Quinlan leaned one hand against the table and watched Tech, who was getting more and more animated as he continued to speak. Once or twice, the commando glanced up at the Jedi, but then promptly went back to his conversation with the Ithorian, who now looked –

Quinlan paused. The Ithorian looked scared and . . . hopeful?

That was never a good thing.

Hunter seemed to have noticed too, since he stood, purposefully catching Tech's attention. The commando sergeant turned one hand palm up and tapped it with two fingers, and Tech nodded. After a few more words to the Ithorian, Tech hopped up from the table and hurried back to the booth.

"What did you do?" Hunter asked resignedly before Quinlan could even open his mouth.

Tech put away his datapad. "I got some information," he said, in apparent confusion at the suspicious looks his squad mates were casting him.

Poking him towards the bench, Quinlan said, "Slide in and tell us about it."

Tech slid in.

Quinlan followed. "Oh, I ordered some fried krill and various other things."

"Sounds good!" said Wrecker.

"Other things?" Hunter asked, exchanging a wary look with Crosshair.

"Well, I didn't actually read the whole menu," Quinlan admitted. "Just picked a few of the human menu numbers at random."

Crosshair seemed to find this highly amusing, because he removed his gaze from the surrounding cantina long enough to raise an eyebrow at Quinlan.

Quinlan shrugged. "I got distracted – I recognized the Ithorian, and was trying to think up some information I could surreptitiously pay him for."

Crosshair, Wrecker and Tech all glanced a bit smugly at Hunter, who gazed back, unimpressed. "So Vos thought of the same thing you did," he said. "Still doesn't mean it was necessarily a good idea."

"My ideas are always good," began Quinlan, but had to break off when a Weequay with golden earrings and beaded strands braided into her hair came over to bring the food.

It wasn't until she'd left that Quinlan noticed that all the commandos were giving him unenthusiastic looks. "What?" he asked defensively. "My ideas aren't always good?"

Hunter lifted a water glass in a mock toast. "Got it in one."

Crosshair and Tech looked appreciative, and Wrecker laughed.

Just for that, Quinlan decided not to warn the commandos that the krill sauce was incredibly spicy. He simply sat there, hands folded on his lap, and watched with a benign smile as they started eating.

Wrecker looked surprised and reached for a second krill. "Wow, this is really good."

Nuts. Quinlan frowned. Maybe Hunter . . .

Hunter ate one, cleared his throat subtly – or tried to, anyway; it turned into a cough halfway through – then took the dish of sauce and shoved it in Wrecker's direction.

Crosshair said nothing, but continued to dip and eat krill with a look of absolute indifference. He was totally doing it on purpose, too – Quinlan was used to spicy food, and even he had to eat the sauce sparingly. That stuff would scald your esophagus.

Tech's reaction was the best by far. He took one bite; then his eyes widened in shock, and he swallowed abruptly. Letting out a strangled cough, he grabbed his water and took several hasty gulps.

Quinlan gave him a pointedly satisfied grin.

Tech rolled his eyes and reached for a slice of joja fruit.

They ate in silence for a few minutes after that. Wrecker took the sauce, since no one else seemed to want it – even Crosshair gave up after a few krill – and spread it liberally on his nerfburger.

Quinlan eyed him. "You seriously eating that?"

"Yeah." Wrecker shrugged. "I like it."

Tech fastidiously straightened the bread on his own sandwich. "Your funeral."

"Speaking of funerals, Tech," said Hunter in an ominous tone. "What did you promise that Ithorian?"

"What makes you think I promised him anything?"

Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Past experience?"

"Hmm." Tech considered, then appeared to give in. "Well, I did not actually promise him anything. . . though I may have strongly insinuated I would be investigating Dverik."

Quinlan swallowed a bite. "I suppose Dverik is a local crime lord who's bleeding the citizens of everything they've got."

"You've heard of him?" Tech asked.

"No. But crime lords are all alike. Nar Shaddaa's got hundreds of local dictators who spend their time fighting each other and making everyone else miserable."

