Aay'han

[Darven]

... bal kote, darasuum kote,
Jorso’ran kando a tome...

Music fills the cockpit of the small ship, a virile chant reminiscent of days long gone by, and for a moment the lone occupant of the ship's cockpit closes his eyes to shut out the stars swimming before his blurred vision. The depth of space seems to beckon to him with an awful familiarity of kinship, an infinite darkness to match the black hole inside his very core. Grief. Loss. Regret. Pain. And a terrible bitterness. That is all that is left of him. All that is familiar to him now, as it has been for too many years.

He shuts it out. The moment passes. The chant goes on. And he is left to his thoughts.

No, 'buir', you didn't do us a favor when you gave us what you saw as a future. In a way, it was much worse knowing you wanted something more for us, because we always knew we would fail you. We could not do anything but fail trying. It made us realise what we were missing; made us think of the things we could never have when we were marching off to fight someone else's war.

I've had too much time to think lately.

Sometimes I think we would have been better off if they'd not given us a mind to think with. It would have been better if they'd asked for a droid army instead.

But we were pawns in a much bigger game. They knew why they didn't want an army of droids. Whoever 'they' is. Definitely not the Jedi.

Because it's all about their corruption, isn't it? I've had that much time to work it out, and now I wonder if I'm the only one to see it. Did you, before you passed away? Did your 'sons' see it just as I have? But you told them they were well nigh invincible, if they had seen the truth, they would have tried to stop it. Or have they? Tried? They are dead, aren't they? That's why I haven't found any trace of your 'clan', isn't it? I don't know.

But I know about the Jedi. They were pawns just as we were. I don't know who had the worst fate of us. We were handed to them on a plate, a tool to grasp at their weakest moment when all would have been otherwise lost, and in taking up the tool they doomed themselves by going against their own tenets to do what they must. Did they willingly take up the weapon that was their own undoing? Did any of them understand? Jusik did. He left. He couldn't handle the wrongness. The corruption of their very core. Maybe their leaders did, too, but it was too late. They were just pawns.

His gaze shifts to the small framed holograph attached to the side of the main console. A young human girl, maybe ten or eleven years old, is batting away small bolders with a golden-bladed lightsaber, an earnest look on her face until the last of the bolders are lying at her feet and she turns her face in the direction of the viewer with a curious look that quickly turns to something akin to happiness for a second before it turns sad, and then away.

And I corrupted her.

[Nya Halcyon]

In another part of the Galaxy...


"Listen, sleazebag - we had an agreement, and I expect you to honor it!"

Anger made her blood boil. Scenes of violence flashed briefly in her mind; scenes where she was administering all kinds of tor -justice- to this di'kutla aruetii who thought he could get smart with her just because he thought he had an unknown doing his wetwork, but she clamped down on the imagery with an iron will - before she'd feel the faint stirrings of something she was not willing to give into right then.

It'd taken her two standard months to track down the miserable jai'galaar'ad she'd taken the contract for - not because she was slow or inexperienced (far from it, actually, she'd been at it ever since her thirteenth birthday - but they didn't know that) but because the spineless worm had taken refuge with a group of ultra-pacifist Bimms and it had taken her that long to persuade them to turn him over to her. Of course, she could've just waded in and taken him by force, but... that would have been wasteful. Ne pirimmuy tal'galar par naas - no point spilling blood for nothing; she wasn't getting paid for more than a capture-alive. So it had taken a while; but she got him - which was more than anyone else had managed.

But Boryak was trying to convince her otherwise, and that was what was really making her angry now. She didn't like getting angry. It got her in trouble. With Gotab, with herself, with the galaxy as a whole; these days, she gave everything to avoid getting angry.

She knew where it could lead. She knew only too well.

"Hey, like it or leave it, girl - shouldn't've taken all this time if ya wanted full payment."

She saw his lips move but wasn't paying attention to his words. No need. He was still trying to argue. With the vibroknuckler in her right-hand glove slid out of its retracted position, she took one step closer to him before he could even move - close enough to see the ast'ehut pores on his ast'ehut nose - and dropped her voice down to a guttural whisper.

"Ne shab'rud'mando'ad, aruetyc osi'yaim!!! ... look down, hu'tuun, and tell me what you see!"

The fool didn't know what he'd got himself in for. One didn't just try to cheat her out of four thousand credits after she had done the job. He seemed to see that, too, now that he looked down and saw the tip of her blade resting against his stomach. The fear that rolled off him hit her a second later, but to her surprise it was minor. As if it meant nothing. She saw him narrow his eyes.

"Ya gotta be kidding me, girl, you're no Mandalorian! The last Mandalorian I came across would've had you for breakfast - put that thing away, at on--" he said, but didn't get further as the blade slid into his intestines and laid him open from gut to neck with one smooth move of her hand.

Too bad. She couldn't have let him get any further. It felt righteous. He deserved it. She hadn't even done it out of anger. She'd pushed that aside at that last moment, and done her duty.

She was getting better. A regular jate jetii'hibir, these days. Maybe someday she could be one again.

She left the puddle of steaming dead human behind her after relieving it of the contents of its pockets and strode off, grabbing her "prisoner" by the cuffs as she walked by. Now that Boryak was no longer interested in him, it was up to her to deliver him back to where he'd come from - or find some other use for him.

[Darven]

Corruption is a two-edged blade. She made up her own mind.

A hand moves up to his face, tracing the deep scar running from his hairline down to his jawbone. It recalls him to his responsibility.

It was I who made up her mind for her, the day....

Both hands now go to his temples, fingers pressing hard into the skin against the bone there, as if that could ebb the flow of thoughts and emotions. He fights for control. He cannot bear thinking about it again.

Silence envelopes the cabin, for a long moment, during which he concentrates on the bright dot moving behind his closed eyelids. It calms him, a little, and finally he lets his hands sink down to grip the armrests of his chair instead. He is feeling angry, now, for some reason. It must be the drugs. He kicks the console with his booted foot.

I'm a di'kut. The ship's not done anything to me. It's been a trustier companion than some others, a constant in a life that's had none other.

His mind still busy, his thoughts are at least off the wrong topic.

No, not true. There have been constants; they simply ceased to be. And it's easier on the heart to say that there have been none. How strange - that it should be easier to accept this loneliness rather than the thought of what I've lost... who I've lost.

The cabin walls are suddenly closing in on him. Or so he imagines.

This ship is too small for me these days. There is still only one of me, still only one.... - a look at the framed holograph again and the bitter taste of defeat is back - ... and yet, it was never too small when she was with me. Why is that?

A subconscious wish to make amends? It's too late for that. It'll all be over soon.

He swallows, hard, but this is a truth he has accepted a long time ago. Not like some others.

I'm dying a little more each day. I'm 37 but nearing 70. The aiwha-bait didn't grow us to last. They didn't have retirement in mind when they created us. The perfect soldier, loyal down to the very last gram of flesh, willing to go out in a blaze of glory as long as that belonged to someone else. We were an expendable commodity. 'Throw a few of them into this engagement, a few into that - if you run out of them, you can always get more'. And leave the dead and dying behind for the carrion beasts to devour.

I'm wondering if they planned for us to have feelings. I've met troopers who weren't able to think of anything other than where the next meal and the next engagement was. It's frightening in all its simplicity. And whether they intended it or not, it would have been the perfect creation, the perfect culmination to their research. A mirror to their own apathetic soul. If they had any left.

The claustrophobia is growing worse now.

I need to do something. There has to be something I can do. My cells might be dying a little more every day but I'm still here?

But there really isn't. No contract, no job. Nothing but the dead of space to stare into all day long. The company of strangers isn't welcome to him. And he is not welcome in the company of familiars.

He takes another pill. It will make him sleep. Give him dreamless sleep.

[Nya Halcyon]

They were back in her ship and in hyperspace - the prisoner once again safely ensconced in the makeshift holding cell - before she let herself relax a little and take stock of the new situation.

Boryak had initially offered her 15,000 credits for a live bounty, paying her 2,000 in advance. When she'd finally caught up with the target and brought him back here, Boryak had offered her 9,000; but the cred chips she'd found on him had been no more than 6,000. Which meant he had either an overblown idea of his own bartering skills or hadn't intended to give her any. And judging by the fact that he'd thought her a wannabe-Mandalorian, she would have put all her creds on that last option.

Which would at least have been a lucrative bet if someone had taken her up on it. Because all things considered, even the 15,000 of the initial offer wouldn't have been enough to cover all her expenses; nevermind the debt she was running up with that yaiyai'yc ge'hutuun of an Aqualish back on Nar Shaddaa. She'd spent the down-payment on getting the intel on the bounty's location, and the 6,000 she found on Byorak would be gone as soon as she got back to base.

