Chapter Five
Two beggars stopped them as soon as they exited the elevator into the Undercity. They stank to high heaven, as if they hadn't showered in months, and they were far too thin. The second- and third-hand rags they were wearing hung off near-wasted frames. But none of that seemed to take away from their ability to obnoxiously demand credits for Aithne and Carth's passage in the elevator.
"Who are you people?" asked Aithne after Carth had expressed his disgust.
The beggars explained, more dramatically than they needed to, that they were Outcasts; that everyone in the Undercity was a criminal or descended from one; and that all Outcasts were doomed to stay in the Undercity in a life of poverty and danger forever, denied access to the world above.
Aithne looked at them for a long, long time. Under her judging stare, the beggars began to squirm. Finally, she reached into her purse and pulled out two ten-credit bars.
"Fine. Here are twenty credits," she said. She knew it'd go a lot further down here than it would in the Upper City, or even in the Lower.
One of the beggars looked to his fellow in disbelief. "Credits?!" He punched his fist into the air. "We have credits, my brother! Now we can buy food and medicine!"
"Save your credits," Aithne advised. "Buy some self-respect. It will take you a lot farther."
Carth eyed her as the beggars ran off. He was still miffed about the Mandalorian sympathies he assumed she had. They had fought in the elevator about it. Aithne guessed she could have explained that respect for a culture that valued family and honor, for Mandalorian ambition, commitment—and somewhat for Mandalorian tactics, and a realistic view of the strengths they'd offered the galaxy that the Republic wasn't too hot on at the moment, did not equate to sympathy with the worse things the Mandalorians had done or a wish that they had won the war and the Republic been absorbed. She had explained that as a person from the Outer Rim territories, she hadn't had the luxury of Carth's automatic Republic citizenship and easy allegiance, that the first formal training she'd ever got had been after her conscription, and so she'd spent most of her life being more loyal to her brain, her belly, and her purse than any high-minded democratic ideals. But since she thought that really should've been both obvious and forgivable, she wasn't inclined to go into the more nuanced points of her stance on Mandalorians or why she'd worked for them just as often as she'd worked against them over the years—though neither had happened very frequently. The more they'd talked, the more she'd felt that if he was going to make hasty assumptions about her based more on past trauma and paranoia than on facts and observation, he deserved the discomfort they caused him.
But now, she seemed to have caught him off balance once again. "You could've just run them off, you know," he said, referring to the beggars.
"I could have," Aithne said quietly. "But desperation will drive people to ends you wouldn't want to see, Carth. Maybe if I hadn't given them the money, they would have attacked the next people off the elevator. Maybe now that they have the credits they'll make something of them—invest in a useful skill they could sell or something."
"Maybe. Maybe it'll teach them harassing visitors really pays," Carth replied. "They're not the first people you've helped on Taris. There was the woman from the bounty office too, and the man you promised to look out for the rhakghoul serum. Even with Yun and the others: we took that route because it meant we wouldn't have to kill anyone."
"There are tactical advantages to avoiding out-and-out murder, when we can," Aithne protested. "We want a reputation for efficiency; we don't want to slip up, become infamous, and get a bounty called down on our own heads."
"I think you might be a good person," Carth said. "You know, behind your hatred of democracy and determination to put everything in the most heartless, utilitarian terms you can."
"Oh, behind that," Aithne jeered. She rolled her eyes. An Outcast woman came up and introduced herself as Shaleena. She seemed anxious to repair the bad first impression the beggars had given Carth and Aithne of her home. She directed Carth and Aithne to Gendar, the village leader, and Rukil, the storyteller. She assured them that those two men could answer all their questions about both the Undercity and Mission Vao. Aithne took a cordial leave of the woman and left to find the two wise men of the village.
Looking about, she was surprised to realize that the village was much cleaner than the Lower City. It was cold, and dark, though, and people were quiet, as if they'd lost their need to talk. Looking around, Aithne saw an emotion calmer than desperation on most of their faces, but somehow, more unsettling. It was hopelessness.
A pair of children walked past slowly. Their cheeks were hollow, their pupils dilated from trying to see in this dark land where the stars never shone. This went beyond hormones, Aithne thought, her heart aching. Every species that wasn't actually subterranean or aquatic should have a sky.
Something of the anger and compassion she felt for these people must have shown on her face. Carth's voice spoke out from beside her, louder than usual in the preternatural silence of the Undercity. "Hey . . . beautiful." Aithne turned and met his eyes, feeling half-wild, and he reached out, almost dropped his hand, then didn't. Instead, he patted her shoulder twice, awkwardly.
Aithne stared at him a moment, then made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat, swung her arm out, and flung it around his back, under his arms, drawing him to her roughly in a strange side hug. Right now, looking out at all of this, into the black, selfishly, she needed the human contact.
He was surprised at first. He stiffened. Then his left arm came up around her shoulders, and he squeezed. Together they stared out at the ramshackle, threadbare tents that served as these people's excuse for houses. They saw the citizens' bare feet, their yellowed toenails and cracked, broken heels. They smelled a soup on a fire, or rather, didn't smell it, because it was little more than water. And in the silence of the nearly voiceless residents, they heard the weight of gravity, the concrete bottom of the world of the rich and privileged up above. It was the ceiling to all who lived below, a roof to hold them back from any sky. It felt like a trap, a tomb. These people had been literally buried alive, and now, so were she and Carth.
