. "What happened?"
"I'm so pissed I don't know what else to do," she grumbled into his shirt.
"Refuel is done. Let's get you back inside, and you can tell me about it while I do preflights so we can leave this place."
"I already paid the fees, and the sooner we dust this rock, the better."
An hour later she'd told him about Scarface and Balkar and explained that The Annex was likely too small and lacking privacy and hiding places for another attack. His face had gone an odd shade of pale when trying to make the jump.
"You thought you were mad before," he said. "I can't lock in Nar Shaddaa. I can't lock in anyplace but Bogden."
"That's impossible. Try and reboot the nav system."
"I can't do that either. The system's not responding, we've been sliced."
"It couldn't have been the crystal, could it? The scan came up negative."
"Maybe, or it could have been embedded in the transmission itself. Whoever did this is damned good. We'd have to gut the whole system, and even then we couldn't be sure that the code wasn't ghosted somewhere else."
"Alright, I'm up for playing his game, to Bogden, it is," Ky said. "One way or another, I want this ended."
Six miserable days. Ky remained on edge, prowling the ship at all hours, and Corso trying to stay out of her way. By the time they set down on Kohlma, Bogden's funerary moon, her fuse had been lit, and it was a short one.
A tall figure strode toward them out of the gloom, cape billowing, boots stirring up minuscule puffs of dust. Without so much as a greeting or by your leave, Ky closed the distance, round housing her fist into the side of his face with enough force to knock his head back and rock the silver tendril rings hanging on either side of his chin.