Perhaps she shouldn't have killed the man so fast - with a little subtle convincing she might have gotten something more useful out of him. There had been something off about him - he hadn't looked wealthy enough or high up enough in the food chain to be able to afford posting a bounty on someone - but she'd figured he was a go-between for the local government; the bounty was a tax inspector after all, which would make sense in this time and age where corruption within governments was a common vice and some jobs were just a bit more dangerous than others.

Of course, now that she’d killed the go-between, chances that she could still find some way to get paid were extremely slim. Her carefully honed senses had told her it was best to put as much distance between her and this planet as fast as she could, and she’d done just that as soon as she’d got the bounty secured. She’d only made the mistake once not to listen to her instincts, and sworn to herself never to do so again.

An ill-supressed pang of guilt rose in her at the thought, but she quenched it fast enough. No use going down that path. Especially not now.

A few parsecs out of the system, she dropped the ship out of hyperspace again. Her senses might have told her to get away, but there had been no pursuit and no one challenging her departure. Perhaps not all was lost.

Grabbing her helmet from the empty co-pilot’s chair, she crammed it onto her head and gave her senses a few seconds to adjust to the different visuals, then headed aft. It was time to have a little chat with the “former bounty”, and see if he could still be useful in some way to clearing her debt.<o>
</o>

[Darven]

And then he sleeps. And the dream comes unbidden, unwelcome, unavoidable – and always the same. It is as much a part of him now as his brothers were a part of him then. There is no respite. There can never be. It is part of his punishment, part of what he is.
In the dream he is with his brothers again and for a brief moment he can no more than rejoice in their presence. Home is where his brothers are. Even though they are not the ones he was decanted with; his old squad-brothers died early in the war, but that matters little because the men in his new squad have become his family now. They have shared everything with him – every new experience, every moment. He knows them as they know him.

But that thought gives pause to his joy, and the brief moment of pure happiness makes way to the growing dread of what he knows will come. For they do not know all.
They do not know the doubts riddling his heart, they have never experienced any cause for doubt. They do not question their instructions; their unwavering loyalty was bred into them from the first hour of their existence. They do not fear the future – or fear death. They are not the same.

Physically, there is no difference. In training, there is – he is a commando, they are troopers. They say a commando is worth 25 troopers. But his brothers of Decoy Squad five have had training equal to his – it has been his job to do so. They are part of an elite group of soldiers – the 501st legion.

And this day, this moment, they are climbing the steps that leads them to the pillared entrance of the Jedi Temple, in the wake of their new commander whose black cloak is billowing behind him, caught in the draft of his confident steps.

This day, they go to murder the Jedi.

[Nya Halcyon]

Sometimes it felt to her as if in her haste to abandon her home, she’d left a vital part of her behind – the part that kept her out of trouble and made her think things through. Everything was just a little more difficult, more obstinate, more… sluggish…. since she’d left. She’d made a lot of the wrong choices since then. It had been almost eight years, but it felt like an eon sometimes. An eon filled with nothing but making mistakes. An eon of missing the few people who had been important to her.

An eon of missing the person she hated most….

The Grat’tua Ner wasn’t a small ship; she’d been built for something more meaningful than carrying a single person and the occasional “visitor”, and before she’d fallen into Nya’s hands, her primary function had been to act as passenger transport ship, with enough space to comfortably accommodate a small group of beings. The long corridor to the aft cargo bay had once upon a time been richly carpeted, but it had been years since the ship had seen its last glory, and the floor she walked on now only showed frayed graying patches on both sides. It wasn’t enough to cushion the fall of her boots, and the echoes of her solitary walk filled the otherwise silent corridor.

It wasn’t the first time she’d walked through it that the eerie silence was affecting her mood. She preferred surrounding herself with things, sounds, beings – distractions, in short; because the long silences and stretches of solitude left her to too much thinking.

She prided herself on having learnt to be able to keep her emotions and thoughts in check; but when silence prevailed for too long, it eradicated her resolve. And lately, that had happened too often.

When she reached the aft cargo area she released a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding; it sounded overly loud in her ear. For a moment, she stopped in her tracks and just looked around.

The aft cargo bay had once been used to store the passenger’s luggage as well as any provisions the crew and passengers needed. As such, it hadn’t been decorated like the rest of the ship and been left relatively bare. Nowadays, the only thing stored inside it were the bounties she picked up.

The holding cells and the cryo-containment box against the left side of the ship’s durasteel hull had not been standard equipment – it had been those two additions to the ship that had plunged Nya into accumulating a mountain of debt with various beings on Nar Shaddaa. And in one of the three cells now sat the miserable little hu’tuun that was hopefully going to help her decrease that debt…. somehow.

Walking over to the cell, she stopped at an armslength of the bars and, for the first time since taking him into custody, looked him over, trying to see if there was anything she could see beyond what the various descriptions of him had said he was.

[Darven]

But with every step he climbs that long staircase to the top, the dread seems to thicken the blood in his veins. He knows this is wrong. He has served with Jedi, has met some of the Order’s leaders – they do not deserve an end so vile.

How can it be right?

Everything about this is wrong. Everything.

The commander casts an eye over his shoulder, as if sensing his doubts. Then icy resolve newly floods through him – the wish to do as he is told compelling him onward, and his doubts is no more but a small flame with hardly any life left in it to keep burning. He must go and do as he was commanded; he must go and kill the traitorous Jedi. There cannot be room for doubts. The Jedi are traitors, and deserve this fate. They MUST die.

Then the commander turns his head forwards again just as he reaches the top, and in Darven’s head the certainty of his purpose grows faint again.

When he reaches the top only seconds after their leader, his commander is already engaged in conversation with the enemy. The Jedi that confronts them does not look like a traitor. Instead of the dangerous and deadly foe they have been told to expect, there is an old grizzled man waiting for them, who seems nothing but confused at their sudden approach. The worry on the man’s face grows with every second as he keeps asking the commander - who he still perceives to be his fellow Jedi - what is wrong. At last, the Jedi gets his answer when the commander activates his own saber close enough to the Jedi’s face that the igniting blade stabs into his head. But even in death, the Jedi does not look anything other than benevolence personified.

The man asleep on the chair twitches, slightly, and hitherto smooth features contort to a grimace that make the deep scar running along the right side of his face all the more prominent, and set his face into a mask of pain. His hands clench and fingernails bite into the skin of his palms, yet he does not awake from that. The dream has too deep a hold over him to let him escape so easily.


His hands balled into a fist, Darven fights the urge to step foward and come to the Jedi's rescue. Yet it would be too late. And his orders are clear. He cannot fail to obey them. He was created to obey. He was bred for this life. He was bred to be loyal. It is not for him to question orders.

The commander once again looks back at his troops. And for a moment, Darven's fear drowns out all else: a demon is staring back at them, with eyes full of blazing fire and a face contorted by hate. This should be the foe they should vanquish, not the Jedi! But then the world is a sea of calm resolve, icy and sharp their purpose, once again. Follow Darth Vader. Kill the Jedi.

No room for doubts.

[The Man In Black]

The Man in Black was ironically dressed in beige today. Other then the odd style change he was quite content with himself, and he sat cross legged in the corner of his improvised cell. He meditated. Calmly, he supressed an urge to break free, kill the woman, and have done with this whole situation. However 8 months of living with pacifists did wonders in supressing those urges.

With a long practiced eye he scanned his confines and examined it for weak points. Forcibly, he shut his eye. Calm... He took a deep breath. The Man was slightly better.

Arrayed in front of him lay whatever the woman who had captured him deemed safe enough to let him keep. Not that it particularly mattered, he had a feeling she was out to kill him. Still, he had some pocket change, a battered pack of smokes, a reciept for mood balancers, some lint, and a piece of string.

He had a feeling she didn't know who he was, and he wasn't about to correct her. Somehow, he figured his death would be that much more painful if she did. With a weary mental shrug, and another self-reassuring breath, he tried again to meditate and focus on the steady hum of the engines or something equally steady until he heard footsteps approaching.

[Nya Halcyon]

Her prisoner did not look as old as he was.

That was the first thing she noticed, now that she looked at him more closely. She'd read his file and seen the age - this man did not look like an 85-year-old. He looked too fit, for one.

He was sitting in the far corner of the cell, cross-legged and apparently meditating. His eyes were closed, and he had not made any outward sign of having noticed her presence, but she did not need her other "skills" to sense that he knew she was there. Subtle hints in his body language told her that she need only make a mistake, need only relax her guard for one second, and he would take his chance to try and overcome her.

'Let him try...!' her mind snarled at the thought, with the knowledge of superiority over any being imprinted there since her childhood. But she flushed the thought out of her mind as fast as it had appeared, and it made room for the uncertainty she truly felt beneath the veneer of ruthlessness.