She guessed he probably needed the comfort too.
After a moment, she pulled away, but as they walked through the sparsly spaced tents of the Undercity, she did retain his hand, and what was more, Carth let her.
As they neared the part of the village where Shaleena had told them they could find Rukil and Gendar, Aithne saw a man clap the shoulder of another man, whose eyes were shadowed with grief. The second man held a tiny child in his arms, and the first ruffled her hair. He looked back at the tent he had just finished helping the other pitch, then started to walk away.
Aithne let go of Carth's hand and went after the man. She nodded back at the other guy and his daughter. "Who are they?" she murmured.
"Cale," Gendar the village leader answered. "His wife and son were killed in a rhakghoul attack yesterday while out scouting for supplies. I just moved him and his daughter to a smaller family tent. I am Gendar, leader of this village."
Aithne shook his outstretched hand. "Aithne Moran."
"Carth," said the pilot.
Gendar asked them how he could be of service, and then he was. He confirmed Gadon's story of the day before: the Black Vulkars had indeed been the first to Bastila's escape pod, and they had taken her with them when they'd left. When Aithne then asked about Mission Vao and Zaalbar, Gendar told them that the two could usually be found in the sewers and gave them directions.
Aithne took leave of him with a bow, and then she and Carth went to see Rukil, a very old man sitting on a low stool nearby. She knew he was Rukil only from Shaleena's description. When she asked his name formally, he actually just hit her with a load of gibberish about the herald of prophecy and harbingers of false messages. Aithne blinked, stepping back slightly.
"Careful," Carth said, as she nearly ran into him. "This one might be crazy enough to actually be dangerous."
Aithne asked Rukil what he meant, tentatively. The man calmed slightly. He introduced himself as Rukil, and explained his apprentice was missing, that she had gone scouting for information on the Promised Land, a fabled self-sufficient place in the Undercity, free from rhakghouls and poverty, where all the inhabitants of the village could live in comfort. His apprentice, whose name was Malya, had been missing for three days. He asked Aithne if she would look for Malya.
There was literally nothing to be gained from helping Rukil, village elder of the local Undercity settlement. These people had no credits, no power, no connections. The confirmation of Bastila's current whereabouts and situation and a direction to start looking for Mission Vao was all anyone down here could give them, Aithne knew. At least looking for Zelka Forn's rhakghoul serum might bring along a profit, or a supply of the cure if they happened to need it. Aithne found herself promising to help Rukil anyway.
Carth didn't like it. "We don't have time for this!" he snapped, as the two of them walked away.
Aithne sighed. "For a meticulous search for the whereabouts of the young woman, maybe not. That doesn't mean we can't promise to keep an eye out. We don't know exactly where Mission and Zaalbar are, anyway. We'll be scouting around. We can look for Malya. And if we find her, it'll be a relief to at least two people down here and probably more, and that'll make me feel better. Wouldn't you feel better too?"
Carth looked around. "Well, maybe," he acknowledged. "But searching for Mission and the prototype accelerator has to be our number-one priority."
They headed for the gate that that separated the village from the rest of the Undercity, where rhakghouls roamed at free range. An agitated woman stood at the gate, pounding on it in vain.
"Run, Hendar, run!" she cried.
A man, panting, ran up to the gate, just outside the village. "Open the gate!" he called, looking behind him.
Aithne caught sight of a lone creature in the distance, swiftly closing.
The gatekeeper refused to open the gate, maintaining rhakghoul was too close.
"The mutants will kill him if you don't!" cried the woman, tears starting in her eyes, her fists bruised from pounding on the gate.
"And if I open the gate, they will kill us all!" retorted the gatekeeper.
The woman turned to Aithne. "Make him open the gate," she begged. "My husband will die!"
Aithne nodded. "Open the gate," she called up to the guard. "My friend and I've got the rhakghouls."
"You'd risk your life for a stranger?" the gatekeeper wondered, incredulous. "You are brave, up-worlder. I will open the gate, but you must hurry."
He opened the gate, and Carth and Aithne raced forward. The rhakghoul was already within three meters. It was a slavering, white, sinuous mass. Its teeth stuck out of its wide mouth at odd angles, gleaming with poison in the dark. Its eyes were dark and overly large in a lumpy head. They contained not a trace of either mercy or intelligence. Aithne raised her blades to guard, and the creature sprang. But before she could kick out and connect with its body, putting those foul teeth as far away from her as possible, something else connected first. Three shots rang out.
Aithne blinked at the bleeding, oozing mess centimeters from her feet. It was dead.
"Thank you," she murmured. "Somehow, I think blasters are the way to go down here."
"Yeah, let's keep those teeth and claws at a distance," Carth agreed. Aithne strapped her vibroblades to the back of her pack and got out her spare blaster, as well as a belt she'd been stocking with grenades. She fastened it over her shoulder, staring out into the blackness of the Undercity's eternal night. The worst part of it was that it wasn't actually ongoing—there were sickly little lights hanging here and there across a jungle of rebar and concrete, drilled and screwed into the walls: proof the architects of Taris had always intended for people to live down here, or intended they should for a long, long time, anyway.
