10

'Plus-four, draw from the subdeck and hope for a negative-two and plus-eight to even out the hand, otherwise-.'

The door to their tiny apartment swished open, and Mission looked up, thoughts breaking from the Pazaak hands she had been running over in her head, hoping that Avner had finally returned. It was only Carth, and she deflated, flipping her cards over in her left hand and cursing softly. She had miscounted again. She huffed and tried to reshuffle her deck, finding it extremely difficult with only one hand, her other still wrapped tightly in the sling, shoulder throbbing dully. She dropped several cards and cursed again, leaning out of her chair to grab them.

"Mission, careful!"

Carth was in front of her in an instant, gathering up her fallen cards and handing them back to her. He tried to check her shoulder, but she pulled away, flinching in the process when she jerked her arm too quickly.

"I'm fine!" Ever since she had gotten hurt in the Vulkar Base, Carth had been… well, he had been hovering. Anytime she moved, he was there to make sure she didn't step too fast or step too much or… or… she shook her head. Kriff, it was enough to drive a girl crazy! Especially having to be holed up in this tiny room with Carth the Hoverer and Zaalbar the Guilt-Ridden. Her poor friend still hadn't gotten over the fact that she had been injured on his watch. He would just sit in a corner and watch her with those big, sad, dark eyes. Geez, she was handling being shot better than the supposed adult and her best friend!

Carth looked like he wanted to launch into another lecture again. He had given her several since Avner had disappeared two days ago, causing her to mouth back, which of course, ticked the pilot off even more. Zaalbar always made sure to get in between them before their arguments became too heated, but the tension was building between all three of them. She had never spent this long couped up in one place before, not even when the Mandalorian invasion had occurred several years ago.

The pilot must have seen her look of frustration because he softened and took a seat across from her. "How's your shoulder?"

She wanted to throw a snappy comment back but refrained. Carth was making an effort, so she should too. "It's a little sore but not unbearable." She tried again to shuffle her Pazaak deck but found herself unable.

"May I?"

Carth was holding out his hand, so Mission passed her deck over, and the soldier quickly shuffled the cards.

"You play?" Mission asked as Carth dealt out the cards.

He nodded, splitting the remainder of the deck between them. "Every soldier knows how to play Pazaak; it's a staple on every ship."

"Heh, so you aren't completely lame, huh?"

Carth laid down two cards, a plus-seven, and negative-two, and chuckled. "Kid, I've been cool since before you were born."

Mission actually smiled for once, genuinely, at the pilot. "Put your mouth where your cards are then, old man!"

They exchanged several more hands; Mission sat at eighteen while Carth lagged behind at fifteen. She knew there was at least one more plus-two left in her deck; the problem was she didn't know if it was in her subdeck or Carths. If it was in hers, her next draw could mean pure Pazaak, but if Carth had it, she would have to rework her entire strategy. Carth laid down a plus-three bringing his score to eighteen also, and Mission felt a bead of sweat form behind her lekku as she drew one card. Negative-five, shavit!

"Pass," Mission said, discarding the card.

Carth gave her a quick glance before going back to studying his cards. "Feeling the pressure?"

Mission shook her head. Lie, deny, don't testify; that's what her brother had taught her when playing Pazaak. Don't let your opponent know your ups or downs, bluff till it's enough. Griff… it's been almost two years since he had left her here, promising to return when he had enough credits to pay off all his debts and give them enough money to live like royalty. At least, that was the plan until Lena got her claws into him. Danced right into their lives and stole him away. She frowned and glared down at her cards. Thinking about that schutta always put her in a bad mood.

Carth must have noticed her frown because he smiled while he discarded two cards. "You know, I tried to teach my son how to play."

Mission broke from trying to burn a hole in her cards and looked up. It didn't surprise her that Carth was a father; in the few days she'd known the pilot, she had seen his caring, protective side that only came from being a parent. Something sorely missing in her life. Not that she needed any! She and Zaalbar had a good gig going, and stuffy adults would just cramp their style. Still… it must be nice to have someone to lean on, someone who thought of your interests before their own. "Oh yeah? He any good?"

A wistful look entered his eyes, and he shook his head. "No, he was actually pretty bad at it. Couldn't pick up the hand combinations."