How could she not have seen this before? The man in the cage reminded her of a predator - not the harmless creature she'd hunted for the last three months, the doddering spluttering fool she'd taken from the Bimms and put into that cage. Not the terrified wretch she'd dragged to the rendezvous with her employer. Had her killing of the man who had put out the bounty on him made him grow a spine? No. It could not be so. It was more than just that.

For the first time in months, she truly opened herself to her inheritance. It flooded her with the usual hollow promises, the sweet memories of what had once been and what could once be again. Bile rose in her throat at the taint she still perceived to be underlying it all - the taint that so easily caught hold of her whenever she felt even the faintest stirrings of anger. It hurt her, burned her senses in an almost physical way, to hold it now, but hold it - and use it - she must, now.

Imbued with the force, she reached out to the stranger sitting in front of her and------

------ found herself facing a blank wall.

She could sense him in the force, but he was like an unwritten piece of flimsi, a blank page, a being totally devoid of emotions - a mind she was unable to penetrate.

Perplexed and more than a little worried now, she let go of the bitter connection to her powers, and stared at the man.

"Tion'ad cuyi gar...?"

The rasping whisper of her own voice filled her ears. No sound penetrated through the helmet; she'd not activated the comm. She swallowed, and it, too, filled the silence. She fought to control the angst she felt at encountering something she could not define so easily. Fear was not an emotion she was used to, and it took her longer than usual to fight it.

The silence in the cargo hold grew, and he still had to acknowledge her presence. When finally she had overcome the sudden panic, she felt reassured at least that none of her emotions had shown outwardly. That, also, was what armor was good for. It presented a neutral "face" to the outer world, and one that could not be pierced by ordinary creatures senses.

"Who are you?" she finally repeated, in Basic, when she was sure that her voice was steady.

[The Man In Black]

The Man in (temporarily) Beige opened his eyes slowly and turned to regard her again, looking her up and down slowly. He had heard her question, his answer was probably less than satisfactory. To her at least.

Unfortunately his plans of being kidnapped, killing his captor and her employer, and then disappearing again had gone awry. The woman had taken him to the man, then killed him. It was obvious to him, at least, that she wasn't very good on the business side of things. For the moment, it seemed, he was to live, until she figured out what to do with him. So it goes.

"I am your prisoner; gar di'kut ad." The last was said under his breath and topped off with a wink. If she was a true Mandolorian...

[Nya Halcyon]

"Osi'kyr!" The exclamation escaped her before she could clamp down on her surprise. Now more than ever did she want to know what he was - his use of her language opened several possibilities to her that she hadn't thought of before, and possibly explained what she had felt.

It did not, however, explain all. Could not. Just because he spoke the language well enough to insult her, did not mean that he was what it implied.

Now more than ever she needed to know.

"Gar lise jorhaa'ir mando'a ... Tion'cuy mando?"

[The Man In Black]

The Man smiled exposing his pearly whites, his gaze seeming to penetrate her visor and peer directly into her own eyes. Slowly, he got up, putting his hands on his knees and working his way up from there. On his way, he grabbed his crushed pack of cigarettes. Hobbling over to the front of the 'cell' he swung forward, propping himself up with his arms.

His stare never left her. Neither did his smile.

"Tion'jor gar vaabi baatir, dala?"

He laughed in her face for a moment before retreating to his secluded corner of the cell and plopping down crosslegged. He put the cigarettes suggestively in front of him. Now was the part of the game where he made the demands.

"Give me a light."

[Nya Halcyon]

So he was going to play games with her.

For a moment, when he had looked at her so intently, she had wondered whether he was truly possessed of some greater power than her. But no - she dismissed that possibility. She would have at least sensed that much - Gotab had trained her well in the ways of sensing even the minutest trickle of force energy, and her inheritance had provided her with an added edge, too.

Still, she tried to find a reason behind his words that would make his decision less foolish. If he was indeed Mandalorian.....? He certainly seemed to know them well enough to know what would trigger a response.

Fortunately, she was something besides that. While possessed of the infamous short fuse, she had a better grip on her emotions than the rest of her so-called "race". But even so...

It was clear to her that he seemed to think he had the upper hand - for whatever reason. And she wasn't going to allow that.

"As you said, ge'hutuun - you're my prisoner - so tell me or not, but I still have to decide whether it's useful to keep you alive."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared back at him, modulating her voice that no trace of annoyance bled through. She was all icy veneer now again. Surely this di'kut would realise that she could simply decide to flush him out of the airlock if she wanted to? His life was in her hands.

Leaving his demand for a light unheeded, she steeled herself and called upon her other skills again - and laced her command with as much persuasion as she could.

"Ke ven rejorhaa'ir ni meg'ad gar cuyi!! You will tell me - or face death!"

[Cahnyar Peran]

"I do not like it."

Cahnyar dismissed the attendant almost as soon as she had brought the gown to the mirror. Looking defeated, the young human returned the garment to the rack, to find another more fitting.

"And this one, Madame Peran?"

She turned around, to find a Rodian holding a light black garment accented with speckled red feathers at the hems. Cahnyar tilted her head slightly, sucked on her lower lip, and sent that attendee away as well.

Her mind was elsewhere. That sordid piece of lerk Boryak was late, and that never meant good things. This line of work didn't have sick days. Late people were either double crossing you or they were dead, or they were double crossing you with the anticipation of becoming dead. She had a symposium to host, and she'd intended on making sure that her pet goon didn't get her fur dirty in front of more decent colleagues.

"Alrect, vhy iz Borryak not back? He knowz I vant punctuality."

Alrect, her Bith lackey and abuse sponge, dipped his head apologetically. Annoyed, Cahnyar stooped down, removed a dainty designer shoe, and belted him across his bulbous head.

[The Man In Black]

The Man in Black tilted his head, cracking his neck, and locked eyes with her again. "Lets play a game, shall we? Just because you locked me up in a cell doesn't mean that we can't be friends. So therefore I propose a trade. First lets start with a name, give me your's and I'll do like-wise. Give me a light, and I'll tell you who I am."

Smiling, his cold eyes drilling into the vision slit of her helm, he said "you know, I don't fear your petty threats of death, so I suggest you find a new tactic."

Her anger was palpable.

[Nya Halcyon]

If he had been able to pierce through the helmet plating, he would have seen the frown etched onto her face. She had been trained well, and had an aptitude for such manipulations, but her command might never have been uttered for all the reaction he showed.

This provided an additional puzzle.

It also told her that she had been di'kutla herself. She had called upon "werlaaryc duse" - in other words, the mystic crap - when instead she should have used her other skills. It had led her astray right from the beginning. Know your targets, understand them, think like them - she had been taught well to do so, yet ever since she'd left home, it seemed she'd gotten further and further away from what she had once been, too. It was starting to scare her.

She was still standing on the same spot where she had come to a stop moments before, the armor not betraying her growing fear - yet her anger had got the better of her and made her use her powers unwisely. She should never have done so.

To have done so, no matter the outcome, was not acceptable to what she was. Something, some recklessness inside her, was undoing everything she had ever lived for, for as long as she had... been Mando ... and was seducing her from her path with whispers of an illbegotten power that she had been trained not to heed. Why was she doing this?

His words barely penetrated through her own musings. Right then, for all the enigma he presented, she couldn't care less. She was certain she was facing a bigger enigma within herself, and that had to be faced first.

Abruptly, she turned around and marched off, her prisoner momentarily forgotten. She needed to get back to the cockpit and think about this.

[Cahnyar Peran]

It wasn't until Cahnyar was nearly in her sedan when Alrect pulled her aside. He whispered to his boss, then shrank away, protecting his bulbous cranium and the red and tender spot that had received a flying shoe a few minutes later.

No response came. Cahnyar's fur bristled, and she demurely requested a stim from Alrect, who lit it for her.

"Zo that iz that, no? What an idiot, to get killed. To think, I vaz going to pay an idiot. Dock hiz pay, pozthumouzly."

Alrect, relieved to not be chastized or beaten, bowed graciously, and began to excuse himself...only to be called back to attention by a snapping finger.

"Ve need a new man to fix thiz problem. Namez, Alrect, namez!"

The Bith fumbled with a datapad, and began to furiously sort through a contact list.

"Madam Peran, how about these three?" He cautiously passed the pad to his boss. She smoked, mulling the thought as the rest of her retinue waited in the background. The sedan wasn't going anywhere until she insisted.

She tilted the pad sideways, then her head sideways, then scrolled down some more.

"The middle one. Darven. He better not be another idiot. Go, do it Alrect I don't have all day."