Behind her, she heard the sound of the gate being raised once more, joyous exclamations of Hendar's wife, whatever her name was, reuniting with her husband. Aithne ignored them. Instead, she raised one hand to the gatekeeper and started out into the dark.
"The rhakghoul disease," Aithne said, keeping her voice low, just in case. "It isn't airborne, is it?"
"No, it can be spread through fluid contact with a rhakghoul's teeth or claws," Carth said, "or picked up as a fungal or bacterial infection from too close a proximity to rhakghoul dens or droppings. They aren't sure whether the mutation is introduced through a fungal or bacterial infection, but if it were airborne, every man, woman, and child in the Undercity would turn."
"So—"
"Stay away from dens and nests," Carth answered, "and don't let them touch you. It's probably harder than it looks out here; you saw back at the gate: those things are fast."
They turned in the direction Gadon had given them for the sewers, but suddenly something else was running at them out of the black. Aithne almost fired before she realized who it was.
Mission Vao bowled into her at top speed. She gripped the front of Aithne's combat vest, looking up into her face. Her gray eyes were swimming in tears. "Please!" she sobbed, panting as she did it. "You have to help me! Nobody else is going to help me. Even the Beks won't help me. But I can't just leave him there—he's my friend! You'll help me, won't you?"
Aithne gripped Mission's wrists, pulling them down away from her collar but gripping them, allowing for physical contact, an anchor point to stave off the kid's obvious panic. "I can't do a thing if you don't slow down and tell me what's happened," she said. "Mission. Breathe. In through your nose, and out through your mouth. Now. I'm going to count up and down from twenty, and I want you to just keep breathing. When I'm done, you're going to tell me what's wrong, and we'll see what Carth and I can do."
Mission nodded, starting to relax. Aithne counted, using Huttese instead of Ryl on a hunch. She wanted a language that sounded like earliest childhood to Mission, like warmth and safety and whatever guardians she might have had once upon a time. It worked, too. Mission Vao's eyes went even wider, and by the time Aithne was finished counting up to and down from twenty, she was breathing slow and easy, and her hands around Aithne's wrists had relaxed from a frantic, desperate grip to something much more trusting.
"Now. What happened?" Aithne asked.
"Th—thanks," Mission stammered. "Anna, wasn't it? And Carth?"
"Close," Aithne said, "It's closer to Ahn-ya. Or Moran. Or 'hey, you.' Now. The trouble?"
"It's Zaalbar," Mission told her. "The two of us were wandering around here in the Undercity. You know, looking for stuff we could find, just kind of exploring. We do it all the time."
"I guess with a Wookiee at your side you've got to figure you can handle the odd rhakghoul attack," Carth said. His words were inconsequential, but his tone was what mattered: casual, unworried, like the three of them were right back together at Javyar's, and it worked too. Mission relaxed even more.
"Only this time, they were waiting for us," she went on. "Gamorrean slave hunters. We didn't even have a chance to run. Big Z threw himself at them, and he roared for me to run." Tears started in her eyes again, sadder. The panic attack was over, but the kid was still distraught. "I . . . I took off; I figured Zaalbar would be right behind me. But there were too many of them; he couldn't get away. They're going to sell him to a slaver, I just know it!"
She bent her head and laid her forehead against Aithne's shoulder and just sobbed. Aithne squeezed the girl's arms, forcing her attention up again. "Listen here, no one's selling your friend. Do you know where they took him?"
Mission shook her head uncertainly. "I don't know for sure, but those Gamorreans like to hang out in the sewers. The stink reminds them of home, I guess. That's probably where they took Big Z."
Aithne nodded. "Okay. Now, the three of us are armed. Carth's a soldier, and I've been in places just like this one more than once. Together, we can get him back. But Carth and I are down here for a reason too. We actually came here looking for you. So, once we help you get Zaalbar back, we're going to need your help to get into the Vulkar base. It's important."
Mission nodded. "It's a deal," she promised. "As soon as we get Big Z back, I'll show you a way into that Vulkar base! Now come on—we have to find Zaalbar before they sell him to slavers, or worse!"
"Seems Priority Number One just shifted into rescuing a Wookiee from the sewers, flyboy," Aithne noted to Carth.
"I'll keep up somehow," Carth muttered wearily. "Mission, do you need any more supplies? I've got an extra blaster, if you can use two, and we both have a spare change of clothes. Neither one would fit you too well, but either would give you a bit more protection than what you've got on now."
Mission looked at what they were wearing. "Those are standard-grade combat suits," she observed. "They're designed to be one-size fits all, to stretch or shrink for whoever needs to wear 'em. They aren't, and since both of you are so big and tall, any of your stuff's liable to pool around the ankle and wrists and bunch at the pits and crotch. But you're right. Better than going in my regular clothes. Thanks." She looked both Aithne and Carth up and down and grimaced. "Don't know if stretch marks for a big barrel chest or a proper front and rear end'll be worse, but I think I'll grab Aithne's spare anyways. Guessing it might smell a little better. You think you could turn around? Keep an eye out for the rhakghouls?"
