14

Yavin Prime was forever constant. The massive red giant swirled outside his viewport, the planet ablaze with a vivid blend of oranges and yellows, a smattering of dark spots dotting the gaseous surface like rusty freckles. It made Suvam smile whenever he saw them. He has lived amongst the behemoth planet's presence for most of his life, so he knew almost every facet of its surface. Its warm light bathed his station in a rosy glow, and on especially cold days, when the atmo systems were acting up, thawed his old bones.

He tightened the final screw on the datapad in front of him. Hen would be pleased that he had finally fixed the old thing, though her husband would likely point out that she should replace it, as the pad would most likely be unusable again within the month. Not that they could even get a new one anytime soon, as so few ships came to Port Terminus anymore. Not since San Massor and his gang took over and chased off so many clientele. Now only the odd lost transport or smuggler on San's good side docked here, leaving everyone aboard the space station scraping together what little they could to get by.

He set the datapad aside and instead picked up a burnt-out servomotor, pulling free the rusted paneling to reveal a swath of blackened, twisted wires beneath. Still, San had been good to him for the most part. The Trandoshan always allowed him the first pick of his gang's salvage and gave him the opportunity to earn a steady stream of credits by fixing up the lizard's gear and ships. Well, at least when San was in a paying mood, which was usually when he was drunk… or high on spice.

"Suvam!"

Speak of the devil…

Hen Vane came charging into his small shop, pulling her husband Rik behind her. They both owned and operated a small cantina on the other side of the station servicing the other beings who lived here and anyone unlucky enough to dock on their station. Hen was young and beautiful, a fast-talking Twi'lek and ex-slave whose mouth had gotten her into trouble on too many occasions, but she had a smile that rivaled Yavin Prime. Rik was a bit older, the human's previous life a mystery, but the general consensus was that he must have been some kind of bounty hunter in the past. The man was too deft with a knife, and not just when he was butchering meat. If only the others knew what Suvam did about the enigmatic man.

Rik offered him an apologetic smile as Hen bounced up to him, her green eyes shining with excitement. "Suvam! Someone just landed in Docking Bay 2!"

Probably another smuggler, or perhaps a merc just stopping to refuel before leaving the system. Nothing too exciting or unusual. "I fixed your datapad."

She rolled her eyes but accepted it. "Forget about that, Tan; this ship is top of the line! It's also smoking, and the engines may be on fire, but it's fierce!"

"Hmmm…"

"Aren't you the least bit curious about whose it is? With a ship like that, they must have credits to spare!"

"Maybe, maybe not," the old Rodian began cutting out another swath of burnt wires. What had San's boys been doing with this thing? Using it for target practice? "If the ship needs repairs, then Vero can take care of that. It has nothing to do with me."

"Don't sell yourself short, Suvam; you can fix anything," Hen said, twirling her datapad around in her hands.

He gave her a small smile and shrugged. She was too kind; his skill didn't come from any innate talent but rather from years of experience under the old Baragwin masters he had served as a slave on Yavin 4. Those were dark years, years spent under the lash of a vile sorcerer with terrible powers. San may be a brute, but he was nearly tame compared to… he shook his head. No, he wouldn't even consider that horrible man's name.

"At least San's not here to chase 'em off," Rik grunted from his spot by the door, thick arms crossed loosely over his barrel chest.

"Hmmm, small miracles."

"Rik and I are going down to Bay 2 to see what's up; we'll send them your way if they need anything," Hen promised as she turned to leave. "And thanks for the fix. Stop by the Stroiketcy for a hot meal on us!"

He waved at them as they ducked out of his shop and returned his attention to the charred servomotor in front of him. Without new wiring, there was no way this thing would ever run again. Wonder if he had any stored in the back? Suvam slowly rose to his feet and grimaced, swearing he could hear his joints creak. Too old; he was just too old, just like this station. No matter, he was sure those wires were in the back… or had he lent them to Hen a week ago?

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"Do you want the bad or worse news?"

"What? No good news?" Avner stood beside an aged Weequay whose back was stooped low and face so lined that it was hard to tell where his mouth began, and a wrinkle ended. He had been able to guide the Ebon Hawk into the docking bay just before the engines had completely shut down, the Hawk pouring thick gray smoke from its aft and ventral exhaust ducts, letting out horrible sputtering noises from where the engines were located. Almost immediately, the wizened Weequay mechanic, Vero, had emerged from nowhere, shaking a very large wrench around and looking non too pleased that his bay was being choked with smoke. It had taken some explaining on his part before the old mechanic hobbled onto his ship to examine the damage.