[Darven]

------

The console pinged and pulled him out of restless sleep. He had no sense of the dream but knew it must have been there; it had been his steady companion for many years now. It gave his bones a cold chill.

Groggily and too stiff even for a man of his age, he sat up and grabbed his helmet which was sitting on the empty co-pilot's seat next to him.

It had been her seat, always... still looked empty without her in it, even after all these years.

The console still pinged. He shook his head free off these stray thoughts, pushed the helmet down over his head and hit the comm button. Hopefully it was going to be something to do.

The ship's small holonet unit sprang to life - and a moment later the fuzzy blue specter of an unknown Bith resolved in the air above it, buzzing and zapping with stray light.

It spoke without pause. "You are the bounty hunter Darven? My Mistress requests you to join her at a ---" - the specter turned aside and temporarily vanished halfway out of the field, most likely to consult something or someone, then popped back in - "--- at 1900 at wine tasting in the city of Visdic, on Uyter. I am transferring the data to you now. Be there."

And before Darven had even uttered a word, the transmission died again, leaving him sitting there with an unformed question on his lips. Instead, he consulted his datapad which was still receiving the data transmission. Impatiently he waited for it to finish, then, finally, called up the info.

Cahnyar Peran. Ah yes.

He'd offered her his services a few weeks ago - her, and a multitude of other small fry crooks in part of the mid rim. At last, something had paid off.

Darven set in a course for Uyter, wondering what a wine tasting would be like.

[Caran V'al Counis]

Her frustrations were putting this entire situation in one endless and most vicious circle. The blunt tactics, the petty threats did little to budge him and his position. The offer he'd made pushed her into storming off. Apparently, his tactics weren't working too well, either. This woman, irrational as she was, may likely be the clue, the door he needed. It wouldn't do to frell up here. The Man In Black - Caran V'al Counis - would unveil himself. Drop his guise, and show just what he was - human. Knowledgeable, skilled, but human nonetheless. Perhaps this little shock tactic would help his foray, while the honesty of it just might appeal to her better nature, if she had one.

The jury was still out on that case.

Within a scant minute or two of the decision being made, his disguise was off and away; a second skin stripped, the cocoon broken. His chiding, teasing and inquisitive demeanor, however, remained. The man that remained was vastly different from the one she had seen to capture.

It was like this that he waited for his rambling, demanding captor to reappear, watching intently through the spaces between the bars of the cell's viewing wall at the door she had stalked off through. Maybe she would come back with a light? Who knows... Not likely. His own would be a nice touch - she had after all removed it from him, along with anything else that had potential to be weaponized. It all just made his little venture that much more interesting.

[Nya Halcyon]

"Now this won't do at all," she muttered, into the open and empty space in front of her. The bountyhunter was back in her pilot's chair, helmet in her lap, chewing on a piece of sweet veshok bark. It was a habit left over from her days in Ruik's army. It's juices had always had a calming effect on her when times were rough - something she had no doubts Gotab wouldn't have approved of, for all his talk about not relying on the Force.

She would have to get a grip of herself. Killing that fool Boryak had been an unnecessary action - she could have handled that better. And her prisoner... he was a total enigma, and somehow beyond her. Things were taking an unpleasant turn once again, threatening to spiral out of her control and put her face to face with her worst fear. And fear, just as anger, inevitably led to a total loss of control. And she would not let that happen. Not again. Never again.

"No...," she muttered once more, but her voice sounded like a weak thing in the small space of the cockpit. It also somehow managed to sound wrong - in the sense that she was using the wrong language, in more than one way.

'I'm not a weak thing. I know better. I will not lose control.'

"Nayc!" she said aloud, in Mando'a, and that was better. It had backbone. "Bic ni skana'din! I'm not going to lose it just because of some old shabuir who thinks he can best me in playing games. That's my cage he's sitting in. And that's where he's staying, no matter what he tries!"

She'd never been one to lose herself in endless thinking. Yes - she'd lost it a bit, and felt fear; but she'd feared the unknown, feared what her Force senses couldn't understand. She'd become a victim of the Force once again. And there was only one solution to that - shut it out again. Become herself, and not a mere tool of the Force. Gotab would have said, Gar cuyi verd manda, ne jetii.

And that was that. Crisis over.

She jumped up from her chair, slapped the helmet back down over her head, and walked back aft at a brisk pace. Time to solve a different problem: what to do with her 'guest'.

"Space him, maybe?" she said to herself in the confines of her helmet. It seemed by far the most appealing solution. In her mind she pictured what he'd do or say at the moment of realisation of his immediate end, and she couldn't suppress a grin. It wasn't that she was cruel or merciless, or without feeling or appreciation of life - but the situation irked her, he was a problem, and it wasn't like she didn't already have enough of those. So if she wanted to spend time pretending, then she'd do that, and if what she was pretending to do seemed to hold something funny inspite of its seriousness then she'd bloody well grin. 'Not like anyone can see it anyway if I grin or not...'

But the grin died on her face the moment she set eyes on her prisoner again. Reflexes took over. She swore, and ducked behind a crate beside the entrance to the cargo hold, her blaster already drawn and aiming. Osik, where was she supposed to aim at? The prisoner was someone else entirely so where was the original? Where was he hiding? How had he got out of the cage? And who was sitting in that cage? How had he got onto her ship? With her helmet she scanned the interior of the hold but it couldn't detect any other life forms. But that didn't mean anything.

"Shab!" she swore again, hoping for something to happen.

[Caran V'al Counis]

"Problem?" He inquired, as if nothing had changed, the sound of his voice skewed slightly by something in his mouth.

Clearly, she was troubled by his change of guise. He did indeed look nothing like the man she had captured - it was really a clever act on his part. He was seated again on the bench/bed in the cell, leaning over his knees, a cigarette dangling from his lips, begging for a spark of fire to light itself. Caran pulled the stick from his mouth between fingers, and dropped that arm to rest on his knee again.

"Shoot me already and get if over with, why don't you?" He pushed himself to his feet, and moseyed over to the front of the cage, leaning against the bars, crossing his arms. He couldn't see her, but he could bloody well hear her. It would make him laugh to see someone hiding from their own prisoner on their own ship. In fact...

So, he laughed. Still no answer from the woman. "Well? Perhaps get me a light, then? I doubt you caged me just to do away with me. Come on, don't be afraid. I won't bite."

[Nya Halcyon]

Her helmet sensors showed no irregularities. In infrared, there were no other heat spots on this ship apart from her own and the stranger in her cage. Then he did her a favor and talked.

"Problem?" she heard him ask. 'Nu draar, meh gev shab'rudur ni jii, burc'ya!' she mouthed by way of response, into the silence of her helmet, and decided to run a voice analysis of the stranger's voice against the recording of her erstwhile prisoner. Her instincts told her it was the same man, but it would be better to be certain. Behind the crate she was crouching she relaxed her tensed-up position a little - dropped her blaster arm since there didn't seem to be anyone other than herself and the man in the cage - but she wasn't ready for more yet.

Another outburst from him confirmed her instincts: the helmet's systems reported a 100% match of the two voices. Instantly she felt a little foolish for her initial reaction, but that was neither here nor there now. Instead, she decided to focus on the enigma he now presented. She would need more details.

Not deigning him with any kind of response seemed about the only course of action right now. With a few blinks of her eye she first brought up a shot of his face the moment she'd seen him in his new guise, then activated the helmet's link to the holonet and ran a search against the galactic citizen's database. Let him stew for a while longer - she wasn't going to talk to him until she had something more than now.

But when he started laughing a moment later, anger wormed its way up inside her guts again. Jii 'bac jare'la! - now that was asking for it! She raised up her arm and fired off a shot into his direction over her sholder, without even turning around. It zinged past her prisoner a few inches above his head.

"Is that light enough?" she said out aloud, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

[Caran V'al Counis]

The bolt whizzing just - just! - above his head caused him to duck fast enough that it would wrench his back, were he an old and frail man. But in this moment, it was merely a reaction of self-preservation. The idea of a blaster bolt nailing him through the skull and pouring his brains out on to the cell floor was not what he had in mind when he envisioned how he would one day meet his end. The cigarette dropped promptly from his lips when he uttered a string of curses that would make mothers in many species blush a few shades of red before swatting him one or many with a broom... or something more permanently damaging.

"For the love of...!" He peered up cautiously and, after a few moments of seeing that there were no other blaster bolts headed in the direction of his body (well, that he could see), Caran slowly slid his forearms and hands from atop his head and bent to retrieve the fallen cigarette from the deck, to return it to his mouth, tonguing the end nervously.

"Alright, alright." He muttered. "You got my attention. What's the deal with shooting at an unarmed man, anyway?"