Carth and Aithne did. Mission swapped Aithne's spare combat suit for her street clothes, complaining about the night air as she did it. When they turned around, the kid looked different, and she hadn't been wrong about the fit of the suit. But she'd punched an extra hole in her belt with a knife to take up some of the extra slack in the pant seat Aithne had left in the elastic with her larger hips and cuffed the sleeves and pant legs to accommodate her shorter limbs. She still looked every bit a third-rate thug. Aithne had to repress her smile.
"I'll stick to my own blaster, though," Mission told Carth. "Had it since I was ten. We know how we work together. Your stuff's probably a whole lot nicer, but we don't have time for me to practice with it. Thanks anyway, Carth. I can take one of your packs." Carth was carrying two today; they'd stocked up heading for the Undercity and even brought an extra pack to do it.
"Thanks," Carth said, handing one over, "and don't worry about the gun. It's better to use a weapon you're familiar with well than it is to misfire a higher quality gun. There's a lot of second- and third-year service personnel in armies that don't know that."
That actually got a smile out of the kid. She led the way to the sewers, where they were immediately confronted by no less than four rhakghouls. Rhakghouls didn't allow for firing from cover, so the three of them dodged around the room, trying to keep a meter and a half between them and the rhakghouls at all times within the close confines of the sewer, which, while spacious as sewers went, hadn't been designed with this activity in mind. Still, after a couple of minutes, the rhakghouls were dead, and Carth, Aithne, and Mission checked each other for injuries. They'd got out unscathed.
"You two are pretty good in a scrap," Mission remarked then.
"You should see Moran when it doesn't have to be blasters," Carth said. "With sword in hand, she's about as fast and accurate as any Jedi that I've seen."
Aithne wrinkled her nose. "You speaking as someone admiring the vanquishers of the Mandalorians or suspicious of traitors to the Republic?" she wanted to know.
"No, neither," Carth assured her. "Just a career man who's seen a lot of combat. You're good, Aithne. You've probably saved my life a couple of times these past few days, fighting from the front the way you do."
"So, what, you Republics?" Mission asked. "Survivors of that big crash over the planet, or of the takeover of that Upper City base? If Carth isn't crazy about traitors to the Republic, I mean."
Carth and Aithne looked at one another.
"It's okay if you're Republic," Mission rushed to tell them. "I like the Republic. They're the good guys, right? A whole lot better than these Sith animals."
"Carth's Republic," Aithne confirmed. "Big-time war hero. I'm a recent, reluctant and therefore, to him, slightly suspect conscript from the Rim."
"She talks a lot of nonsense," Carth told Mission. "But we were both in the battle over Taris, yeah. We crashed here not quite a week ago. Now our objective is to find anyone who might've survived with us and break out of the Sith blockade."
"And to do that, you need to raid the Vulkar base, 'cause they were first to the pods that crashed down here," Mission finished.
"Well, no," Aithne admitted. "Actually because they stole the Hidden Beks' prototype accelerator, and that's the only guarantee of winning the Republic officer the Vulkars are putting up as their share of the prize in the big swoop race in the next couple of days."
"And I thought this adventure was complicated," Mission said. "So, what do you think? Door Number One, Two, or Three?" she asked, looking around at various corridors in the Tarisian sewers.
Aithne considered. She looked at Carth, who shrugged. Aithne took a guess and went right. A Gamorrean sentry proved her guess accurate. After they'd dealt with him, they dodged the sound of several heavy feet to a door to the right and went through a door on the left.
Aithne stopped up short, seeing a rusted droid standing useless in the middle of the room. She grinned then, inexpressively relieved. Gamorreans were big, and it sounded like there were a lot of them next door. "And here I was thinking we were about to start hurling grenades like we were in a food fight or play some long, complicated game of tag with our piggy friends next door," she remarked.
"You can do something with that hunk of junk?" Mission asked, skeptical.
"Should be," Aithne answered, fishing in her pack for the smaller bag of repair parts she'd been hoarding and adding to since Endar Spire. She crouched down next to the droid, opening the panel on its belly. "I'm good with droids. Always have been. And if I handle things right . . . it'll take care of all those Gamorreans in the next room for us, and the three of us can have something of a breather."
She spent a few minutes tinkering with the droid, which then left to attack the Gamorreans next door to them. Aithne heard the sound of grunting pig-men and turned to Carth and Mission. She smiled brightly. "Anyone for a sawdusty ration bar?"
They took up positions leaning against the rusted walls of the sewer passage, avoiding the streams of . . . well, sewage, that leaked from pipes overhead. They ate and shared out some water from Carth and Aithne's canteens between the three of them.
"So, what was that before?" Mission asked, "when you said Carth don't trust you? Just because you're from the Rim? Cause that's not right."
"It's not like that, Mission," Carth protested. "Look, it's complicated."
"Not too," Aithne disagreed. She gazed at the pilot speculatively. "To his credit, I don't think he's classist or elitist," she admitted. "That was just me, talking nonsense, like he said. He's pretty democratic with his paranoia. Claims he doesn't trust anyone at all."
Mission looked wary. "Is this some kind of . . . thing between you two?" she asked, making a vague but somehow perfectly descriptive gesture. "Because I don't want to get in the middle of anything."