Vero didn't crack a smile. "Your hyperdrive's completely burnt out, and your sublight engines will need a substantial overhaul to get working again. It's gonna run you."

He rubbed the back of his head ruefully but nodded. "I'll figure something out; just start on the repairs."

Vero shook his head. "I can fix your sublight engines, but I can't fix your hyperdrive. You'll need a whole new system."

"Where exactly am I supposed to get one of those?"

"Suvam may have one. He's got all kinds of things in his shop; check with him."

"Thanks."

He found Carth with Bastila in the cockpit. The pilot was running a diagnostics check on the ship's onboard system while Bastila stood behind him, watching him work. They both turned as he entered and sat in one of the control chairs. Their flight from Taris had been a harrowing one, according to Carth. The pilot had barely been able to escape the Sith armada's snub-fighters; the only thing saving them was the precious few seconds of anonymity from the automatic turrets afforded by the Sith's launch codes. Between Canderous' sharp shooting on the forward batteries and Bastila's defensive firing from the aft turret, it had given Carth enough time to punch in a random set of hyperspace coordinates. Not that Avner had been privy to any of this until he woke up and found the Hawk in a state of disrepair.

"Well?"

"Do you want the bad or worse news?"

"I don't think I want either," Carth said, rubbing a hand across his jaw.

"Sublight engines are gonna need work."

"Figured they took some damage during our escape. What about the hyperdrive?"

"Completely gone. We'll need a new one."

Carth let loose a series of curses. "Where the fuck are we going to get one of those out here in the back ass of the galaxy?"

"There's a shopkeeper here who may have one. I'm going to check it out," Avner said.

"And how exactly will you pay for all of this? We don't have any credits," Bastila asked from her spot beside Carth.

"I have a few credits leftover that should cover the repairs for the engine," the Kiffar replied. They were really scraping the bottom of the barrel, and if he didn't find a way to make some money quick, they could be left high and dry, completely stranded out here.

"And the hyperdrive? Are you going to… what? Steal it?"

"Give me some credit, Princess. Thievery is usually my last resort."

Her eyes narrowed, lips pulling into a severe frown, and she looked ready to launch into a longwinded rant about the evils of petty larceny.

He held up his hands in mock surrender before she could get going. "Kidding."

"After everything that's happened, jokes don't exactly seem appropriate at the moment."

He felt a flash of anger burn low in his chest at the Jedi's comment. He was there when Taris was destroyed; he didn't need the reminder of what was at stake. "I know what needs to be done, Jedi."

"Then stay focused; we must alert the Council and the Republic as soon as possible of Taris' destruction. The Sith will be on the move looking for a more important target." Bastila's gaze didn't soften, and neither did his.

"Important target?!"

Mission stood in the hatchway, hands balled into fists and brown eyes flashing angrily. Her glare was aimed at Bastila, the Jedi's stern expression melting away into shock at the teenager's outburst. No one had seen the young girl since the escape; not even Zaalbar could keep up with where she would hole herself up. He was worried about the kid; the destruction had rattled him, a seasoned soldier; he couldn't even imagine how it affected Mission. Taris was her home; her friends and the people she considered her family had all lived there, and now they were all gone.

"Taris… my friends were all there, and they mattered! They are important, and they're worth more than your second glance! My home is gone, and it's all your fault!" Mission shouted, her voice quivering. Her small frame was shaking now, and tears were gathering at the corners of her eyes as she flung her broken accusations at the Jedi.

"Mission, I didn't-."

"Save it! I don't want your useless apologies!" She whipped around and stormed off, tears wetting her cheeks and a soft sob echoing her escape.

"I-." Bastila swallowed hard and shook her head, dismay clearly written across her face. "I didn't mean… I'm sorry."

For a split second, Avner saw the Jedi's carefully controlled façade crack, her gray eyes flashed with pain, and she bit her lower lip so harshly he was worried she may draw blood. His ire at her softened. It was easy to forget in the chaos of the past few days that Bastila was also recovering from her own hurt. She had been held captive, tortured, and was also riding off the horror of Taris' destruction. Her pain could be easily pushed aside when she never faltered and always acted unaffected by everything. But she was still human; she could still hurt.

It was Carth who assuaged her distress as he stood. "It's okay, Knight Shan; Mission's just going to need some time. Don't take what she said to heart." He disappeared through the opened hatch, no doubt, to try to find the distraught girl.