"That's stupid," decided Wrecker. "Don't suppose we can take care of all of 'em, but we can at least handle Dverik."

Quinlan eyed him, then stared at his food. The commandos were as ready to help as he used to be, but – "You guys do not seem to get it."

"Get what?" Crosshair challenged. "That there's nothing we can do about people like Dverik?"

"It's not that." The Jedi Shadow folded his arms and leaned back. "At the risk of sounding like the coldblooded reasonable one . . . Well, let's assume you successfully deal with Dverik. What happens next?"

"Another crime lord takes over," said Hunter.

"Yeah. And he goes and bullies the same people you just tried to help. And then you take him out, and another one replaces him. That's just how crime cities function. In fact, the people are usually better off with the original crime lord."

Tech twisted to look at him, muted indignation flashing in his eyes. "But he kills people when they do not give him what he wants! We can't just not do something!"

"It's not our place," began Hunter thoughtfully.

Tech rounded on him. "Hunter."

Wrecker caught Tech's shoulder and shook him a little. "You know Hunter doesn't mean it that way. Let him finish."

Tech subsided, and Quinlan glanced curiously at Wrecker. Hunter doesn't mean it 'that way'? What way?

Hunter cast a quick look at the waitress as she pushed by their table, then turned back to Tech. "I guess I do mean it like that a bit. . . It isn't our place to help these people – it's not what we were sent here to do, and we're not equipped for it; we don't have the authority, the time, or the materials. From what little we've seen . . ." He shrugged. "This entire planet is full of pretty miserable civilians."

Tech did not look appeased. "Yes, but we can help the people we come across, and as for the others – "

"As for the others," Quinlan interrupted, "you can't help billions of people. You can't even help hundreds, not if you want to finish your own mission. In fact, you probably can't even help ten. But that's not the important part. What's important is that even if you do help a few people, in the end it'll probably make their lives worse."

Tech stared at the table for a moment, then let out a huff. "I would attempt to disprove your point, but I have no evidence against it."

"Well . . ." Quinlan hesitated, then picked up a piece of joja fruit and broke it. Pink juice ran down his fingers, and he stared at it for an instant before dropping the fruit slice back on his plate. "I hate to say it, but my evidence comes from personal experience. When I first went on missions as an Investigator, even in crime cities, I tried to help everyone I came across. It backfired nine times out of ten. Mostly, I'd get tricked and end up helping people who didn't need help, but that wasn't the worst. The time I went out of my way to rescue a village being held hostage – that was the worst."

Tech continued to watch Quinlan, but Hunter's gaze slid away as though he were uncomfortable.

Quinlan picked up his napkin and cleaned the juice from his fingers. "I made a stupid mistake. I thought I'd dealt with all the terrorists, but the guy I thought was the leader was actually the second-in-command. I came back four days later, after my own mission, to see if everyone was doing well . . . recovering, getting their lives back in order, everything they'd been hoping to do. But – turns out, the terrorist leader had returned two days previous with more men, dragged all the villagers to the town square . . ."

Even now, years later, the memory of that pillar of smoke and ash still burned at the back of Quinlan's mind. He shook his head and forced himself to finish, trying to keep his voice even. "He had everyone shot, then torched the entire place. He thought they'd killed his gang at first. By the time someone finally made him understand that a Jedi had gotten involved – I guess he figured he might as well finish the job."

The commandos continued to watch him steadily, except for Wrecker, who frowned openly.

Quinlan rubbed at his shoulder, which was still throbbing from the blow he'd received during the fight. "Some guy from a neighboring village told me about everything. The leader . . . He punished the villagers for killing his gang, but he'd come to the village in the first place to get rid of half of the gang himself. His second was trying to mutiny."

"I would have thought he'd be – well, grateful," said Tech, almost blankly.

"You'd think, yeah." Quinlan attempted a casual shrug. "Anyway, in the end my 'help' gave the villagers nothing but two days of freedom and a brutal death. Completely annihilated. I helped that gang leader more than anyone else – I got his mutinying thugs out of the way for him."