She didn't miss the past tense… was…

"He's… well, he would be around your age, Mission," Carth continued. There was a slight tremble in his hand, but he forced a smile onto his face. "I think you two would get along well."

"Yeah? I wouldn't mind meeting him one day."

He closed his eyes tightly, and before Mission could pry a bit further, the door to the apartment slid open. It was Avner! His head was wrapped in bandages, and he was carrying… a girl? She looked non too enthused at being toted around in the Kiffar's strong arms. She only needed to take one look at her angry frown to decide she didn't much like her. Probably a killjoy with a durasteel rod shoved so far up her-.

"Bastila! You're alive!" Carth jumped up and made room on the bed for the injured woman. Avner set her down gently, but she didn't sink back like anyone else with her injuries would. Instead, she sat tall, spine a straight line, and hands folded primly. She looked like she had been beaten with riot sticks for several rotations, and Mission felt a wince of sympathy. Perhaps she should give the other girl a break; it was clear she had been put through the wringer.

"Things are finally starting to look up. Are you okay?"

She nodded stiffly and offered him a small smile. "I am, thanks in some part to your fellow soldier. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Carth turned to Avner and gave him a big grin. "Good job, Marek; I was getting worried-."

"Pfft, when are you not worried?" Mission interrupted, gathering up her cards. Hmmm, so Carth did have the last plus-two. Well, he would never know that, and what no one else knew never happened in her book. Bastila stared at her oddly as if just taking notice of her presence, and Mission gave her a wry smile, which she didn't return.

"Now that we have you back, Bastila, we can start figuring out a way to get off this planet," Carth continued ignoring the Twi'lek's playful jab.

"Wait, you don't have a plan to get off-world yet? I thought you said you were working on one." The girl looked incredulously between the two men but settled her displeased glare on Avner, who rubbed the back of his head.

"Yeah, well, step one of that plan was saving you so…"

Bastila's expression hardened further, and her eyebrows crept higher and higher up her forehead the longer Avner spoke. "And it took you this long? You know what, never mind. Now that I'm back in charge of this mission, perhaps we can start doing things properly. Hopefully, our escape from Taris will go more smoothly than when you "rescued" me from Brejik."

Yeah, Mission took back her pity and instead doubled down on her first impression of Bastila. Stick in the mud, reactionary, tight-laced square. How had Avner managed to put up with her?

"Bastila, that's not fair." It was Carth who came to Avner's defense, and it surprised the Kiffar as much as it did Mission. "I know you're new to this, but a leader does not berate her troops just because things do not go as planned."

Bastila's expression didn't change. "That hardly strikes me as an appropriate way of addressing your commander, Carth. I am a member of the Jedi Order, and this is my mission. Don't forget that." So Miss High and Mighty was a Jedi, huh? It explained her attitude a bit more, though, to Mission; it just rubbed her the wrong way. She had never personally met a Jedi before but had heard the stories; great warriors with powers beyond anyone's imagination, but also old and stuffy, locking themselves away in ancient temples and lecturing to anyone who would listen. Carth could be bad enough, but Bastila… well, she looked like a world-class, insufferable lecturer.

"Just because you're a Jedi doesn't mean you're automatically a good leader! A good leader would at least listen to the advice of others and consider that they may know more!"

"Okay, okay, lets everyone settle down." Avner stepped in between the two and put a hand on Carth's shoulder. "This isn't helping."

Bastila softened at Avner's sensible words and nodded in agreement. "You're right. Carth, I apologize. This-." She hesitated for a second, then swallowed hard. "This has admittedly been a difficult time for me, as I'm sure it's been for you. Of course, I'm happy to listen to your advice. What do you suggest we do?"

Mission was surprised she conceded so quickly, half expecting her to continue to push back against anything the two soldiers said. Instead, her gray eyes were focused intently on the two men in front of her, her body leaning forward a bit in rapt attention, the defensiveness from earlier gone.

Carth sighed and took a seat next to her. "First off, we can't get hung up on who's in charge; we all need to work together, function as a cohesive unit if we want off this rock. The answer's out there; we just have to find it."

Bastila gave him a small smile. "Well said, Carth. The sooner we start looking, the better; I've already been captured once and frankly don't want to make it twice."