Avner let out a sigh. "I'm going to go find this shopkeeper. Care to join me?"

It was an olive branch and a chance to escape the ever-oppressive atmosphere of the Hawk. Something to help bridge the gap that seemed to be widening between them ever since he had rescued her from the Vulkars. She just stared at him for a second before nodding. The mask was firmly back in place now, the pain vanishing from her eyes and instead being replaced with an impassive resolve.

They left the Ebon Hawk behind and crossed the length of the cluttered docking bay, passing through a rusted set of sliding doors into the main station. Port Terminus seemed as old as Yavin Prime itself, the two entities existing simultaneously in each other's orbits like two symbiotic organisms. The massive gas giant bathed the station in a rustic orange glow, warming the cold durasteel corridors. A few beings walked amongst the mostly empty halls, from small establishments or barracks to several large docking bays and cargo posts. It was cramped, the air thick and stale, and the near-constant hum of an aging life support system thrummed around them.

Bastila kept pace with his quick stride, the limp in her left leg nearly gone. "You're steadier on your feet."

She didn't glance his way but nodded. "The kolto injections mitigated much of the damage, and my connection to the Force helped speed up my recovery."

"Right… the Force."

This time, she did shoot him a look. "You don't very much believe in the Force, do you?"

He sighed. He really didn't want to get into a philosophical debate about the merits and tenets of the Force, and with a Jedi of all people, so he only shook his head. "I believe that there is some… power or maybe energy out there that gives some people special abilities, but is it this all-encompassing, all-powerful entity that makes people gods… heh, no. I've seen too many Sith and Jedi die in the dirt like any other being."

"The Force doesn't just give someone unlimited power; power is gained through hard work and experience. You can have an enormous amount of raw strength, but if you don't know how to channel it, then what's the point of having it at all?" Bastila argued back. It wasn't defiance but rather a deep passion that fueled her words, something vastly different from her usual reserved nature, and at that moment, Avner found the Jedi rather attractive. Her cheeks were flushed with a rosy hue, and her gray eyes flashed with determination, so unlike her normal stoic expression.

"Are you trying to make a case for me to join your little club?"

Bastila rolled her eyes at him, and Avner grinned. So the Princess was a little spitfire; he liked that. "You're much too old to train."

"Hmmm, too set in my dastardly ways then, too corrupted to redeem?" He threw her a crooked grin in jest, but she didn't return it.

"No one is beyond redemption, even a rogue like yourself," Bastila said and fixed her gaze firmly ahead, decidedly ending their discussion for now. They passed through a few more cramped corridors, and Avner was surprised at how this seemingly small station continued to unfold before them with new pathways and rooms to discover. No one really paid them any mind except to offer quick glances in their direction or small pointed whispers as they passed, and anyone they approached quickly scurried away.

"There's a strong feeling of unease here," Bastila whispered as another pair of individuals turned and walked away from them purposefully.

"Yeah, you can practically cut the tension with a knife," Avner agreed.

"Hey, strangers! You look a little lost!"

They turned and caught sight of a pretty Twi'lek waving at them from across the hall. Her skin was a pale yellow with some natural darker striations running the length of her one remaining lekku, the other head-tail a scarred stump cut close to her scalp. Her smile was wide and inviting as she motioned for them to join her in the small establishment she stood outside. It was a tiny cantina lined with a single row of booths on one side of the room and a hook-shaped bar running parallel on the other. Near the back were several round tables and an open window giving a limited view of what appeared to be a small kitchen. A burnished sign hung over the open doors, chipped paint spelling out Stroiketcy.

She ushered them inside and showed them a booth. The delicious smells of cooked meat and marinating vegetables wafted over Avner, and his stomach growled loudly. Damn, it had been nearly two days since he had last eaten, and his stomach was in a near full-on revolt at being neglected.

"What can I get for you two?" The girl asked as she set down two menus and pulled a battered datapad free.

"Directions to an individual who may or may not have a working hyperdrive," Bastila began while Avner perused the menu. There was some good stuff here: a modest assortment of down-home meals and comfort food.

"I'll have the sourfry with extra mayji sauce," he ordered, and the Jedi shot him a frigid look.

"Really? Is now really the time to worry about your stomach?"

"Rik says if you don't take care of the small things like your stomach, then how can you possibly accomplish the bigger ones," their waitress commented, her dazzling smile still firmly planted on her face.