Hunter's eyes flickered with understanding. "And that was the last time you really tried to help."

"It was the last time I tried to help in places like that. I didn't get the whole picture."

Tech studied him closely. "But you had no way of knowing that. In another situation, it may have turned out well."

"Maybe. It's not worth the risk. Maybe if I'd done more investigating and less playing the hero, I'd have realized what was actually going on."

"Yeah . . ." said Hunter. "But – even if you hadn't helped those people, they'd still have been caught in the middle."

"Yeah, but it wouldn't have been my fault, would it? It would have been just another tragedy on just another planet . . ." Quinlan slapped his napkin down on the table and stood so abruptly that he made Tech jump. "Anyway."

Wrecker rubbed the back of his head. "Hey, Quinlan? What happened to the leader?"

"I –" Quinlan frowned at the floor, not having expected the question. "I went to the people who passed as officials and got a warrant issued for his execution . . . Then got myself hired to carry it out."

Crosshair looked up. "Did you succeed?"

"I guess you could say that." Quinlan turned away, then hesitated. He'd hidden this from the rest of the galaxy, apart from the Jedi Council, but somehow . . .

After a brief struggle, Quinlan bit his lip, then looked back at the commandos. "I took him out. Told him who I was, torching his entire place in front of him, and executed him only after he'd been expecting me to kill him for over an hour. It wasn't a clean kill, either. Came to my senses after I'd shot him four times. Then I ended him with a shot to the head."

There was a long pause.

"You did – succeed, then," Tech began tentatively. "But –"

"Oh, I succeeded all right," Quinlan interrupted, suddenly unwilling to continue the conversation. Folding his arms, he let out a quiet, bitter laugh, then muttered, "I hope you didn't think all Jedi are good people."

There was another short pause.

"Never really thought about it," Crosshair said coolly.

Quinlan blinked, and Hunter, who was just getting to his feet, sent a surprised glance at his teammate.

Wrecker, with a scandalized look, shoved the sniper into a still-motionless Hunter, who overbalanced and caught himself against the table, knocking a glass off. Tech leaned across to catch it, but in doing so knocked a plate off Hunter's side of the table; Wrecker lunged past Crosshair to catch the plate, squashing the sniper against the wall of the booth in the process.

By the time they'd all regained their balance and realized that Quinlan had stood there the entire time, quite content not to help, the dark mood was effectively broken. Or at the least, set aside.

"All right, Tech." Hunter took a step away from the table and straightened to his full height, then cracked his elbows and neck. "What information did you get? Anything about the Besalisk?"

Quinlan gave him a perplexed look. "He's the guy you chose to ask about?"

Tech ignored him, answering Hunter instead. "He didn't know anything about a Besalisk. The information I got was mostly about Dverik. However, I did mention the Prince. Chopa said that the Prince stays out of the locals' business completely. As long as everyone else keeps away from his stronghold, he leaves them alone."

"Huh," Quinlan said, nodding. "I figured as much, but it's good to have it confirmed."

"How does that help us?" Hunter asked.

"Well, for one thing it means we don't have to worry about the Prince's men getting involved if we decide to go after Dverik."

Tech, who was stacking the dishes closest to him, looked sharply up. "I thought you said we weren't –"

"Pretty sure I didn't," Quinlan interrupted.

Wrecker stared at him in confusion. "You said it was a bad idea."

"Well . . . I think helping by physically attacking Dverik is a bad idea." He held up a hand to forestall Hunter's questioning look. "But Tech does have a point about helping people who are set in our path, and we've got the time – especially if it turns out we can't go after the Prince before Malachor, which is what I think will happen. Maybe there's some other way we can help the people who live in this sector besides invading Dverik's territory."

Crosshair folded his arms. "What 'other' way?"

"Not sure yet." Quinlan glanced at Chopa, who was still sitting at his table, carefully not looking in their direction. "First step to answering that question is to get some intel on Dverik and – long as we're at it – see who sent that Besalisk after us."