Mission perked up a hair. Was that… was that a joke? Could there be hope that there was more beneath this girl's austere demeanor, that she wasn't just some high-functioning droid draped in organic skin? The Jedi's expression was all seriousness, though, and that tiny hope was squashed like a gogifly beneath the heel of a boot. Hey, she was trying, like really trying to find something, anything to like about this girl! Maybe she really was a droid… or a cyborg. Was there a difference between the two? Mission leaned forward and watched Bastila's face closely. Was she even blinking?

"Alright, so we need to find a way off this planet." Avner said. "Nothing to it."

"Please, there's more to it than nothing," Bastila rebutted, crossing her arms over her chest.

And right back to being insufferable. At least she was kind of blinking.

"You know, if you want to find a way to get off of Taris discreetly, Javyars is the place where any smuggler or runner worth their credits hangs out," Mission piped up from her spot curled up in her chair.

Carth and Bastila looked at her quizzically, but Avner nodded in agreement. "That's not a bad idea."

"I'm sorry, but are you seriously taking the advice of a child? Who is she? And who is that?" Bastila pointed at her and then Zaalbar, respectively.

"Hey! I'm not a child!" Honestly, this Jedi didn't look much older than her!

Avner touched her shoulder, and she immediately quieted. His hand was strong, with rough callus' running the length of his palm and fingertips. She flushed and hoped no one else could see her blush, especially Bastila. "Mission and Zaalbar are some locals who have helped us out. They know this city better than anyone."

Bastila doesn't look convinced but didn't press the issue further. Mission was tempted to stick her tongue out at her but held back. That would be childish, and she was anything but that.

"I can introduce you to some pilots, Avner," Mission suggested, giving the soldier a big smile.

He returned it with one of his own, and Mission's stomach did a little flip-flop. "Thanks, but I think it would be better if you stayed here. You're still recovering."

"What this?" The Twi'lek pointed to her injured shoulder and moved to rotate it but flinched as the tender flesh pulled, causing pain to flare down her arm. "It's nothing."

He shook his head. "Nice try. Zaalbar, you think you can help me out?"

The Wookie rose and nodded. "Of course."

"I'll look into some of the Upper City cantinas while you're gone," Carth offered.

"And I'll come with you," Bastila said, moving to stand.

Avner stepped forward and stopped her. "You can barely stand, Princess." Mission tried and failed to suppress a snort at the very appropriate nickname. "Besides, we don't need you drawing any more attention to yourself and getting recaptured."

"Drawing attention… you caused a shootout at a massive racing event!"

"Actually, you started that one."

"You crashed a flaming swoop bike at the finish line!"

"How do you even know that?"

"I could see the Racemaster's monitors from my cage," she deadpanned, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Look," Carth cut in. "We all need to keep a low profile, agreed?" They all nodded in unison, and Carth continued. "Avner's right, Bastila; you're too badly injured to go anywhere. Besides, we know the area's layout already and need to be able to move quickly."

Bastila looked like she wanted to argue but instead only nodded reluctantly as Avner grabbed his leather jacket from the bed, pausing for a second to study Bastila closely. Not exactly discreetly either, and the Jedi noticed.

"Is… is something wrong?" Bastila asked, looking clearly uncomfortable being under the Kiffar's close scrutiny. Mission's not sure why; Avner's eyes are warm, brown, and kind. She could get lost in them with just one look.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head. "No… it's nothing."

He slipped his jacket on and exited the apartment with Zaalbar and Carth, leaving the two of them alone. Bastila looked anywhere but her, while Mission couldn't seem to take her eyes off the other woman. She was pretty… but definitely not Avner's type. Mission was sure of that. Besides, she was quite sure that the Jedi had some stodgy rule against relationships or something. Not that she cared or anything! Avner was just a cool older friend… who made her heart flutter a little.

She flipped a card over to the Jedi. "So… know how to play Pazaak?"

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It was rather cold and quiet in the Lower City. People were still flocking between vendors, but there was a distinct lack of gang colors within the crowds. The air was much more subdued, unlike the frenzied energy Avner had experienced during the swoop opener. He wondered if the people knew of Brejik's death. Probably, the gangs were so integral to the Lower City that a shift in their power structure and their influence would ripple out and affect much of the population. Perhaps that is why he felt chilled; he was just riding off the people's emotions. That or he was still grappling with the revelation that Bastila was the girl who had been haunting his dreams. How could she be the girl he had fought so many times in his thoughts when he had never even met her before today?