"Rik sounds like a wise guy," Avner agreed and gave a pointed look back at his companion.

"My husband knows a thing or two," she joked.

"Hen! I'm back!"

"Call for an akk dog, and he will appear," the aptly named Hen said, and she waved over a tall, broad-shouldered man carrying several bags. Thick muscle wrapped around his arms and legs, his green shirt stretching tight over his barrel chest. Light brown hair hung across his forehead and barely brushed the nape of his neck. His jaw and face were strong and lined with old knife wounds. He nodded to them both while Hen planted a quick kiss on one of his scarred cheeks.

"Our guests are hungry, love. Enko's already in the back prepping." The large human nodded and disappeared behind a set of swinging doors leading to the kitchen. Hen turned her attention back to Bastila and nodded down at the menu. "Made your choice, sweetheart?"

"I-I'm sorry, but we have pressing things to attend to. Besides, I'm not very hungry." A low growl resonated out from their table, and Avner smirked.

"That wasn't me."

Bastila only glared at him.

"Honey, your ship will need hour's worth of repairs. Relax, have a good meal, and then I'll personally take you to Suvam. He's the one you're looking for," Hen said, tapping her fingers along her datapad's edge.

"How do you know about our ship's troubles?" Bastila asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Hen laughed good-naturedly, not at all bothered by the other woman's tense question. "Port Terminus is small; everybody knows everything that goes on here, especially when new faces show up."

Bastila didn't look convinced, so Avner tapped her menu to draw her attention back to it. "She's right, Shan; we both need to eat, and the Hawk's not going anywhere for a while."

She sighed and quickly glanced over the flimsi before choosing a plain bowl of noodles mixed with simple vegetables. Hen swept up their menus and went to give their orders, leaving them both in contemplative silence. It was quiet between them, Avner staring up at the flickering holoscreen airing a repeat gravball tournament from some distant planet while Bastila picked at the frayed edge of her poncho.

"This is strange."

He glanced at the Jedi, then returned his attention back to the game. "What is?"

"This," Bastila said, moving her arms in a circle around her. "Us, here having a meal like we're two normal people out on a…"

"Date?" Avner finished, and again, a pretty pink hue flashed across the girl's cheeks before she vehemently shook her head.

"No! It's just that after everything that's happened… Taris' destruction; this just seems so unnatural. Like I'm looking through someone else's eyes." She was silent, gaze drawn to a series of small chips on the table's edge.

"You're shell-shocked. You've just experienced an immense amount of trauma in a short amount of time, and your mind is trying to make sense of it," Avner explained gently. He had experienced it in his early days as a soldier, but it had lessened considerably the more time he spent in combat. Almost like his spirit had developed a callous to all the wrongs he had seen. All the wrongs he had committed. "Inexperienced soldiers face this often in their first months of service."

"I'm not inexperienced though… I've been in battle countless times before, fought and killed many beings in my service to the Jedi. This… I don't know why this is bothering me so much," she revealed softly.

"It bothers you because you care; what happened was so inherently wrong that any average being with an ounce of conscience would feel the same way." He stared at her fully now, willing her to understand that her feelings were normal. What she was experiencing was only her mind trying to cope with the horrible suffering she had just witnessed. Don't shut down, don't push it away.

But she does just that. "A Jedi does not let emotion cloud their mind; it is a weakness."

"Caring isn't a weakness, Bastila."

"No, but being empathetic to the point of being frozen in grief is a detriment, one that I cannot afford. There's too much at stake for me to wallow in my own misery and that which I witnessed."

Avner frowned, and Bastila mirrored his expression when she saw it.

"Please do not think I am completely heartless. I am dismayed by all those lost… and Mission…" she trailed off and glanced away. Her words weighed heavily on them both.

"She didn't mean to yell. She's also trying to work through what happened, and you were just a convenient target."

"No, I was careless with my words, and I regret them."

"Maybe you should let her know that then," Avner suggested leaning forward and bracing his forearms against the table.

Bastila shook her head. "I don't think she wants to hear anything from me, the person responsible for her world's destruction."

Avner blinked in surprise at the Jedi's soft admission and opened his mouth to object, but Hen appeared with their food, placing both their plates down in front of them and effectively ending the conversation. They focused on their meals after that, neither talking, eyes fixed firmly on their plates. It was good, some of the best sourfry he had ever eaten, but it all tasted flat whenever he glanced up at Bastila. She was pushing her food around her plate, obviously lost in thought. He wondered if she was really holding the total destruction of Taris solely on her shoulders; guilt like that could eat a person alive.