"I can start on that," offered Tech.

"Yeah, but carefully." Quinlan pulled some credits from his pocket and fingered them thoughtfully. "For now, I've got to ask around, see if the Prince has any known weaknesses."

"How are you going to do that?" Hunter asked, glancing at the rowdy crowd that filled the cantina.

"Well," Quinlan told him. "When people are drunk, you can start a topic without anyone really knowing you started it. Then everyone just adds on."

Hunter did not look impressed.

Quinlan grinned. "I'll be at the pazaak table. You guys hang around if you want, see what you can pick up without causing trouble. Cantinas are great for overhearing conversations. Keep away from Chopa, though, just in case any of Dverik's men are here."

Checking his chronometer, Hunter let out a quiet sigh. They'd been here nearly four hours already, and the noise level had been increasing steadily. As each new crowd came in through the doors, the conversation would grow louder, drowning out the steady beat of the music. A few minutes later, the bartender would turn up the music. One would think that the patrons would eventually get sick of hearing the same monotonous piece of music played over and over through the somewhat damaged sound system, but either they were immune to it, or maybe they were deaf.

Hunter made his way back to their booth, which was still unoccupied. It would seem that most people didn't come here to eat. Trading information, closing deals, gambling, and playing pazaak and sabacc seemed to be the main activities here – all of which were heavily accompanied by drinking.

Hunter sat down, facing the door this time, and considered seeking out his squad mates. Wrecker had been arm-wrestling and beating everyone for the last half hour, which Hunter did not think counted as maintaining a low profile. Then again, the Jedi had spent nearly an hour playing pazaak and losing on purpose. Apparently, this had been so he'd get the attention of the money-eager people nearby. The plan had worked, and the next hour had been spent in him playing one challenger at a time, all the while listening to the conversation around him.

Then, after gambling away a few hundred credits in small amounts here and there, Quinlan Vos proceeded to win most of them back in a winner-takes-all game against the cantina's pazaak champion.

Hunter cast a glance in the direction of the pazaak table. The Jedi sure had weird ideas about not drawing attention . . .

Wrecker stumped over and sat down across from the sergeant. "This place is loud!" he announced at the top of his lungs. "I can't even hear myself!"

Once again, Hunter thought that the near-fatal explosion had left Wrecker with more hearing damage than the Kaminoans had initially thought.

A few minutes passed. Chopa got slowly up from his table and limped out of the cantina, giving Hunter a cautiously grateful look as he passed. Hunter replied with a slight nod.

Then Tech slipped in next to Wrecker, forcing him to slide further down the bench, and shot Hunter a preoccupied smile. He pulled his datapad out and compared something on it to the screen in his vambrace.

The Jedi's voice rose over the crowd, sounding a bit slurred. "To celebrate my good luck, the next round of drinks is on me! Bartender!"

Raucous cheers rose from most of the occupants, and Hunter winced.

Tech continued to type, humming tunelessly to himself as he did so.

Hunter eyed him in disbelief. "Tech, are you wearing earplugs or something? – Tech?"

Looking up, Tech removed an earplug. "Did you say something?"

". . . Never mind."

Tech nodded his understanding, replaced the earplug, and went back to humming and typing.

Wrecker, who apparently had nothing else to do, continued sliding around the bench until he was next to Hunter. Once there, he slouched back against the corner of the booth.

"Don't fall asleep," warned Hunter, more to himself than to Wrecker.

"Not a chance," Wrecker grumbled.

The music pounded, and the lights in one corner of the cantina flickered in quick glints of blue and red. An intoxicated Weequay staggered past, hitting against the squad's table on his way by, and left the cantina. He was the fifteenth to leave this way. Hunter had to wonder how many of those people would be alive, come morning. If this place was so dangerous, why did the patrons apparently feel safe in getting drunk and then leaving on their own? Or was the cantina some sort of safe zone? No fights had broken out yet, which was surprising, all things considered . . .