[Nya Halcyon]

She had to hand it to him: that was some pretty impressive vocabulary. In an astounding number of languages, too, from what she could tell.

The bountyhunter had to supress a smirk, even if he wouldn't have seen it. The situation didn't exactly call for mirth. She did, however, holster her gun again. There was no need to go shooting up the ship just to annoy this osi'yaim.

At the right upper corner of her HUD a data symbol appeared. With a blink she opened the file and sanned through it.

In the dim light of the HUD's screen, names and numbers scrolled faintly blue over her face, reflected there from the similar image right in front of her. Her eyes opened wide in shock, the reason for it brightly mirrored in them as she stared at the picture of one of Imperial City's most prominent sons, Caran V'al Counis.

A low hiss emitted from her lips, before she noticed it and shut them tight. Ibic ne jate - wasn't good at all...

Once she'd read the entire file, she closed it, and refocused on the scene outside her helmet. She wasn't sure what to do now.

Shab... she was a Mando. Nar dral'shya, dala! she told herself, silently. So what if she had the sole heir to the Counis Corp sitting in her cage? Wasn't her fault he'd got a bounty on his head!

The thought was making her angry. Haar'chak! what had he been playing at, getting some di'kutla bounty on his head?

Gripped by anger, she pulled off her gloves and threw them to the side, then released the helmet's fastenings, tore it off impatiently and threw it after the gloves. It bounced off the floor and spun out of sight behind one of the cargo crates.

[Aree Ankarta]

"Alright, mir'sheb, you showed me yours, I'll show you mine."

It was exceedingly rare for her to show her face to anyone, least of all a complete stranger, but for some reason she wanted him to see how really really angry she was. Fuming, she was. Ready to blast him on the spot for getting her in this di'kutla position, for making her unsure - and most of all, for getting her this angry!

"You want to tell me what a Coruscant rich boy is doing hiding out on Bimmisaari??!? Who in haran did you cross that they got angry enough to stick a bounty on your head??"

Anger wasn't very becoming to her. It put deep furrows onto her forehead, and gave her otherwise quite pretty mouth an ugly slant. It wasn't something she'd ever felt bothered about, however. Controlling the anger was the important thing, and right now she'd lost the battle. Hadn't even tried to fight it, for that matter.

[Darven]

"Alrect, vhy iz he ztill zaying no to me?" the crazy lady in the unattractive black dress was screeching, and her Bith lackey was trying his best to get her to calm down, throwing beseeching looks at the bountyhunter when he wasn't nervously eyeing her hands that were currently still resting on her thin hips.

Darven, who was watching the scene in front of him with detached eyes through his helmet - sound on low, because the lady's reedy voice was getting on his nerves - felt pity for the poor Bith; but not enough so to change his mind.

There was not a chance in haran he would take this bounty. Not if she offered him the whole galaxy in aurodium ingots.

The shock still sat in his bones, but he was willing himself not to show any outward signs of it. All that Cahnyar Peran and her nervous rat would get was cold, silent refusal to anything they threw at him. So he stoically stood there in full Mandalorian regalia, and used the time until the Cathar had calmed down to scan his surroundings for a way to retreat in case he needed to.

The lady's brick wine-cellar appeared to have been a simple duracrete-walled basement once upon a time; he'd scanned the walls as soon as he'd set the first foot into its candle-lighted, damp interior. The dampness - along with the occasional noise of dripping water - had turned out to be fake: added for effect to impress her guests tonight.

If he'd been the only guest getting out of the place would have been a simple matter: he was, after all, armed to his teeth inspite of having appeared unarmed in the scanner at the front gate. But bringing the building down on top of the woman wasn't an option as long as the other 50 or so guests of hers were still milling around as they were now, even if some of them probably deserved it, too.

Darven wasn't squeamish about handing out death - when needed. And he saw no need for it, just then.

In the presence of so many people she wasn't going to try anything stupid, either. He knew that, and she probably had realised that tactical error of hers by now, too, judging by the fact that she had shut up yelling at the Bith and was eyeing him instead with a curious look in her yellow eyes.

"Vhy iz it you refuze zis bounty?" she asked him, after another moment. It appeared the childish temper-tantrum was forgotten entirely, even if her attendants were all standing behind her with ducked heads, ready for her to blow again at the next best occasion she could find.

"There might not be a guild anymore, but that doesn't mean some of us do not adhere to some form of code," he said, slowly. He wondered if this reply would result in another outburst; if so, he'd simply pull the Verp on her and force her to shut up. "I'm not going after another bountyhunter."

Especially not after this one. To that one, he was dead, and he would do anything to keep her from learning the truth.

The crazy Cathar lady surprised him by remaining calm. Her tone of voice, however, had something coldly calculating in it when she said: "Then leave, bountyhunter. I'll juzt have to find zomeone elze to kill her." Then she just smiled at him, smugly.

And that was when he realised that she had him by the gettse. Even if she didn't know it. His initial shock at hearing the offer must have numbed his brain so that he hadn't realised it before then.

Hopefully she wasn't clever enough to figure it out. He remained standing there for a while, making a show of looking around at the people surrounding what had turned into a personal little drama to him. A loud guttural growl made him aware of her displeasure that he wasn't doing as he should, but he didn't turn his head back until he felt sure his voice was as steady and unemotional as it had been before.

"It will take a bit more than you offered for me to forget my own rules."

He watched as a triumphant smirk wiped her anger off her face. "Zo you vant me to up ze prize? Vhy didn't you zay zo before?"

And with the zeal of a seasoned haggler, she threw a sum at him not much higher than what she'd initially offered him, which he countered with another sum high enough to seem too much to ask. She didn't go for it, of course - he had to go down twice before she accepted his price.

They sealed the deal right there and then, her guests showing an astonishing lack of interest in what was happening between the Mandalorian who was obviously some kind of bountyhunter - courtesy of Fett's fame! - and their illustrous hostess.

When Darven left, he felt like a fool for getting himself into this position. In his gloved hand, however, he was clutching a data chip that was worth more than all the aurodium ingots in the galaxy.

It was her life in his hands. Once again.

[Caran V'al Counis]

The cigarra was clenched tight enough between his clean, white teeth that the end could be severed off with gnashing. Where did this woman think she was coming from? What kind of supposed bounty hunter stood around spitting insults and questioning her quarry instead of just cashing in? What was she playing at?

"Well, I wasn't expecting to go to Bimmisaari, only to be denied the ability to leave. If everything had went as I expected it to, then I wouldn't be having this moot conversation with some or'dinii whose panties are in a knot."

He spat the cigarra from his mouth, annoyed that his request for this one relaxation, the calm the smoke gave to him, would not likely be granted anytime soon. The stick was moistened to the point of uselessness, now.

"As for the bounty on my head, I was just doing my job. Again, didn't quite go as I expected, since I appear to find myself subjected to these childish temper tantrums."

He narrowed his eyes at the woman and folded his arms over his broad chest. "Why don't you just do your job? What's the hold up?"

[Aree Ankarta]

Somewhere inside her, at a deeper level of consciousness, she still retained some of that control that she had so rigidly forced on herself over the years. On the surface, however, she was giving her annoyances free reign.

She felt compelled to tell him to pick up his shabla smoke-stick and stick it somewhere painful, but ignored that. "Pick that up," she ground out between gritted teeth.

He wasn't doing as told, of course, just remained standing there with his arms folded, staring back at her with narrowed eyes. So she narrowed hers too and adopted the same stance.

"You have a deathwish? Because I'd be glad to oblige."

Then she took a few steps forward and grabbed the durasteel bars of the cage with both hands so that she was directly on the other side of him.

"Listen, shab, why I do or don't do my job isn't any of your business. Seems you're mighty set on meeting the person who put the bounty on you, but then she mightn't recognise your new face now, might she?"

Her anger was slowly evaporating in the face of the new circumstances. Almost to herself, she continued: "What's the holdup? That I don't know who that strillfaced Boryak was working for, and without knowing that there's no job."

It had been a problem. But the new turn of events changed the situation somewhat. Her mood visibly brightening up, she went on: "But now that you're not the same as the man the original bounty was on... do you know who put it on your head? Obviously not Boryak, he didn't even seem to know you when you were still playing old man."

If he could tell her that, then she might have a chance at getting some credits out of this after all. For who knew - the people behind the bounty might even more interested in this little rich boy here, than just in an old man playing tax inspector!

[Caran V'al Counis]

Having her in his face like that, clutching the bars raised his hackles a bit. He stared down at her, glaringly so, clutching the bars just as hard in his larger masculine hands. He wanted pin her against the wall and tell her who's boss. On the other hand, he wasn't the one that had been firing warning shots off her bow, so he thought that it was probably good she was in control of the situation - or some semblance thereof. Let her have her little delusions. The thought of telling her she was cute when she's angry came to mind, but pushing some boundaries as a prisoner was never bright.