Hen cleared their empty bowls away when they were done and hollered to her husband that she was leaving. She guided them through the twisting corridors of Port Terminus, pointing out different people and establishments along the way. Her sunny disposition only dimmed when they passed a boarded-up docking bay littered with blaster burns and sealed tightly to any outsider.

"What is this place?" Avner asked as they walked further down the hall.

"A reminder of all the things we've lost and everything we stand to lose," she murmured back, her voice taking on an almost morose melancholy. Avner glanced at Bastila, who only shrugged in return. He didn't push her to elaborate further, and her face brightened when she caught sight of a small room at the very end of the corridor. She ushered them inside and threw her arms wide.

"Welcome to Suvam's shop, a collection of oddities, junk, and hidden treasures. That old codger can fix just about anything and knows everything about this station," Hen exclaimed, peering through shelves cluttered with old wares and miscellaneous objects.

"Hen? Has your datapad shorted out again?"

An elderly Rodian appeared from a small room in the back, his arms heavily laden with long loops of plasma cable. He dropped the cable into a pile at their feet, then straightened, holding out a withered hand in greeting. Avner firmly grasped the other alien's smaller palm in his, the skin dry and layered with callous', green mottled brown with age.

"These kind folk's ship has broken down and may require some special parts," Hen explained, patting the Rodian's thin shoulder. "I need to get back to the Stroiketcy before Rik breaks down from talking to more than two people. Don't be strangers, you two!"

Suvam hummed while he regathered his cables, Avner stooping to help him. They deposited them on a nearby table, and the Rodian nodded in thanks. "Hen wouldn't have brought you here unless you didn't need something specific." His dark eyes were extremely perceptive, observing both him and Bastila carefully.

"Our ship has sustained quite a bit of damage, and we're in the market for some parts."

"Been in a fight recently?"

He glanced at Bastila, and she shook her head imperceptibly. Less was best. "We… had a run-in with some pirates."

"Pirates… right." He didn't believe them. Clearly, a man as old as him had probably heard every excuse or lie under the sun and could see through everyone. Still, he didn't press them, instead gesturing to a collection of refurbished parts lining a low-hanging rack. "I don't have much."

There were a few shield generators painstakingly rebuilt from scratch, several proton torpedo ports, and a rusted ion dispenser, but no hyperdrive. "You have any more parts?"

Suvam scratched his chin and shrugged. "Depends; what are you looking for?"

"A hyperdrive."

"Hmph, I figured. Vero told me about your ship problems," Suvam grunted as he disappeared into the back of his shop.

"Is nothing a secret on this station," Bastila grumbled quietly.

"Eh, not much happens here, so when something new shows up, everyone knows about it within the hour," Suvam said, reappearing with a hovercart hauling a pristine hyperdrive. Bastila blinked, obviously surprised that the elderly shopkeeper had heard her but schooled her features into detachment.

Avner rounded the beautiful engine admiring all the special care that had clearly gone into building it. Suvam stood back a bit, wiping his hands off on a grease-stained rag. "I built that drive from scratch. It took me four years and every spare part I could scrape together to make it. It's one of a kind with dual hydrogen cooling cylinders and twin ion processing ports. Can make lightspeed before point five."

It was unlike anything he had ever seen, and Avner wanted it. No, he needed it in the Hawk. "How much?"

Suvam shrugged. "Let's say two thousand."

"Wait… you can't be serious."

"Is that a bad price?" Bastila asked, whispering lowly at his side. She was clearly lost on what was happening, her brows pulling together in a puzzled look.

"No, it's… well, it's actually well below what he should be asking. A custom-built drive like this would cost ten times the amount he wants on Coruscant. I don't get it; why are you just giving this away?"

"What's the point of asking for money no one has. I'm not using it; I don't have a ship, and no one here has any need for it. Why not give it to someone who will put it to good use?"

"That's… very generous of you," Bastila said.

"Maybe, or maybe I'm just being practical. As it stands now, I'm only using it as a dust collector."

Avner whistled lowly and crouched down to better inspect the beautiful machine. He was offering them the deal of a lifetime for a one of kind hyperdrive, and he wanted it so badly it nearly hurt. "Suvam… I want to take this off your hands, I really do, but I can't pay you. Everything we have has been used to fix our sublight engines."