Suddenly aware of a presence at his side, Hunter twisted sharply in his seat to see Crosshair, leaning one forearm against the edge of the booth wall above him as he stared at the doorway.

"What are you doing?" Hunter demanded.

Crosshair glanced down at him. "Just hangin' around."

"Well, stop hanging around and sit down."

Crosshair shrugged and obeyed, sitting next to Tech and promptly reaching for the datapad. Jerking it away, Tech shot Crosshair a dangerous glower.

When the sniper slouched back, Tech returned to his work, occasionally glancing between the two screens. Crosshair sat quietly for almost two full minutes. Then, with a sudden movement, he reached out and flipped Tech's vambrace-screen closed.

Tech froze in confusion. Then his mind made the connection between his closed screen and the person next to him, and he twisted around, getting to his knees on the bench so that he was taller than the sniper. "Crosshair!" he snapped. "I was busy!" He gripped his datapad in both hands and clouted Crosshair on the shoulder.

Crosshair eyed him, completely unaffected, and gave him a quick push in the chest.

Tech lost his balance and sat down.

Rolling his eyes, Hunter slouched forward to rest his elbows on the table. "Stop acting like cadets," he groaned. "Wrecker?"

Wrecker promptly stood, reached across the table, caught Tech by the shoulders, and dragged the shorter clone back to sit next to him. "Stay here," he ordered. "Crosshair, quit bothering him."

Tech sniffed and went back to work. After a moment, Crosshair took out a few toothpicks and started arranging them in various letters of the aurebesh.

Hunter watched, his eyes blurring with fatigue, and wondered how long it would take Vos to gather whatever intel he was looking for. Wrecker was bored, Crosshair was bored, and Tech would probably get bored as soon as he finished his current project. Add that to the fact that Hunter himself had been up for almost forty hours now – minus an hour of sleep this morning and being knocked flat by an EMP grenade, if that even counted – and . . .

Not a good combination, he thought, blinking hard. I'll give him five minutes, and then we'll have to regroup.

The door opened again, and a woman in a drab robe hurried inside. She shut the door quickly, as though eager to block out the night, and turned into the room; then she swung back around and reached for the door, almost as if she wanted to leave.

Hunter straightened a little, his interest caught at her apparent fright, but after a moment the woman pulled her robe tighter around her shoulders and hurried to the bar.

Leaning back again, Hunter folded his arms and stared down at the nicked surface of the table. The music and loud conversations faded to a dull blur of noise in the background, and his eyes slid shut almost of their own accord. He forced them open for an instant, but then, lulled by the soft tapping of Tech's keypad, Hunter dozed off.

The sudden clatter of dishes woke him, and he sat upright with a jerk and looked sharply around.

"Relax. Nothing's going on," said Crosshair, who was focused on an elaborate interlocking star-shaped pattern of toothpicks. The sniper considered his work for a moment, then inserted more toothpicks horizontally around the center. "You've been asleep for half an hour."

"Twenty-seven minutes," corrected Tech, not looking up from his screen. He tilted the datapad from side to side, then turned it toward Wrecker. "Is that better?"

Wrecker, slumped forward on one elbow, straightened and studied the screen for a moment. "I dunno, Tech. The propulsion system would work, but the casing still looks top-heavy to me."

"I suppose . . . Yes, you are right." Tech stared at it in disgust, then dropped the pad on the table with a clunk and leaned his head back against the wall. His gaze flitted around the room, then brightened. "Oh. Quinlan is coming back."

"About time," muttered Wrecker. "Wonder if he found out anything."

Quinlan breezed up to the table, swung his half-cape over one arm, and dropped into the seat next to Crosshair. "Well, don't you all look entertained."

"It's been nearly five hours," Hunter said mildly.

"Which isn't actually a long time, all things considered." The Jedi leaned his elbows on the table, opened his mouth to say something, and got distracted by Crosshair's toothpick shape. "Hey."