"You seem troubled."

Avner glanced up at the Wookie beside him. "I'm fine; there's just… some things I need to work out."

"Anything I can help you with?" Zaalbar asked, stooping to step inside Javyars.

He shook his head. "Not unless you can interpret dreams."

Zaalbar was silent for a moment as they moved through the bar as if he was carefully mulling over his request. "Dreams are sometimes windows to our truest selves, except we are only seeing one side of the reality; there are other sides we cannot see, which can make understanding them… difficult. They should never be discounted, but one should not hinge life upon them either."

Avner looked up at the Wookie in surprise. He was usually so reserved, his presence quiet and words few. "You sure you weren't a shaman in your past life?"

Zaalbar shook his head and barked out a quiet laugh. "Dreams are quite sacred to my people. We see them as extensions of reality, grounded in truth, but only one side of everything… one layer to life as a whole."

He nodded. His words didn't exactly offer any more clarity to his own problems, but perhaps there was some truth in them. Maybe his dreams were rooted in some form of reality, perhaps a piece of his past he just couldn't remember. Over two years ago, he had suffered severe injuries from a mining accident in the meteor refinery he had grown up on. Someone had pulled his broken body from the flaming wreckage, transporting him away to a medical facility. Apparently, he had spent months in recovery, memory completely gone, only bits and pieces from his childhood remained, the face of his mother, the heat of a plasma torch, and the smell of melting ore. After he was well enough to leave, he never looked back, instead taking the chance at freedom to enlist, become a soldier and see the galaxy. Where Bastila fit into all of that… well, it hurt his head just trying to sort it out.

Zaalbar introduced him to several pilots over the next hour. They're a range of smugglers, ex-military soldiers, both Republic and Sith and commercial fliers, all grounded and unable to break the ironclad blockade surrounding Taris. Impossible to run, one would have to be insane to even try to evade the multiple assault cruisers and warships encircling the planet. The Sith's armada was well-sourced and the most advanced in the known galaxy. Each warship boasted a plethora of manned and unmanned fighter squadrons, while the carriers themselves were armed with all manner of weaponry, from proton torpedos to massive anti-assault turrets. To engage the Sith was to literally roll the dice on one's life and pray they came out the other end in one piece.

"If you're in a hurry to die, son, it would be simpler to just eat your own blaster," one grizzled smuggler had grumbled over his ale before shooing them away. No one was willing to risk life and ship for the last credits Avner had left. Hell, he was sure none of them would take him up on his offer even if he offered them a king's ransom.

"So it seems when you're not scavenging in the Undercity, you're racing swoop bikes for Lower City gangs and upsetting the underworld's power structure."

Avner turned to find Canderous Ordo sitting in a corner booth nursing a single shot of whisky, shadowed by dim lights, looking like he had been expecting him. He hadn't even noticed the big man even though he had made several laps around the bar. The Mandalorian motioned for him to sit while he waved down a server. The soldier slipped into the booth across from the bounty hunter, who slid a glass across the table to him.

"Impressive win you pulled off. Hadn't seen something that ballsy since Bendak Starkiller singlehandedly slaughtered every pit fighter at the Ackley before they outlawed death matches," Canderous said, taking a long drag of his drink.

"Hmph, I'm not sure I know what you're talking about." He was not about to get candid with the man across from him. He hardly knew him. Mandalorians were a strange people; they admired strength and had a strong sense of honor, but they were also not above playing mind games. Psychological warfare, intimidation, manipulation, he respected their prowess in battle, but that didn't mean he was about to trust one.

Canderous let out a deep chuckle and shook his head. "You know, to a Mandalorian, refusing to take credit for your victories is a great offense. Lying is an even bigger one."

Avner narrowed his eyes, finishing the drink in front of him in one swallow before pushing the glass back. He wasn't in the mood to play games and didn't have time to waste on a man who relished pulling the strings on other people. He had more pressing issues to solve at the moment. "Thanks for the drink."