"It's a thing for her, not me," Carth complained. "As far as I'm concerned, we only need to depend on each other far enough to get off this planet, but somehow, she seems personally offended I happen to be cautious."
"Couldn't be because you basically insinuated I might have sabotaged our ship and killed a cruiser's worth of people," Aithne murmured.
"I didn't!—Look," Carth said. "You're probably one of the most skilled women I've ever met. Your ideas have gotten us this far, and I'm lucky you're here to help me, no question. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop watching you or being wary. I'm just not built that way. Period."
"'Not built that way' is something you say when someone asks why you can't speak Wookiee," Mission offered. "Not when you can't help accusing your partner of what? Murder? Treachery?" She looked at Aithne for confirmation.
Aithne sighed. "There was no outright accusation. He doesn't have the proof, because it's nonsense, and he knows it. And he's right that we don't actually have to trust one another to get off Taris together. But if he can't help 'watching me or being wary,'" she said, putting on a mocking, Carth-like tone, "I can't help needling him about it because it's ridiculous. You're a new way to pick at him, and I like that. But it isn't fair or particularly kind to either of you. So. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
"And I'm not trying to offend her," Carth said, "but I've been betrayed before by people I—" he shut his mouth like a trap then, and his cheeks reddened. "Well, it won't happen again, that's all."
"It's not fair to make me pay for that but on your homeworld," Aithne said. "The past can be a lesson or predictor for the future, but a lot of times it ends up completely irrelevant."
"Maybe you're right, but it isn't always," Carth insisted. He seemed to have forgotten Mission was still in the room. "There are no guarantees. Not for you, not for me. Just . . . could you try not to take it so . . . so personally?"
"Could you try not to tell me how I should take things?" Aithne retorted. "Ungrateful, idiotic little . . . monkey lizard," she muttered under her breath.
She knew it was a mistake the moment she said it. Carth took one look at her and laughed. "Is that your idea of an insult? I know you don't go in for cursing, but come on, sister! Take your best shot!"
Aithne tossed her head back. "Fine!" she snapped. "You schizoid, trauma-ridden, split-personality lunatic! You've got yourself some medals and commendations, nice rank, nice hair and arms, and nice manners. You have twenty-so years in the service, so you've seen a thing or two. You can shoot a gun and purportedly fly, so you think you can sit back and let what you've seen and a raging case of paranoia fly your brain. Well, you can't. Your fear and your past are ruling you, Carth Onasi. They aren't teaching you; they're in the cockpit. Now, I couldn't care less if you tell me what you've been through or not; I'm not your therapist. I only care what you think of me because your whole back-and-forth schtick is exhausting. I'm exhausted! After three days! And because I think if it wasn't for the raging paranoia, we might actually really get along."
Carth's face had gone rigid. "Feel better?" he asked simply. "I think you might have hurt my man feelings with that rant. For someone who claims not to be a therapist, you can do a hell of a lot of analyzing."
"You asked," Aithne spat, as much because even now in a sewer, with both of them out-and-out furious at each other, Mission staring in riveted fascination at them both, her half-eaten ration bar forgotten, halfway to her lips, and the sounds of the droid pounding on the Gamorreans next door, she was ridiculously attracted to him. And she knew it was mutual. Honestly, she thought she was getting a worse case of unwarranted suspicion off Carth Onasi because they did get along so well, because he did want so much to like and trust her.
"I did," Carth admitted finally. Something in him seemed to come undone then, or to relax. "That'll teach me, then, won't it? We do get along," he said. "You—you aren't half bad, even when you're about ready to bite my head off."
Aithne tilted her head, as if to say, See?
Carth turned back to Mission abruptly. "It isn't always like this," he apologized. "It's been . . . it's been a hard few days. Hell of a first impression, huh?"
"You're telling me," Mission agreed emphatically. "Sheesh! That was better than a matinee drama holovid! Hey, take a look at this." She held out a datapad to Carth. "Found it over there on that Outcast skeleton."
"What've we got?" Aithne asked him after a second.
"It's a journal," he said after another few seconds' skimming. "Apparently belonged to Rukil's grandfather. He was hunting down clues to the Promised Land. Puzzles, guesswork. Nothing that really makes a whole lot of sense."
"Still, Rukil might like to have it," Aithne said. "Give it back to Mission. She should have some room in her pack to carry it."
Mission put it away as ordered. "Time to go?" she asked.
Aithne listened. The sounds of bludgeoning and furious squeals still rang down the hall. "Not quite. We've got a few more minutes. I think you've heard enough about me and Carth. Why don't you tell us something about you?"
"Really? You want to know about me?" Mission repeated. "Nobody's ever really been interested in me before," the Twi'lek said in wonder. "What do you want to know?"
"Why don't you start with how you met Zaalbar?" Carth suggested. "The two of you make a bit of an odd pair."
Mission looked out into the hallway. "Big Z's my family, you know?" she answered. "I know I told you I had parents, but that was just because I didn't know you guys, you know? I didn't know what you wanted. The truth is, I think my parents are probably dead. It was just me on my own for years until the day I saw Zaalbar in the Lower City. I could tell right away he was in trouble. This was before the gang wars were out of hand, but even then, the Vulkars were scum. A few of them were hassling Big Z, trying to pick a fight, but he wasn't looking for trouble."