Crosshair glanced at him and reached to sweep it into one hand.

"No, wait, I want to see if . . . Yep, right here." The Jedi pulled a single toothpick from the shape and the whole thing collapsed. "These are always fun."

"This is a civilian pastime?" Tech asked interestedly.

Crosshair cast him a skeptical look and set to work putting the toothpicks back in their case.

"On occasion," Quinlan said. "Ever built a house out of sabacc cards?"

Wrecker paused in the middle of cracking his knuckles. "Who would build a house out of cards?"

"Same kind of people who build shapes out of toothpicks," he retorted. "It's fun and a challenge – when it isn't making you want to pull your hair out."

Hunter smirked at the mental image of the Jedi trying to pull his hair out. "Right. So, what did you find out?"

"Okay." Quinlan sat upright and folded his hands in front of him. "The Prince has never been seen to leave his establishment, period. The comments I heard support our idea that no one knows what he looks like, and therefore if anyone has seen him, it will be impossible to tell. And there was a break-in at his place recently. Most people only knew about it because the next day there were a few heads stuck on spears at the edge of the Prince's territory."

"That's . . ." Hunter tilted his head. "Why?"

"Grakkus sent those bounty hunters, and at least one of them managed to catch sight of the Prince – the one who let the Hutts know that the Prince is a Serennian. Presumably, their heads were put out as a warning to Grakkus." Quinlan grinned mirthlessly. "Still willing to investigate him?"

"Sure!" Wrecker gave a cheerful shrug. "We're better than a few bounty hunters."

"Uh-huh." Quinlan paused. "Actually. Grakkus would have sent in his most expendable hunters, so you're probably right. Other than that, I got a couple more mission-related facts, which I'll tell you back on the ship; and I've got a ton of irrelevant info about small-time smugglers, criminals, pirates, and mercs. What about you guys?"

Hunter shook his head. "I overheard a lot, but nothing important. Maybe you'd have picked something out of it. Dverik was mentioned . . . A lot of people were talking about his latest raid. Seems the kind of guy who likes expanding his territory."

Tech looked up. "Yes, and one man signed a contract to sell his merchandise only to Dverik. I have pictures of both parties involved."

Quinlan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, that could be useful . . . How'd you do that?"

"I pointed them out to Wrecker, who interested them in arm-wrestling," Tech said. "I merely watched the competition."

"And your helmet cam took pictures by itself," Hunter concluded.

Tech and Wrecker exchanged smug looks.

"What about you, Crosshair?"

"Vythia Archane has been down here before. Sounds like this is where she does a lot of the hiring."

The Jedi looked up. "Wait, are you sure?"

Crosshair remained disdainfully silent for an instant, then said, "It's either Vythia, or there's another purple-skinned female Nautolan who works for the Prince, carries a lightwhip, and wears a red crystal on her forehead."

"Okay, so it's Vythia," Quinlan said after a moment. "It makes sense that she'd do more hiring down here. We're pretty close to the bounty agency headquarters."

Crosshair nodded. "Did anyone actually get information about that Besalisk?"

"No," Quinlan answered. "And I asked directly, too."

Hunter frowned. "Why? Didn't you say he was sent by Grakkus?"

"Maybe he was." The Jedi waved his question aside. "I only realized this during my seventh round of pazaak, but that guy wasn't out to kill me or Crosshair – and yet the thugs who went after you, Tech, and Wrecker were using thermals. It doesn't add up, unless . . ." He trailed off, gazing thoughtfully at nothing.

The commandos watched him, but when half a minute had passed and the Jedi continued to stare into space, Hunter went back to observing his surroundings. A slight stir near the bar caught his attention, and he looked over to see a woman making her way across the room.

When she cast a hesitant look at the door, he recognized her as the cloaked woman who had entered earlier. Her floor-length cloak was gone, and she wore a low-cut dress of sparkling green material with a long slit in one side of the skirt. Some of her copper-red hair was pulled back, and the rest trailed down to her waist in soft curls. Hunter eyed her in some surprise – she looked nothing like the rest of the people here.