"I see." Suvam rubbed the cranial crest running the length of his head and inspected them both. "Maybe you're open then to earning this engine another way?"

Avner nodded for him to continue.

"One of my conscripted salvage teams hasn't returned from Yavin IV nor checked in for a few days. You and your friend seem like people who can handle… trouble. Find out what happened to my team and return with any salvage, and the hyperdrive is yours."

"What's the catch?" It was Bastila who asked before he could. This deal seemed almost too good to be true, which meant some hidden snag was probably being conveniently left out.

"Yavin IV is home to many dangerous predators. It's possible my people encountered one or… whatever the case, just bring the salvage back," Suvam replied, clearly unwilling to explain further. "It's either do the job or pay up, kid."

"Avner…" Bastila already knew he was going to accept the job. They have only known each other for a few days, and already the Jedi could read him like an open book. He wasn't sure how he should feel about that. He didn't like being dissected, his every motive being picked apart by someone he knew next to nothing about. He pulled her aside, and she held his strong gaze, never once flinching away. She had heart and a quiet strength to stick to her own convictions. She would be harder to convince than Carth to go along with his sometimes unconventional plans.

"This is the only way."

"There are no absolutes; there is always another way," Bastila disagreed, her steadfast frown on full display. She really liked to frown, especially at him.

"Then what do you suggest we do? We have no credits, a busted ship, and need to get back to the Republic as soon as possible. Unless you've been hiding money somewhere, I don't know about." He made a grand show of looking her up and down, and she just rolled her eyes at his dramatics. "This is the only way."

"I swear you're a child in a man's body."

He only smirked down at her before turning back to the Rodian. "Suvam! We have a deal."

The walk back to the Hawk was quiet. Bastila was clearly unhappy with the deal he had struck while all he felt was excitement. A simple run to Yavin IV and some salvage was all that stood between him and the powerful hyperdrive Suvam had built. Nothing he couldn't handle; he had been through much worse on Taris.

Canderous greeted them as they entered the Ebon Hawk. The Mandalorian was lounging amongst several of the crates situated around the ship's spacious cargo hold, several pieces of his blaster cannon laid out in front of him. "You two have a nice walk?"

Bastila flat out ignored him and continued on into the ship's main hold while Avner only shrugged, following her to the cockpit where Carth was. They filled the pilot in on his plan, and Carth also looked uneasy about the arrangement the Kiffar struck but didn't object to it.

"You're seriously considering going along with his ill-advised plan?" She stared at the soldier incredulously, like she couldn't believe anyone would ever side with him.

"We don't have much of a choice. We're strapped and stranded," Carth pointed out, but Jedi still looked unwilling to bend, so Carth offered her a calm smile. "Bastila, I know you're used to abiding by rules and regulations, and what we're doing falls grossly outside of them, but sometimes extenuating circumstances dictate we work outside the box if we want to succeed."

She softened at his words and finally conceded. Avner felt a flash of resentment at how easily she compromised for Carth but insisted on fighting him at every turn. Nothing he did was ever right in her eyes. She looked at him like he was the enemy, watching him closely as if she was waiting for him to snap.

"So it's settled. I'll collect the salvage on Yavin IV," Avner said. He was the best one to complete the job; besides, Carth was needed here to keep repairs moving on the Hawk.

"I'll come with you." It was not a request, and the look in the Jedi's eyes brooked no room for argument.

"Don't trust me, Princess?" His voice had taken on a hard edge, and he couldn't help it. She pushed him where others wouldn't and lit a fire beneath his skin that spread like an irritating scratch. He had tried to help her, given her the benefit of the doubt that her opposition was from what had happened, but now… now it only seemed personal. Like her mistrust was deeply rooted in some intimate hurt, he had done to her.

"Trust comes by earning it, not expecting it," she replied back just as stiffly.

"I'll come along too," Canderous offered from his spot at the hatchway, breaking their heated standoff. "I could use it to stretch my legs."

"We don't need your help, Mandalorian," Bastila opposed turning her hard gaze on the tall warrior who didn't look the least bit impressed.

"And I don't need your permission, Jedi."

The tension between the three of them was nearly tangible like any little spark could set off an explosion. Carth stepped forward and offered the only sensible advice.

"Look, you three need to all calm down and work together, or we're all going nowhere fast," Carth said, cutting off any chance for a brewing argument to erupt. They all shared a strained look but nodded reluctantly. For now, there was an uneasy truce.

For now…