"Who'd want to pick a fight with a Wookiee?" Aithne asked.
Mission rolled her eyes expressively, laughing a little. "Hey, no one said the Vulkars were smart. But there were three of them, so maybe they figured they could handle him. I don't know." She continued. "Anyway, I don't like the Vulkars at the best of times, and when I saw them picking on this poor Wookiee, all alone on a strange planet, overwhelmed by the big city, I just lost it. I screamed out 'Leave him alone, you core-slimes!' and charged right at them. One of them saw me coming and slapped me so hard he just about knocked me cold."
Aithne tensed, thinking about it. If this was three or four years ago, Mission would have been eleven at the very oldest. "You're lucky he didn't fry you with a blaster."
Mission stiffened. Her eyes went flat like a rock. "Hey, I don't need a lecture from you. You ain't my mother! I knew what I was doing. Those Vulkars didn't scare me. They're nothing but cowards! I knew how to deal with them. Of course, I never got the chance," she admitted. "I guess Zaalbar didn't like seeing me get smacked around. He let out this howl and yanked that Vulkar a meter up off the ground and held him there by his throat!" Mission chuckled, remembering the expression on that Rodian's face.
"What did the other two do?" Aithne prompted. Mission laughed.
"The other two screamed and ran off. Can't say I blame them. The first time you see an angry Wookiee up close it isn't a pretty sight." She shook her head. "I thought Zaalbar was going to rip that punk's arms off and beat him to death with his own fists. The Vulkar was so scared he fainted. Or maybe Big Z's breath just knocked him out." She giggled. "I keep telling Zaalbar to brush those choppers of his, but he never listens." She patted Aithne on the back, adopting a mocking maternal expression. "Just stay upwind when he's speaking, and you'll be fine. Anyway, I knew those Vulkars would be back with friends, so I grabbed Zaalbar and we took off. Ever since then we've been a team. We look out for each other, you know?"
She shivered and glanced toward the door. Aithne patted her on the back. "We'll get him back, Mission, don't worry." She changed the subject. "How did Zaalbar end up on Taris?" she asked.
Mission shrugged. "He was fleeing some kind of trouble back on Kashyyyk. That's all I know, really. Big Z doesn't like to talk about it. In case you didn't notice, he's the strong, silent type."
"Oh, we noticed," Carth chimed in.
Mission smiled. "It doesn't matter to me, though. I accept him for what he is, not what he was. Me and Zaalbar like to live in the present."
"How'd you survive before you met Zaalbar?" Aithne asked.
Mission's smile vanished. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, offended. "You think I can't take care of myself? I've got street smarts!" she declared proudly. "I know how to get by on my own. In fact," she informed Aithne, "I look out for Zaalbar more than he looks out for me, you know? Big Z's a bit too gullible to make it alone on the mean streets of the Lower City."
Aithne did believe that Mission certainly contributed to her partnership with the Wookiee, but she also was sure that without him, Mission would probably run into more trouble than she could handle pretty quick, especially with her seeming penchant to go looking for it, and now that she was getting older. She also saw that mentioning it to the kid was probably a bad idea. In any event, she didn't hear sounds of combat down the corridor, which meant the droid she'd repaired had been torn apart and whoever was left was their problem, or that it had taken care of all the bad guys.
"Come on. Break's over. The way should be clear now—or clearer."
"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Mission agreed. "Like I used to tell my brother, fast talk and slick words don't get the job done."
Aithne stopped where she had just been starting forward toward the door. So, there'd been a brother. "I didn't know you had a brother," she said in a neutral tone.
Mission suddenly shifted. "My brother's a touchy subject, you know?" she said. "It just so happens I don't really feel like talking about him right now. Nothing personal. Let's just get back to the business at hand, okay?"
"Yeah, watch that 'nothing personal,' Mission," Carth said. "Aithne doesn't tend to believe those."
"Let's not get into that again," Mission said in an emphatic voice.
The three of them crossed to the room next door. Now and then, Aithne had to dodge streams of green, foul-smelling sewage that cascaded from the ceiling in a rush and through the grating below her feet. Aithne looked down at the droid that she'd repaired. All around the room, Gamorrean bodies littered the floor, bruised and bloody and very, very dead. The droid, still blue-shielded and on patrol, passed by them in total innocence. Aithne smiled.
Suddenly, Mission halted. "Hmm," she said, in a tone that also stopped Carth and Aithne. "Look at this." She gestured toward a door on their left. "This is one of those old-style manual locks," she explained, noting her companion's confusion. "No computer codes or nothing. The sewers is the only place you'll see one of these on Taris. You can't use conventional security spikes on these old locks, but don't worry. I've come across them before. I've rigged up a device that should do the trick."
Aithne raised an eyebrow. "Handy," she remarked, as the teenager pulled out a little metal contraption from a pocket in her borrowed combat suit. Aithne didn't know she'd moved personal effects in. Mission fiddled with the lock for a moment, the door opened, and out rushed a tall, hairy, nasty-smelling, but very much alive Wookiee.