The woman gazed around the room for a moment, then made her way to an empty table near the door and sat down, crossing her legs. A male Twi'lek wandered over to the girl and sat down at the table. She smiled vaguely, but shifted away, and the Twi'lek stayed where he was.

Hunter turned back to his squad mates. He supposed it was pointless of him to even be concerned about her. She was the one dressing and acting in a way that would gain her unwanted attention – she looked like a target. He frowned, remembering the streetwalker in the marketplace. It was probably safer in here – at least this girl didn't risk being beaten or killed. . . Still, though.

He glanced at her again, automatically checking that the Twi'lek was keeping his distance from her. He didn't like this at all, but what could he do about it?

Wrecker followed his gaze. "Kind of pretty, isn't she?"

"Isn't who?" Tech asked, staring at his screen.

Crosshair cast a brief look at the girl before rolling his eyes at Tech. "Who do you think? The only woman in the entire cantina."

"There were other women earlier," Tech retorted, finally looking up. "A Zabrak selling deathsticks, a Twi'lek with a rifle, and – oh. Yes, she is pretty."

Quinlan Vos finally came back to life, having apparently heard nothing of the conversation. "Okay, Hunter, I have a feeling that Grakkus sent guys after one or both of us. I never reported back to him, and neither did you. He's not an idiot . . . much as it pains me to say it. We should assume that he figured out I was the one who stole his Sith artifact."

"Why didn't he figure it out earlier?" Tech asked. "You don't exactly look – normal."

"Thanks." Vos rubbed his nose. "See, most Hutts think that all humans look alike."

"Because that makes complete sense," said Hunter, considering their drastically different appearances. "Then again, I suppose they think it's ridiculous we can't tell them apart."

"Exactly. . ." Quinlan trailed off, then narrowed his eyes and glanced over his shoulder at the woman, who was now sitting by herself.

After a moment, he twisted in his seat, all his attention focused on her.

Hunter considered kicking him under the table. Just because the girl was a streetwalker didn't mean –

Just then, Quinlan turned back to the commandos. "We should get back to the ship and get some rest. Unless you guys want to hang around and listen in on more conversations."

Crosshair smirked. "Hunter was ready to leave hours ago."

"Yeah." Wrecker jostled Hunter with an elbow. "Whenever he's awake for too long, it makes him unsociable."

"It does not." Hunter elbowed him back.

"See?" Wrecker laughed.

"Wrecker, I'm warning you . . ."

The Jedi snorted in amusement and opened his mouth to say something, but paused as though distracted before turning to look at the girl again.

Hunter gave him a narrow look, then kicked him hard in the shin.

Jerking back, Quinlan hit his knee against the tabletop and winced. "Ow, okay; what the heck was that for?"

"What do you think?" Hunter asked, raising an eyebrow.

Quinlan stared blankly at him for a long moment before realization entered his eyes and he sighed loudly. "Hunter, I wasn't . . . ugh."

The sergeant folded his arms and gave him a skeptical look.

Vos rolled his eyes. "I was trying to understand what was wrong. Her emotions aren't exactly easy to ignore. She's terrified – she hates everything about this place. So why is she here? She must be absolutely desperate for money."

Crosshair raised an eyebrow. "What happened to not helping?"

"There are different kinds of help," Quinlan muttered, glancing at her again. "Some of them more important than others." He hesitated, then got to his feet. "You guys head on outside. I'll join you in a minute."

"Right." Hunter left the booth. "We're helping her?"

"Yeah." Quinlan gave a self-deprecating smirk. "Somehow, I can stand by and watch someone get beat up to keep from jeopardizing the mission – but there are some things I just can't ignore."

"You say that like it is a bad thing," Tech observed.

The Jedi shook his head dubiously, then pulled some credits from his pocket and counted them. "I'll be right back."

He headed to the bar again, slouched against it, and slid a credit chip over to the Weequay bartender, who took it quickly. Quinlan gestured at the girl, and the bartender shrugged.