When her mood started to improve, she did look a heck of a lot better, though. At her question - her less angered and more businesslike question in trying to get to the grit of the matter - Caran released the bars and took a step back, even being so polite as to pick up the cigarra he'd spat to the deck, offering her a toothy, handsome smile as he rose and tucked the stick behind his ear for later. It wasn't as bad as he thought. More than salvageable.

Let's try to be on good terms, here. He thought. It'll save my ass some major trouble.

"Cahnyar Peran." He answered, crossing his arms, scratching an itch on his chin with the five o'clock shadow. "What does it matter now, anyhow? Boryak's dead, courtesy of you... and she'll know and this won't end well..."

He looked smug, as if to tease her with knowing something she didn't know. Or perhaps there was more? He was smidge hungry now, too, in addition to the maddening need for tabacc. That would have to be dealt with eventually. Soon, hopefully, if he could manage.

[Aree Ankarta]

Something about that smug smile made her want to smash his face in, but she resisted temptation. There wasn't any point in damaging the goods. Not if she still had hopes that this situation could be salvaged somehow.

If she was honest to herself she had to admit that his face wasn't half bad to look at, and damaging it would be a shame.

And he had picked up his stinking piece of t'bacc.

"I've never heard of her." She had, but she wasn't going to let him know that. Maybe getting him to talk about her would get her some more useful information.

Cahnyar Peran was a small-time crook on Uyter, the planet they had just left. She should have guessed it - there really weren't many others to contend with the Cathar crime boss. She had a reputation for being reckless and egotistic, but also quite smart. Knowing that the Cathar had put the bounty on him made her all the more curious about the reasons.

If there were any. The Cathar was famous for her moods.

"Who is she?" she asked him, as innocently as she could seem.

[Darven]

It was, so he thought, a good thing he'd been the one to be asked to do this job. He guessed that there was a little bit more than just dumb luck to it; probably the Force had something to do with it, too. It wouldn't have been the first time; there had been enough such occasions in his life with her to make even the staunchest disbeliever of that mythical source of luck a convert. It had certainly persuaded him. And that, more than the danger to her were the Cathar to send someone else after her, had ultimately made up his mind to take the job. She didn't need to be kept safe, not by him, she was clever and resourceful and good at what she was doing. She would have been able to deal with whoever would have tried to take her out.

Or so he told himself. He knew little of the woman she had become in his absence. Just a name and some meager facts. On more than the Cathar knew, for all he had tried to find out more. The only advantage he had over the crimeboss was that he recognised the person behind that fake name.

It had been three standard hours since he'd agreed to find and kill Aree Ankarta and the mark she had failed to hand over. He was back in the cockpit of his ship, sitting there in the same position as when he had first sat down. His brain refused to function properly, he couldn't think of what his next - first - move should be.

She thought him dead, and he'd been content to leave her to that thought, making sure to stay out of her way. How could he approach her now?

It was apparently the will of that Force of hers, otherwise it wouldn't have thrown this chance into his lap. It seemed to think he was ready to see her again.

Maybe he was. Her presence had never really left the ship or his thoughts.

The question was: would she be ready, too?

[Caran V'al Counis]

"More trouble than she's worth. A nuisance, that's what." The thought of Cahnyar Peran was a bug needling in under his skin. It was because of that woman that he was in this little predicament. She'd stuck her hands where she shouldn't have and was getting away with it, going so far as to try and deal away with the son of Counis Corporation, which was a bad move in the first place, if he had anything to do with the outcome. Out of a slight of annoyance, he plucked the stick of tabacc from behind his ear and rolled it back and forth between thumb and index finger, raising it to his lips, then dropping his hand with the stick still between the ends of his digits. He repeated this once, twice, three times before shoving it back behind his ear in a most annoyed fashion and crossing his arms in a huff.

"I don't believe for one second that you don't know who that schutta is." He unfolded his arms and grasped the bars of his cage again, narrowing his eyes and gritting his teeth, uttering a rumble of words, choice words, ones that felt right at that moment. "I wouldn't be surprised if she's after your hide, too, now that you've taken it upon yourself to mess with her in one little way or another. Keeping me locked up and walking right into her grasp, expecting a reward will do you no good, now, if that's the case."

[Aree Ankarta]

She narrowed her eyes at that. He wasn't going to let himself be fooled - which meant that something about her had given her lie away. There was still too much emotion inside her to be able to keep it from showing on her face. And yet - she gave herself more credit than that; she was usually quite convincing to strangers. So he was a sharp one, and good at reading people. She'd have to watch out for that.

"You got me," she admitted, and found to her own surprise that she didn't feel annoyed about having to do so. "I've never met her. But I have heard of her. Enough to know that you're probably right. It might make things a little bit more interest----"

She broke off. From behind a crate over in the corner came the familiar high-pitched pinging sound of her helmet's alert system. For a moment her eyes lost focus - she blinked as she tried to remember how it could be coming from there, then the moment was over and she recalled tossing her helmet aside when she had been angry. Stupid idea.

Backing away from the cage, she moved towards the noise, picking up where she'd left off, "... a little bit more interesting."

She grinned openly, still looking at him as she bent to pick up her helmet to look inside it at the display where a message icon was flashing.

"There's nothing she could do to me that I couldn't counter; you, however...." - her mind busy with the idea that had just then sprung up, she pressed her index finger on the button at the right bottom side of the display, which would call up the message content - "... what would you pay me to g----"

This time the words died on her lips. Literally died. There was no air in her lungs suddenly; nothing left to breathe with. Shock had knocked it out of her.

The helmet was in her hands one moment, lying firmly in her grasp; the next moment, it fell from fingers that felt suddenly drained of life and blood, too weak to hold anything. The loud clang as it hit the floor once again and bounced off did not reach her ears.

Involuntarily, she staggered backwards and fell against a pile of crates, her arms falling to her sides in a reflex to stop her from falling over completely. All color had drained from her face.

The helmet bumped against a crate and tumbled over the floor back towards her. It came to a rest at her feet, its bottom turned towards her; on the HUD's screen the message flashed in red letters still.

I HAVE BEEN HIRED TO KILL YOU. DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID UNTIL WE HAVE TALKED. DARVEN

Ghost.

He was a ghost. It could not be real.

[Caran V'al Counis]

He'd released the bars of his cage when it turned out that she wasn't going to reply in the same manner to his faked displeasure. Clearly she was getting her head on straight and listening to him. Miracle of miracles, a woman was agreeing with him, admitting to something, but not right out telling him he was right. There would be a first time for everything.

"Pay you...?" He'd started to interrupt, while she picked up the helmet to retrieve whatever message caused the beeping. All words cut off when that helmet hit the deck. He came swiftly back to the bars when she stumbled backwards into crates, looking pale, almost sickly, and in a daze. Like she had seen a ...

"What's the matter?" She didn't respond, sitting there, unmoving, eyes open, like a human replica droid all frozen up inside. "Hello...uh, lady? Frak, I don't even know your name. You look like you've seen a ghost. You alright?"

It annoyed him that the most he could do was use his words. He was locked up in a cell, after all. It wasn't like he was some sort of Jedi, so Force Poking or whatever wizardry it was wasn't at his command either.

[Nya Halcyon]

Darkness was cushioning her. Uncertain light falling in through crevices in the cavern's ceiling, the thin cloying mist glittering in the air where the light turned darkness blue.

=//=

The misty air clung to her face, mingling with the sheen of sweat already there. Cold, cold sweat. Like a second skin it clung to her, ran in rivulets down her neck and soaked the hem of her bodysuit. So cold. Oh so cold.

=//=

Blue glare behind her closed eyes. She swayed. Rasping, wheezing noise coming from somewhere. Impossibly loud. Laboring. Eyes snapped open - nothing there. Her own ragged breath in her ears, like a monster's wheeze coming for her.

=//=

Stinging, burning, loss of something. Agonising. True pain, but was it hers? ... yes, it was. Her insides were hollowed out. Nothing there. Cold clammy fingers around something equally cold. Hot, hot burning acid rising within her. Forcing a way out. Nothing to stop it.

=//=

Throat hurt. Stomach hurt. Heart stung... no. No heart anymore. Nothing there. Hollowed out. Dirt beneath her fingers, small stones. Coldness. Wetness. Shuddered.

=//=

Roaring noise inside her ears. Blue glare outside her eyes. Nothing left of the heart inside her. Squeezed everything out of it. Dead.