/You're a sight for sore eyes, Mission!/ growled Zaalbar.
Mission beamed, rushing forward to embrace her best friend, who returned the hug with a care not to crush her but with obvious warmth. "I'm glad to see you, too, Big Z!" cried Mission. "You didn't think I'd forget about you? Mission and Zaalbar—together forever!"
Zaalbar smiled with his eyes, the way Wookiees did, and caught sight of Aithne and Carth. His expression changed to one of curiosity. /I remember these two, from the cantina,/ he said. /What are they doing here?/
Mission stepped back and indicated Carth and Aithne. "These are my new friends, Big Z. Without them I never could have got you out."
Aithne bowed. "Just a few dead rhakghouls and a reprogrammed droid," she murmured. "I'm surprised you noticed us at the cantina, Big Z. You seemed elbow-deep in your dinner at the time."
She couldn't form the sounds to speak Shyriiwook herself, but just the fact that she'd referred back to his statement alerted Zaalbar to her understanding of it. He'd have to be sensitive to that, as a Wookiee far from home. /You know the language of my people. That is rare, among your species. I am impressed./
He looked at her for a long, long moment. Then, slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself to kneel on the filthy sewer floor. Maintaining eye contact with Aithne, he said /You have saved me from a life of servitude and slavery. There is only one way I can ever repay such an act: I will swear a lifedebt to you./
Aithne swallowed. The planet seemed to twist under her feet a moment, and then she felt the oddest sense of déjà vu, as though she'd been here before, standing and looking down at a person swearing an oath to follow her forever.
Ridiculous, she thought. She'd never had a dependant in her life, much less anyone vowing some kind of formal loyalty. And honestly, she didn't want that now. A vow like the one Zaalbar was trying to make was an honor that couldn't be refused without conferring great shame and insult on him, but it also conferred a great deal of responsibility upon the recipient. If she wasn't mistaken, the Wookiee was trying to give her his life, for as long as it coincided with the duration of hers—he'd outlive her by several centuries, and by the time she died of old age, Zaalbar would still be in his prime. But even just giving her his youth was a huge commitment. And why her? Why not Carth? He was senior officer.
Not that Zaalbar knows that, one part of her thought, and another: Of course, it's me.
Mission knew exactly what her friend was trying to do. "Are you sure about that, Big Z?" she asked, concerned. "Think about it carefully. You better be sure about this."
Zaalbar looked at Mission without rising. /I am sure, Mission. This is an issue of great importance to me/ he continued, now addressing all of the people in the room. His voice rose to fill the space. /Because of our great physical strength, Wookiees are being used as slave labor on our own homeworld. They see us as brutes and animals to be exploited. Over the years slavers have taken many of my people; we must always be on guard against raids against our villages. When the Gamorreans captured me, I thought I was doomed to a life of servitude./ His eyes found Aithne's again, and he met her gaze with a weight of gratitude and seriousness in his eyes that nearly crushed her. /I have been saved from such a fate, and the only way I can repay that is through a lifedebt./
Carth was silent, aware that something heavy was going on, even if he understood nothing of Zaalbar's speech. Mission was silent for a moment too, then she looked directly at Aithne, her eyes hard with challenge.
"Big Z swearing a Wookiee lifedebt to you. Wow—this is major. Do you realize what this means?"
"The meaning's in the word, isn't it?" Aithne responded. Her voice came out high and brittle, nervous-sounding. She cleared her throat.
"A lifedebt is the most solemn vow a Wookiee can make," Mission said. "It means he'll stay by your side for the rest of your life—wherever you go, whatever you do, Zaalbar will be with you."
Don't mess him up, Aithne heard as plainly as if the girl had said it. She screwed her eyes shut and closed her fists, but this felt right. Not only did she not want to scorn Zaalbar's freedom and his right to do what he chose with it, or make a mockery of his oath, it felt like she was meant to accept some other way, like she couldn't do anything less.
Hoping she was doing what she was supposed to, she opened her eyes and nodded. She stepped forward and placed her right fist over her heart, and while it might not have been precisely the correct cultural gesture, Zaalbar seemed to glow.
/In the presence of you all, I swear my lifedebt,/ he said. /Forever after will I be by your side, Aithne Moran. May my vow be as strong as the roots of the great Wroshyr trees of Kashyyyk./
Aithne nodded again, filled with respect and a little bit of awe for a being who could kneel before someone else and swear such a vow and only increase his dignity and the value of his personhood by doing so. "I . . . accept," she managed, "though reluctantly. I do not feel worthy of such service or such a trust, but in turn, I vow I will do my utmost to honor it. Forever after, you have a place at my table—or a fistful of ration bars inside my pack. Forever after, you have a berth inside my house—or a bedroll in whatever foxhole I happen to be in. Forever after, you shall be as family to me."
The words were awkward, off the cuff. She didn't know what one said on occasions like this, but saying nothing didn't seem like an option. But Zaalbar seemed satisfied, and he accepted her hand up.
Mission ruined the moment, swinging her arm around Aithne's waist. "I guess this means you're stuck with me too," she said, sounding not at all apologetic. "Wherever Big Z goes, I'm going. I almost lost him once. It's not going to happen again."