He got up to leave, but Canderous put his hand up to stop him. "Wait, wait, I only brought up the swoop race because you seem like a pretty tenacious guy, someone who can think on their feet and handle pressure. Just the kind of person I'm looking for."

"I'm not interested in working for an Exchange boss."

"Heh, neither am I. What I got planned, though, will benefit both of us."

Avner studied the other man's face looking for any sign of deceit. Canderous doesn't waver, though, his gaze remaining steady, and he motioned for him to sit. Avner conceded; he could hear him out at the very least. "Moved past the honeymoon phase with Davik?"

Canderous grimaced when Davik's name was mentioned. "Started out alright with him, got to knock a few heads together and name my price. Mandalorian mercs are… well, were in high demand; everyone wanted one in their gang. Now any two-bit stooge with a blaster and an average aim can claim they're a mercenary. Bounty hunters are worth a credit a dozen, and Daviks got his two dozen flunkies who will knock heads for a fraction of the price. No respect for an actual professional."

"And no credits, huh?"

"Now you're starting to understand." Canderous signaled for another drink, then leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the table's edge. "Davik's been cheating me out of my money, handing my jobs over to novices, and sticking me with the rookies. I figured it's time to blow jets off this backwater hole and find better opportunities elsewhere."

"Good luck getting through the Sith armada. There isn't a pilot on Taris willing to run that blockade."

"Maybe, but I've got a plan to get around that."

"How?"

"Not many people are crazy enough to race in the Lower City swoop opener; even fewer would ride a flaming bike across the finish line, so I started thinking. If anyone is insane enough to race like that, then they might just be crazy enough to break into, say… the Sith military base."

Avner shook his head. He was unsure if he had heard the Mandalorian correctly; perhaps he really had shattered his eardrums when taking down the rancor and now was just misinterpreting everything he heard. The Sith military base was the most heavily guarded place on Taris; no one could break in… well, no one would ever dare try. "And what do you need from the Sith?"

"Their launch codes, of course. They allow any ship free passage through the Sith blockade; without them, you can almost guarantee disintegration from their automated defense guns."

"If I'm supposedly bringing the codes, then what are you bringing?"

Canderous smiled and leaned back. "The ship, of course. Davik Kang's fastest – the Ebon Hawk."

"Your going to steal from your boss?"

"It's not stealing, more like a debt settled from owed back payments."

"Alright, how do I get these codes?"

Canderous reached into his jacket pocket and pulled free a flimsi ticket, passing it across the table to him. "I have it in good faith that the codes are being held in the central database, which of course, is heavily encrypted. It will take a top-of-the-line astromech droid to slice into it. Lucky for you, Davik was having one custom built by Janice Null, and I have the pickup receipt." He nodded at the scrap of flimsi in his hand, and Avner turned it over. Top-of-the-line servomotors, next-gen processors, and built with a reinforced chassis; it was clear that Davik had put a lot of work into this machine, T3-M4. "Tell her Canderous sent you and give her that slip, and she'll give you the droid. With it, you'll be able to get the codes."

Avner rubbed his jaw carefully, thinking over the man's plan. On the surface, it was crazy, suicidal even with little chance of success, but there was sound logic in it beneath all that. His options were none, and he was running out of time to get off this planet. Those launch codes seemed to be the only way through the blockade, and he needed a ship to get off-planet. Canderous was providing him the opportunity to obtain both, but at what cost? Most mercenaries would let a sucker do all the legwork and stab them in the back when their purpose was fulfilled. Canderous could be no different. But… he had fought back-to-back with the Mandalorian in the Undercity, the man leaving him in peace afterward. He had the honor; Avner just wondered how much. He had no choice, though; if he wanted off this planet, then Canderous offered the only real chance to achieve that, and the Mandalorian knew it.

"Why can't you get these codes yourself? I've seen you fight; you can handle yourself."

"Everyone knows I work for Davik. If I stole those codes, the Sith would have an army down at Davik's estate within an hour. That's why I need you; you're unknown and not affiliated with anybody. We need each other," Canderous replied. "So, do we have a deal?"