=========

She could still feel that moment - the moments - after it had happened. Sometimes, in the dead of the night, she would wake up drenched in the same cold sweat, so sure that she was back in the cavern, covered in sweat and mist, lying in her own filth, and for long moments she'd be too afraid to move, certain that she would find her limbs locked in that same shuddery cramp as then. She'd never expected to survive that terrible day - she'd wanted to die, even. It still seemed utterly incredible that she'd ultimately dredged up enough willpower to make herself raise from the ground where she'd fallen, and stumble out of there, leaving him and the lightsaber and everything else behind her.

Leaving him. Leaving his body, rather. His bloody and battered body, the face bruised to the point of unrecognisability, blood running from the deep gash on its side. The deep cut in his side, cauterized by the fierce fire of her lightsaber. HER saber. She'd done this to him. No one else - she. How could she have done that? He had been the closest she'd had to family, outside her clan. He'd been the link to her long-dead parents. He had been her dearest friend, her partner. How could she have done this???

He'd killed her father. That's why.

A father whom she could not recall, who had long been replaced in her heart by him, in a way. But that had not meant anything on that dark day. And she'd regretted it bitterly ever since. Even if she'd not acknowledged it, not even to herself, if she wanted to be honest.

Dar is dead.

He is dead.

I killed him.

There's no way....

"... he has to be dead!" she said, to herself. But her voice was as low and shaken now as she had felt then. How could he not be dead? She'd left him there, dead and battered-looking, when she'd finally dragged her own body out of the cave a full 17 hours after she'd struck the final blow. It had taken her that long to be able to get up from the ground where she'd fallen after the deed, for her body to recover from the shock. Her heart had never recovered, and her mind.... had been a mess ever since.

But right at her feet was the helmet with its ominous message. Darven.

Was this someone's idea of a joke? It could be, but... there was something deep down inside of her that knew it wasn't. Knew it, and with absolute certainty. Just as she'd known all these years that he was dead, she know also knew he was not - as paradoxical as that should have seemed, it didn't.

It seemed a long time until she remembered that she was not alone. A part of her subconscious self had registered the man's words, his ... concern. The same part answered him now. "Nya..." she whispered, almost too low to be heard, without truly realising she was giving him a name that no one outside her clan had heard since Dar's.... Dar's.... death. "...Halcyon."

[Caran V'al Counis]

Nya Halcyon. Huh. That's... kind of nice, actually.

He'd never heard the name before, to be honest. While the Counis boy was aware of several names in the bounty hunting business, hearing one that he didn't know was slightly shocking and rather enticing all at once. Still clutching the bars, he kept an eye on her, going through all the things she'd said since she nabbed him in his mind. One thing struck him to be of interest.

"Pardon me if it's none of my business, Nya... May I call you Nya?" He waited a beat, then continued. "But who exactly is supposed to be dead here?"

He wasn't liking her lack of response. Even some sort of scathing remark was preferable to her potentially locking up and sitting there dazed, leaving him still in that damnable cell. He wondered when she was going to warm up to him, even a little and bloody well let him out so he could... just not be imprisoned. It wasn't a good look on him, he thought, agreeing with himself.

"Because if it's me, then I hate to burst your fragile little bubble, but I'm still very much alive, locked in this cell, and lacking my freedom. Not a position I can really be of much help to you from." Caran voiced with a smidge of annoyance.

[Nya Halcyon]

"What...?"

It was a whisper. Who was... Nya?

She was still hoping for something to tell her this was a dream. It had to be unreal. How could she have been so certain he was dead - when she felt the same certainty now, that he was alive after all?

Nya hadn't been around since then, hadn't she? Not really. She'd been Aree Ankarta ever since: aru'e a ni kar'ta - enemy to her own heart. She hardly remembered her life before that day anymore.

She blinked. Trying to clear her head of the bloodred mist that seemed to be creeping up on her. She needed to get a grip. She really needed to get a grip.

"Shut up!" she finally muttered more than shouted, since the prisoner's babbling was fraying her nerves even more.

"I need to... I need to ... focus," she continued, but to herself. Finding that she'd apparently gotten up - she didn't remember doing so - she sat down again, on a crate that had tumbled down as she'd fallen against it, and was now lying not too far from the cage holding the prisoner.

"... so I'm on my ship which has a cage, and the cage's a man who used to be old but now isn't, and Da-- a man who is dead sends me a message saying he's to kill me."

She was trying to look at the problem from outside herself. Maybe if she looked at it from that way, she'd be able to keep from losing it entirely.

"... or maybe--- this is all a dream, I'm dreaming this, or the root is affecting me.... none of this is real.... maybe.... "

She'd had far crazier dreams while in the army, but this seemed.... so real. Detailed.

She was entirely lost inside it.

[Caran V'al Counis]

"Kill you?" He mouthed."Hey! No one here is getting killed if I have anything to do with it!"

Then he pinned her with a slightly annoyed stare, a sudden thought coming to light. "Bic ni skana'din! This is all Peran, I know it!"

She kept babbling. It made him feel like telling her to shut it, thus returning the favour, but he refrained from doing so. Being reciprocally hostile wasn't going to be of any benefit in this situation and there were other ways to get people to listen. Caran watched her for a minute or two, assessing his options. Maybe... nah. Harshness was just about the only thing getting through to her at this point.

"You shut your hole already, 'lek? And kill the little 'woe is me' pity party and grow back your spine, please? I'd really appreciate not sitting here like we're helpless, just waiting for whoever it is to pounce when I could get us out of this little mess."

[Nya Halcyon]

"Me'ven?"

It was a babble from far away, of which nothing but the Mando penetrated her current state of mind. She was close to believing herself, that it had to be a dream - a nasty, ultra-vivid, root-inspired nightmare the likes of which she'd never experienced before, at least not of this length.

How else could there be this di'kut sitting in the cage, spouting Mando? How likely would that have been otherwise? No, it HAD to be a dream. All of it. Nothing else made sense.

All was a shabla mess of a dream. A Mando dream. So she responde to it likewise.

Actually, it was almost funny, the way things were turning out to be.

"Ashnar gotal solus ori'dush shu'shuk.... ebin meg ra ni dini'la.... ra bintar?"

She lapsed back into Mando without realising it, seeming almost intoxicated by the possibility of having lost her mind. Of course, there was the possibility that someone from home was playing nasty tricks with her..... maybe as a test before asking her to come back?

Maybe the caged man ... maybe she should let him out. It wasn't a good thing to keep family locked up behind bars.

So with an apologetic smile that seemed entirely out of place, and not at all genuine, judging by the oddly glazed look in her eye, she went on over and released the cage doors, muttering... " ... bid gar olaro at hiibir ni norak yaim...?"

Was he now going to ask her to return with him to Manda'yaim?

[Caran V'al Counis]

If he was surprised to be let out, he didn't show it. Caran was far too absorbed by whatever it was that was going on with his now-former captor as he took in the sentences of Mando'a spouting from her lips and his brow furrowed as he carefully exited the cage, hanging on to the door. The Counis heir reached up and toyed with the tabacc nestled behind his ear, only to abandon the thought of smoking it for the time being.

...take her home? What? No.... what?

Feeling the sudden and strong urge to knock some sense into her, Caran had little issue now with approaching her in this senseless state, seizing her by the shoulders and speaking to her. Face to face, about as much eye contact as he could manage to get from her. He grasped her chin and turned her face to him, trying to get the most of her attention that he could muster.

"Copaani mirshmure'cye, dala?" He queried in her seeming language of choice for the moment, giving her a rough shake with the one hand remaining on her shoulder, for emphasis. His eyes darted over her face, looking for any change. "We aren't going anywhere but where I know it's not going to cause us more trouble than we're already in. Tayli'bac?"

[Nya Halcyon]

Two eyes that she did not know were looking at her. Two eyes in a face that she had seen before, on a screen, behind bars,... she blinked. Looked at them. Tried to look through them. Into what was behind them.

She blinked.

There was no way past those eyes. They stared back at her, and she felt something stirring within her in response.

Tried to say something, but no words would come. She had no idea what to say just then. Just stared.

There was warmth in them. Something like compassion. Anger. Temper. But also, fear. Why fear?

Slowly she lifted her right arm, became aware of the weight of his hands on her shoulder. Had he been shaking her? A sense of deja vu as she imagined it - yes, he must have. Why?

But then, as she looked into those eyes, something gave way. She could not put any description to it, or sense, but it existed, and was between them. For the matter of seconds, her mind was filled with impressions, images, in which she knew without any shadow of a doubt that they were his. His impressions, his memories of the last few moments. And so she experienced herself through his eyes. Not in pictures, nor sounds, just.... emotions, impressions of his instinctive reactions to his surroundings.