Aithne started. She hadn't even started to think of that. She extricated herself from Mission, staring down at the kid in horror. "Mission, I don't want to break up your family, but—"
"You did hear back there that we're fugitives on this planet and trying to fly into a war?" Carth said, much more plainly.
/What's this, Mission?/ Zaalbar asked. /Aithne?/
"They're Republic, Zaalbar," Mission explained. "Survivors from one of those pod crashes a few days ago. I'm helping them get into the Vulkar base after the accelerator they stole from the Beks, so they can win the big race in a couple of days and win that other officer. See?" she told Carth. "I was listening just fine, before. I know what we're going into."
"You may think you do, but this is a little past swoop gang wars and Exchange deals in back alleys," Aithne said. "War is—it's a whole other ballgame, Mission. We're not playing with dummy rounds here. There are a whole lot of people who want Carth and I dead, and even more who want our friend, Bastila. It's like your gun, that's safer to shoot even if Carth's might be better. I don't want to take you someplace where you aren't prepared for what could happen."
Not to mention school, Aithne thought, and university or apprenticeship to a trade or some kind of higher education. Not to mention boys—or girls, or other. Not to mention periods and mood swings and reproductive health—or other kinds of health. Innoculations and citizenship and paperwork. Sithspit, she wasn't ready for a kid! Let alone a nearly fully grown one that thought she was but wasn't and all the trauma she might've accumulated all these years that she'd been on her own. All the catching up she would have to do on stuff ordinary kids had learned and done but she hadn't. She wasn't ready for the fiscal or the moral responsibility of preparing Mission for a life within the bounds of some kind of galactic law and society.
"So I'll learn what I need to know," Mission said. "You and Big Z aren't leaving Taris without me, and that is that." She folded her arms across her chest. Her jaw was set, but there was enough fear in her eyes that Aithne suddenly knew Mission's brother had done just that.
"Okay," she said finally. "Okay. We'll make it work. Somehow."
Mission squealed and hugged her. Aithne hugged her back, staring at Carth over the top of the girl's headdress, completely nonplussed.
"Congratulations," he murmured.
"Help!" she mouthed.
He looked sympathetic. "Later," he mouthed back.
/I would like to hear a full explanation of what it is we are doing,/ Zaalbar said.
Mission, Carth, and Aithne worked together to give him one. /And what is your plan once you have found Bastila?/ Zaalbar asked after they had finished.
"We plan on somehow breaking the Sith blockade and leaving the planet," Aithne answered. "Carth and I will escort Bastila to a place where she can regroup and receive new instructions. Carth at least will have to do the same with his own superiors. As for me, I don't know. Maybe the Republic will let me resign my commission. Maybe we'll renegotiate, and I'll contract for them on a freelance basis. That'd be my preference. Or—it would've been. With the two of you—I don't know."
Zaalbar, she thought, could probably handle whatever scouting or reconnaissance missions she chose to go on. Mission had certain skills that would translate well to the work too; she'd seen that. But with her along, Aithne would feel limited in the jobs that she could take, and she didn't want Mission working full time with them, not at her age. But she also knew she couldn't in good conscience separate Mission and Zaalbar for long. It was a problem. It needed a week's thought, and she'd only had three minutes.
"This'll be fun," Mission said confidently, completely oblivious to the massive bomb she and her Wookiee best friend had just dropped on Aithne's whole entire life. "I always wanted to see the galaxy, go on adventures. But I guess now I still owe you one secret path into the Vulkar base. That was the deal, wasn't it? Don't worry! I know a backdoor into that scum den!"
"Good," Carth said, comforted by the return to business. "The sooner we get there, the better."
"I better come with you," said Mission, beginning to pace in thought. "The Vulkars put up a force shield to keep the sewer dwellers out. I'm one of the only non-Vulkars on Taris who can get you past it. I can't remember exactly how to get there," she added, "but I know it was somewhere here in the sewers. Over to the . . . northeast, if I remember right. I just hope the rancor monster isn't still there."
Carth blanched. Aithne said slowly, and very calmly, "I think someone forgot to mention that tiny little detail, Mission."
Mission looked apologetic. "There used to be a rancor monster that made its nest there in that part of the sewers," she informed Aithne. "Pretty much eats anything it can get its claws on. That thing is huge!" Aithne suddenly had a vivid image of a rancor beast the size of their Upper City apartment chewing on a bloody blue headtail, a ripped orange jacket at its feet. Mission held up a hand, "Wait to panic, Aithne. Luckily for us, rancors aren't too bright. I was able to sneak past it before, so I'm sure we'll figure something out. That is, unless you want to change your mind." She looked at Aithne, challenge in her face.
Force, she couldn't wimp out in front of a teenager. Mission was going to be very bad for her, Aithne thought. "Let's go," she said.
"Okay then, off we go. Like I said, somewhere to the . . . southeast. Just look for the force shield, and we'll know we're there."
Carth looked at Mission. "Well, which is it?"
"Which is what?" asked Mission in confusion.
"First you said we need to go northeast, then you said we need to go southeast. Which is it?"
/She also said she didn't know,/ Zaalbar remarked.
"He just made a sarcastic comment," Aithne informed Carth. "Like we didn't have enough smark alecks in the group."