The Mandalorian extended his arm, palm open, inviting him to take the plunge. He didn't hesitate as he wrapped his own hand around Canderous's forearm in a firm grip, and the mercenary grasped his, a look of surprise flitting across his face. It was a Mandalorian gesture, a binding of an oath unknown to most except the warrior people, except to him. He had done this before; he was sure of it but couldn't remember where the experience came from.

"When you have those codes, comm me with this frequency, and we'll get off this rock."

He left Canderous in his booth and went to find Zaalbar leaning against the bar. He filled the Wookie in on the plan, who objected heavily when he reached the part about breaking into the Sith base.

"It's impossible, Avner, even for a warrior like yourself. The base is impenetrable to anyone who is not Sith." There was pleading logic in Zaalbar's words; fighting through the Sith's base would be different from getting through the Vulkars. They had numbers, advanced weapons, and systems in place to keep unwanted intruders out. Fighting may be out of the question, but no one said he couldn't trick his way inside.

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that, and I may know how to get in and out without a fight."

Zaalbar growled in confusion but followed him out of the bar and down the street towards the Hidden Bek's base. People were coming and going from the station, but much like the attitude on the street, the people were subdued. There was no raucous laughter or roaring swoop bikes whipping around the yard. Instead, everyone mingled in small groups talking in hushed whispers. Some glanced at him as he passed, but no one stopped him as he entered. He found Zaerdra first, surrounded by several other Beks who were shifting heavy cargo containers back into the garage.

"Careful with that! There's detonite in that one!" Her signature scowl was firmly planted on her face, but she softened when she caught sight of him and Zaalbar. "Avner, what are you doing here?"

"I need to speak with Gadon."

Zaerdra shook her head and motioned for them to follow her. "He's not seeing anyone right now. Ever since the race, he's locked himself away in his office. It's hard for me to even approach him since Brejik-." She cut herself off and let out a breath. "He's not taking what happened well."

"I didn't realize he and Brejik were so close."

The Twi'lek smiled sadly and nodded. "Gadon practically raised him like his own son. When he left and joined the Vulkars, it nearly destroyed him, and now that he's dead…"

'That he killed a man he once considered his son,' Avner thought. One look at Zaerdra's face confirmed she was thinking the same thing but wouldn't say it out loud. She looked tired, dark circles lining her eyes, and her shoulders slumped with exhaustion, a far cry from the strong figure she cut when they had first met.

"Zaerdra, I need his help one more time."

She bit her lower lip, closing her eyes while her lekku twitched in clear agitation. Her inner war played out for a few seconds before she relented. "Follow me."

They found Gadon sitting alone in his darkened office, staring blankly at a series of holos flashing across his wall, the smiling face of a boy with kind eyes and a hooked nose hanging off the shoulders of a younger Gadon. He didn't turn to greet them, instead just numbly clicking the controller in his hand every so often.

"Gadon," Zaerdra began softly, but he didn't turn around, instead continuing with his rhythmic clicking. No one spoke, the silence nearly suffocating as they all waited for the Bek leader to acknowledge them.

"I can't even see his face," Gadon murmured, his voice lacking any of the warm charisma he would usually so readily exude. "All these holos, all these memories…"

Avner stepped forward beside the woman and laid a hand on his desk. "Gadon, I need your help."

The clicking stopped abruptly, and he laughed coldly. "You… you need my help."

"Gadon-."

"You!" He spun around and rose from his chair abruptly. "You and your Jedi bitch killed my son! I could have saved him… I just… I just needed more time!" The gang leader's finger was in his face now, pure unadulterated anger twisting his normally kind features into something ugly. "And now you have the nerve to ask for my help!"

"Gadon, Avner saved your life," Zaerdra reminded him gently, but the other man shook his head.

"Get out! Get out before I have you shot!" Gadon seethed.

Avner stared at the broken man and felt pity. "I'll leave, Gadon, but I didn't kill your son. I wasn't the one who pulled the trigger."

Gadon crumpled at those words, his entire body slumping back into his chair as tears slipped down his cheeks unchecked. Deep, wracking gasps rattled through his chest as he tried to regain some sense of control but failed miserably. No one moved, and no one spoke. What could one even begin to say to a father who had killed his boy and shot a man he had chosen as his own? Minutes slipped by, and Gadon's sobs soon subsided, but his dark cheeks were still flushed, lower lip still trembling.