Her eyes closed. She need not see, to feel this onrush. She could not bear to look into his eyes. It was pity she seemed to see there most, now. Not only see - she could feel it. It reverberated inside her, as if they were opposing parts of the same net being shaken from the core outwards.

The arm she had begun to lift was still in motion - only seconds were gone yet it seemed an eternity of experiencing her own insanity. She gripped his shoulder with it - the left shoulder, she thought to herself, as if she needed to make sure she could tell left from right - and squeezed it, lightly.

"Thank you."

It seemed appropriate, even if he could never know what it was exactly she had to be thankful for.

But yes, she was back within this reality. She was aware. Of all of it. Even of the fact that Darven was not dead. There was no point denying it. She'd been blind all these years - or deliberately blinded herself to the possibility. Yet now he was there - wherever there was - and he was very much alive.

And she needed to figure out how she was to deal with it.

No.

She had to figure out how she was to deal with the situation she had got herself into. Which included her prisoner standing outside his cell. And now, apparently, a mark on her own head which her former partner was anxious to talk about. Her former partner, whom she had left for dead at her own hands. Was he jumping at the chance to return the favour now? It was possible. She had no idea how Darven felt about her. She had no idea yet how to feel about him, either. Past shocked. Better to deal with it later. If necessary.

For right now, she needed to talk to this prisoner - get him on her own side, if she could. And she knew just where to start.

"No ghost," she offered him, and put her hands to her shoulders, there to grab his own hands. She took each one in hers, and pulled them off their position. There was no need for that anymore, now. "Just demons from the past. An old partner. I thought him dead. Yet now he's alive, and offering to help."

That seemed as vague as she could safely leave it.

[Caran V'al Counis]

"You're welcome."

And that was all there was to it. She seemed to be okay now, and from his judgment with how little he did know his captor, it was about the best he could gauge. She wasn't trying to kill him, she wasn't skirting off into Mando and speaking gibberish. She sounded rational and appreciative at this point. Enough that he could relax, showing it in his shoulders a little. He still didn't go for the cigarra. He didn't know if that might set her off again. He let her remove his hands and he shoved them in his trouser pockets when she did.

Well, hey. He thought, looking at her. She's not so bad on the eyes.

Exactly not the kind of thought appropriate to the situation, but you notice what you do, when you do, and appreciate it then. If you're fortunate, maybe you get to appreciate it again.

"Old partner?" He questioned, rhetorically. "So what do you propose we do about that? Do you even trust him? Do we even need his help?"

Honestly, he didn't know the specifics of her past at all. Really, he had just met her. Still, the questions seemed about as spot-on as he could manage, considering.

[Aree Ankarta]

It was going to take some time to get over this news. No matter what, it was going to take some time. For now, she simply decided to ignore the problem. Had to, for her own sanity's sake. Ignore it.

Somehow.

First things first. You can fall apart later, all you want. Deal with the situation first.

Her ears pricked up at her former prisoner's use of the plural. He seemed to have gotten something of a wrong impression about his status on board this ship.

"Seeing as the charming Miss Peran put out a bounty on my head as well as yours, and hired him to hunt both of us, I think we have little choice but to take whatever slack he can cut us."

Of course, there was the whole matter of whether she could really trust Darven's sincerity. Maybe this was his way of getting revenge? He wasn't the type to care about that, but... a man could change over there years.

"I suppose I should respond to his message and at least see what he wants."

A prickle of cold dread went through her, from her shoulder down to her toes. She rolled her shoulders to get rid of the unpleasantness, but it was as if an echo was lingering. It would be a written message. No visuals. She couldn't do that.

[Caran V'al Counis]

The reasoning sounded... sound enough. He nodded, slipping one hand from the pocket in which it had been to claw through his hair. One thing at a time. He couldn't stop her and in all truth, she knew this man better than he did, for until some scant minutes before, Caran had not even known such a man existed. It was a simple testament to how well he didn't know his captor.

That, of course, didn't stop him from entertaining thoughts of knowing her better.

Knock it off. Now is really not the time.

"So, then. Get ahold of him, see what he wants and we go from there." Great. "We aren't exactly swimming in options, so it's about as good a plan as can be hoped for."

Yes. If he had it his way, he wouldn't have been in this mess to start with. Ah well. That couldn't be helped now.

[Aree Ankarta]

"Yes."

There was little else she had to say to him. It wasn't even a matter of getting him back into the cage - they both knew he'd not walk into it willingly, and she had no grounds to put him back in there after everything that had just happened.

"Stay here. I'll have to access the holonet..."

Just because he'd lost prisoner status - she wasn't prepared to give him access to any other part of the ship; her ship. At the deepest, darkest level of her consciousness she had a measure of the man in front of her, and knew she could trust him not to do anything stupid, but just because there was an odd kind of understanding between them she didn't need to let him into those parts of the ship she considered her personal domain.

"You're free to walk around and do what you wish. There's a 'fresher over in the corner behind those crates, and a food unit. Not sure if there's anything decent to eat, though. I usually don't bother with restocking it."

Let him make what he wants of that.

Without waiting for any kind of reply, she snatched up her helmet which was lying over by said crates, and rammed it over her head with more force than was necessary.

[Darven]

It was taking her a long while to answer. He wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or a bad one.

The bountyhunter was still in the cockpit of his ship, maintaining his position half an hour out of Uyter. Since he had no idea where she could be, he'd figured it was best to lie here in wait and keep an eye on the system - just in case that crazy Cathar had decided to hire a back-up or two. But his scans had so far shown him nothing unusual - no one in the business had entered the system, and Uyter traffic control hadn't reported anything irregular either. He was beginning to regret not placing a listening device on Pehran. Someone bold enough to hire a bountyhunter to kill another bountyhunter would most likely stop at nothing to get her will. If only Nya would reply....

Perhaps he should have sent some kind of explanation first. Something to make it easier for her to accept that he was still alive. His message had been too pragmatic, too matter-of-fact. She was a woman, after all. They liked emotional stuff. Most of them, anyway.

She'd only been a girl before. She'd been as practical and pragmatic as he had been. That's what made it so easy to be partners. And yet.... she'd cast it all aside, been all emotion, all hatred, as if someone had flipped a switch to turn her personality around. The memory of her, looming over him, looking down at him, her face distorted and made ugly by the anger breaking out of her every pore... the screaming in his ears, the roaring of his blood, the stinging of salty sweat running into his eyes, blurring his world and her...

He'd never been able to forget it. Never. It'd stayed with him, all these years. Along with the guilt. The terrible, gut-wrenching, sleep-stealing, nerve-wracking guilt.

Yet now it was apparently time to face his demons. To face her. Or had he misinterpreted it all?

Shouldn't she have answered by now?

Just at that moment the comms console greeted him with a near-silent chirp that he was so used to, but which made him twitch nevertheless, this time. Was it...?

'PEHRAN, RIGHT? HER GO-BETWEEN TRIED TO CHEAT ME OUT OF THREE QUARTERS OF MY FEE. I DIDN'T THINK HE WAS WORTH THAT MUCH TO HER. I AM NOT WILLING TO DIE OVER THAT. CAN SHE BE DEALT WITH?-AREE'

He found himself staring at the message, not truly taking in the words. This sounded so much like her.... like she had been before. Not at all what he had expected.

What did I expect, exactly?

He couldn't find an answer to that, just then. Instead, he read it over carefully, this time, studying its content as it pertained to the case. Probably better to stick to that. All else could be figured out later.

'Can she be dealt with?'

What did she mean by that? Was Pehran the kind of person - or Cathar - to do a deal with? Would she relent and cancel the bounty on Aree Ankarta if she got what she wanted in the first place?

Or did she mean something entirely different?

[Aree Ankarta]

'SHE COULD BE DEALT WITH EASILY. IF THAT IS WHAT YOU WISH. SECURITY IS LAUGHABLE.'

His answer wasn't long in coming.

It actually made her break out a rare smile, against all odds. This was so much like Dar - little had changed about his pragmatism, apparently.

And yet.... who knew what was truly going through his mind?

At any odds, dealing with the problem the way he had interpreted her question certainly would solve the entire problem. It wasn't that she cared whether the crime boss was dead or not, it just... she felt she owed it to her passenger to at least involve him in it, somehow. In the decision, anyway.

She typed up her response quickly, hit the send button, and went back aft to the cargo hold.


Caran V'al Counis was sitting on one of the crates stacked against the bulkhead of the ship, his back resting against the durasteel, his head leaned back. For a moment, she studied him as he sat there like that. It was the first time she really got a full glimpse of him, without being under some kind of strain.

He wasn't half bad to look at, she had to admit. Just doing so filled her with a warmth that was comforting and confusing at the same time.

Better not to dwell on that.

"You awake, there?" she asked, her voice unusually gentle.