Hunter frowned. Maybe that was how things worked here, but he still felt like giving the Weequay a good punch in the jaw.

Instead, he grabbed his helmet and followed the others out of the cantina, then motioned Wrecker and Crosshair to either corner of the building while Tech set to work scanning their surroundings.

Hunter held the door open and leaned against it, watching as Quinlan approached the girl, who sat only a few feet away from the door.

As the Jedi got closer to her, the girl slid her chair back with a sharp motion. "What do you want?"

Quinlan stopped walking, then held out a hand. "You don't want to be here, do you?"

For some reason, instead of questioning him, she stared at him for a long moment, then stood up and left the building, leaving the Jedi to follow her. When she caught sight of Hunter, she shrank back, but he released the cantina door and turned to Quinlan. "Area's clear."

The girl wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the night air as she looked hesitantly up at Vos. "I . . . I saw you pay the bartender."

"I paid him so he wouldn't shoot me for leaving with his star attraction," the Jedi replied evenly. "Look – I can tell you hate this place. What are you doing here? Is it money you need?"

Her face paled and her eyes filled with tears, but she tossed her head and blinked them stubbornly back. "Everyone here needs money. They need it for their filthy pursuits or their drugs or their gang wars, and some people need it for food and survival. Maybe I'm just another woman willing to sell herself to make a few credits."

Hunter went to join Tech, Crosshair and Wrecker, where they stood a short distance away. Despite the noise from the marketplace, though, which was still busy despite the late hour, the voices of the Jedi and the woman were clearly audible.

"I don't think that's true," Quinlan said gently. "Sometimes, in their desperation to survive, people do all kinds of things that they hate themselves for later."

The woman let out a shuddering breath and hung her head. "This is my first night working here," she said softly, as though confessing something. "I found the job three days ago, but never got up the nerve to come. And you're – you're right. I have to earn money so I can leave this – this horrible planet."

Quinlan nodded his understanding. "There's a spaceport four levels up with a few passenger shuttles. You won't have a lot of destination options, but any of those places will be better than here."

"I . . . I know where it is." She faltered. "I can get a shuttle to Bothawui for . . ."

"What? Twelve hundred credits?"

She flinched. ". . . Two thousand."

"Okay," said the Jedi. "I mean, I think whoever's charging you is either lowdown or completely ignorant, because there's no way you can earn that kind of money in a few days . . . Not here. But you're assured of a place as a passenger?"

"Yes – the owner of the shuttle is a Bothan himself. He is returning there anyway, but agreed to wait a few days if I could pay him."

"Okay." Vos reached into his pocket, paused, and cast the commandos a mildly sheepish look.

Hunter turned to his squad mates. The three of them silently handed over their credit chips, and he joined the Jedi and gave him the money.

"Thanks," Quinlan muttered, then turned back to the girl. "Come on, we'll see you to the airfield. Uh – and you can let go of that knife now."

Hunter raised an eyebrow and glanced down. Sure enough, the fingers of her right hand were wrapped around a small folding knife, which she'd held half-hidden in her skirt.

After staring at him for a moment, she closed the knife and slipped it into one pocket, shivering again.

"Sorry, I should have talked to you in the cantina," Quinlan apologized. He reached for the clasp of his cape, but she shook her head and went back inside.

A moment later, she returned, her long cloak once again wrapped around herself.

At a nod from Quinlan, Hunter set off for the nearest lift – there was one at each corner of the marketplace, and as far as Tech had been able to tell, none of these lifts were broken. Crosshair and Tech walked on either side of him, while the Jedi followed with the girl and Wrecker.

The ride up the lift was silent. Hunter was grateful that his teammates were apparently too tired to talk, because he was honestly too tired to respond.

The scene with the spicy krill sauce was inspired by the fact that I tried drinking pepperoncini juice earlier this week. Why, you ask? It was there. Did I regret it? Yes. Was my reaction more dramatic than Tech's? Also yes.