Emalda opened her eyes, her night vision filtering the view of the darkened cabin through shades of green and black. She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes again, hoping she'd go back to sleep. A minute or two of staring at the back of her own eyelids made her give up. She was awake whether she wanted to be or not. Still she lingered in the bunk, tail twitching as her eyes fixed on the glowing graffiti written across the roof of the bunk. The inscriptions had been made with a luminous ink that was only visible to Ekash eyes. Emalda's four companions may have been Jedi but they were all still human.

During the time of the Empire, the Ekash had done all they could to capitalise on their physical resemblance to the human race that the Empire heavily favoured. With furry tails disguised beneath clothing and contact lenses covering their slitted pupils, they had easily passed as a race of sandy-haired humans. The solution, however, had proved as harsh as the threat itself. Successive Ekash governments had censored and restricted the development of their own culture - language, music, fashion, science and philosophy. The uncensored inscriptions on the bunk above her had been written in her native tongue of Jalul; something she had not spoken aloud in eight years. At reading one of the dirtier jokes, she snickered to herself before looking to see if anybody was awake to hear.

As soon as Emalda had discovered the graffiti above the top bunk in the right wall, she had insisted on claiming it - despite the awkwardness of reaching it. She still didn't know what the Jedi thought of her sudden eagerness to sleep there. They kept their own counsel and Emalda was out of practice when it came to inviting conversation. Normally, Anakin occupied the top bunk in the column across from her but the bed was empty, except for creased sheets and an indented pillow. With bad grace, Emalda gave into the inevitable and sat up. She pushed off her blanket, grateful that the air was cool but not cold. She swung down from her bunk until her bare feet encountered the bunk below her. Ben usually slept there. He was gone but warmth still lingered in the blankets when she reached out to touch them with her toes.

When her feet abandoned Ben's bedding for the cabin floor, the metal surface was freezing. She curled up her toes and bit back an exclamation. She released her grip on the bunk above her and nearly trod on a sleeping Anakin. Anakin had curled up on the cabin floor between Ben and Obi-Wan's bunks. His blanket protected him from the chill of the floor, with one of his own arms acting as a pillow. The small thin braid that was the mark of his apprenticeship to Ben lay across his face. Emalda quashed an impulse to tuck the braid behind his ear - he was no child and Emalda was no mother.

She stepped over him. Obi-Wan lay on his back in the bunk below Anakin's, the blanket pulled all the way up to his chin. He continued to snore softly as Emalda passed him. Qui-Gon was folded awkwardly into the bottom bunk of the far wall. He didn't stir as she opened the door and entered the dimly lit cargo bay. Anakin had dubbed it the "cargo closet" because of its small size. Even Emalda had begun to use the term, much to her own chagrin. The Fahren may have been her ship but she and the Jedi had been virtually confined in the small space for the past five months. It was impossible to find a part of the ship that she didn't now associate with the Jedi; Qui-Gon meditating in the sleeping quarters, Obi-Wan wrestling with the nav computer, Ben practicing with his lightsaber in the cargo bay. Emalda was happy to share the Fahren as an asset for a joint cause but she wasn't sure how she felt about sharing the actual experience of the ship.

Emalda had left her home world with little more than the clothes she'd been wearing. The only item of any value she had was the Fahren itself, designed and built by her dead sister, Yulana. The Jedi similarly had few possessions but she wasn't courageous enough to ask why. Ben had described a lifetime of travelling the galaxy and that the acquisition of material wealth was considered a distraction from the religious ideals of the Jedi. He had never once made a reference to the Emperor's destruction of the Jedi Order and she certainly had never brought it up.

She navigated through the stacks of crates they'd used to partition the cargo bay into smaller areas, heading towards the crates that held their personal belongings. She opened the crate that she'd claimed as her own and pulled out a change of clothes, examining them critically. She chose a dark grey tunic and pants that had been gifts from Leia. They weren't particularly fashionable but not long enough out of fashion to make Emalda stand out from a crowd. The scuffed work boots had been her first purchase in preparation for this mission. They were good quality and would last for many years yet. The last piece of clothing she pulled out was a bottle-green jacket that reached down to her knees. With the stitching coming loose, it was beginning to look a little worse for wear but it had belonged to Emalda for more years than she could remember.

She picked up the case containing the contact lenses that allowed her to pass for human but then put it back, unopened. She felt like taking a risk this morning.
"Good morning," said a voice dryly. "Although it's closer to evening, really."
Emalda jumped, startled. She edged around the stack of crates to find the speaker. Ben was sitting on a low crate, using another crate for a table. A bowl of soup rested on the makeshift table along with a jug of juice and a cup. Ben's expression was polite and dignified but there was a twinkle in the blue eyes and a hint of a smile hiding behind the beard. He knew very well that he'd surprised her. It was difficult for Emalda to suppress an answering smile but she kept her face grim.

"You surprised me," she said sternly.
"Yes," agreed Ben, unconcerned.
"That wasn't very nice."
Ben searched her expression, trying to tell if she was joking. She determinedly kept her face still. Ben's eyes flickered but trying to understand what it meant was like trying to read a blank screen.
"Perhaps not," Ben added at last.
It was the closest to an apology as Emalda was ever likely to get. She had just successfully bluffed a Jedi Knight.
She stepped forward, "Well, I guess you could make it up to me..."
The grin escaped, ruining her stern expression. Ben answered her with a grin of his own, appreciating the attempt to bluff. She expected retaliation to be swift.
"And how exactly can I do that?" he asked, his expression just a little too friendly and earnest.

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled another crate into place beside him and gestured for her to sit. She did so, laying the bundle of clothes in her lap. He then sat back and looked at her. She realised that he was expecting her to name her price.
"You could share your soup," she suggested hesitantly.
"I could indeed do that," said Ben, handing her a spoon.
She took the spoon cautiously and Ben sat back, folding his arms. He was watching her. She waited for another comment but Ben said nothing. Emalda stretched out her hand and scooped up a spoonful of hot soup. He watched her lift it to her mouth, tip the soup out and swallow. He was still not moving, just watching. She stretched out the spoon again. Ben's eyes followed her movements. She took another spoonful. Ben's eyes were starting to unnerve her so she shut her eyes and focused on the taste of the soup.

The soup was rich and creamy and full of herbs that she'd never tasted before. Since leaving her home planet five months ago, Emalda had been exposed to hundreds of foods she'd never tasted before. She liked this one. She opened her eyes again. Ben was still watching her. He'd brought one of his legs up to rest it on his other knee. The casual posture was at odds with the unblinking gaze. She was never quite sure where she stood with Ben. She was aware that part of her attraction to him was undoubtedly because his sandy brown hair closely resembled the hair colour that all Ekash shared, without exception. The distinctly human blue eyes and beard had taken longer to get used to but less time than she had expected.

She could feel his keen interest in her as a physical certainty and she was Force-sensitive enough that she trusted her instincts. At first, she was sure it was physical attraction but he had yet to make any advances. His unruffled self-confidence had made her hesitate to make a move of her own. Instead, they played an endless and private game where the rules and the goals forever changed. Ben watched her silently for as long as it took her to finish the bowl of soup. She paused at each spoonful, giving Ben the opportunity to ask for the bowl back. When he didn't speak, she would swallow the soup. He blinked exactly four times. It took her twenty-three spoonfuls until the bowl was empty.
"Well, it seems I've drunk all your soup," she told him.
Ben smiled, "Actually, I got that bowl just for you. I ate earlier."
She gave him her best scowl. He laughed.