"What do you want?" Gadon asked hoarsely.

"I need the armor back we traded for," Avner began pulling his authorization papers free and placing them on the desk.

Gadon didn't move to take the papers. He only stared blankly down at his desk for a few seconds before slowly turning away. "Take it, keep the papers, and don't come back. As far as I'm concerned, we're even now." The clicking resumed before they even left the room.

Zaerdra led him to the armor, which had been stored away within their armory. It had been cleaned and repaired, looking almost new as he loaded the uniforms into two duffel bags. Zaalbar took one while he slung the other over his shoulder. She led them out of the base when they were finished and hailed a speeder, turning and extending her hand as they left.

"Thank you, Avner. Gadon will never say it… but thank you," she whispered, shaking his hand.

"Take care of him," Avner said, and she nodded.

Avner left Zaalbar with the armor, the Wookie directing him to the droid shop in the Upper City before he went to return to Mission and the others. The air was as cold up here as it was down in the Lower City despite the sun bathing the streets and generally cheerful masses moving back and forth across the promenade. It didn't reach him, though. The chill that had found a home in his spine has now spread to his chest, wrapping around his heart like a cord. Gadon's shattered face and his wracking cries still echoed in his head, playing repeatedly on a loop. Would Gadon ever recover from this? Could he recover from what he had done? Avner wasn't sure; he had seen men break from killing a complete stranger, but to kill family, that could shatter a man's soul. He couldn't worry about it anymore, though; he had to forge ahead, keep moving, keep fighting.

Janice Nall's shop was bright and sunny, much like herself. The isles were neatly stacked with custom parts organized by make and model, while small stock droids buzzed between the wares assisting with restocking and cleaning while Janice stood behind a long counter. The Twi'lek's yellow skin was nearly radiating under the bright lights, her smile widening even more when she saw him approaching.

"A customer? Come in, come in! My name is Janice Nall; welcome to my shop!" She threw her arms out to gesture to her many wares. "It's always nice to see a new face considering so few Tarisians come in here, not very comfortable with me as an owner."

"I've heard that aliens aren't always… tolerated up here."

Janice nodded sadly but didn't let it affect her smile. "There's an unfortunate perception that most Twi'leks should be dancers in bars, not business owners, while others just don't trust beings that don't look like them. I'm sure you've experienced this also."

He touched one of his pointed ears and shrugged. "I don't let it keep me down."

"Me either! People will think what they want to, but I'll still be here no matter what!"

She was very enthusiastic, and Avner couldn't help but smile at her optimism. It helped drive some of the chill away and warm his bones. "I'm here to pick up a droid for Canderous."

Janice took the receipt and flushed when he mentioned Canderous' name. "Canderous sent you! Why didn't you start with that!" She walked away for a second into the back and returned with a compact utility astromech. It wheeled out from around the counter and chirped, its dome spinning a full circle before focusing its single radar eye on him.

Avner knelt down and patted the top of the droid's dome. "Hey there."

It let out a happy beep.

"Teethree is some of my best work, the best in circuitry and hardware with reinforced plating around the entire rigging. This little guy can slice into any system," Janice explained as she leaned forward on the counter. "He's ready to go; you only need to satisfy the 2000 credit fee."

"Wait, I just gave you a receipt for this guy. I thought he was already paid for?"

Janice shook her head. "That was just the work order receipt."

Two thousand credits were steep, and Avner barely had enough to cover what she was asking, but Teethree was clearly well constructed. He handed over the last of his credits, and Janice disconnected the droid's restraining bolt.

"Pleasure doing business with you; I hope Canderous is happy with my work." She waved to him as he left, and he couldn't help but give her one back. Teethree followed closely on his heels as he weaved his way through the busy streets back toward the apartment. The droid beeped a question, and Avner glanced back, offering a quick grin.

"Don't worry, buddy, you were worth every credit."

The droid chirped happily and spun around him excitedly. He chuckled, but the sound died in his throat as soon as he entered the cramped apartment. Zaalbar and Mission were purposefully looking anywhere but at him while Carth held one of the Sith trooper helmets in his hands. Bastila glared at him from across the room, arms crossed stiffly over her chest.

"What are you even thinking, Avner?"