The (Other) Depths of Manaan Like Manaan itself, the spaceport above the planet was cool and quiet, and water was everywhere. There was water in the subtly lit pools, in rushing cascades from overhead fountains, and in the sparkling stream that snaked its way around the main concourse and visitors’ areas. There was still more water in the aquariums that broke up the common, dull gray durasteel construction. The aquariums contained luminescent corals, artistic rock formations, and bright, darting fish, all further enhancing the impression of being submerged. The lighting continued the ocean theme in sub-aqueous blues and greens, though brighter light illuminated the walkways and shops. Lifelike sculptures of corals were scattered about as decoration with a single, enormous staghorn coral made of colored durasteel rising like a pale golden tree from the center of the main concourse’s sand-colored floor. Its top-most branches merged with the ceiling overhead to become part of the station’s superstructure. Natives of Manaan, the Selkath, took advantage of the water as much as possible and were often found lounging beside the pools or swimming in them, as sleek and swift in the water as the fish they resembled. Since the closing of the planet to outsiders, those who had business with the Selkath conducted it here, on the station, and often at the pools where the natives congregated. Thus, the pools usually held crowds of dizzying variety, all in what passed for bathing suits (or not) on the visitors’ respective home worlds. Deveny was a frequent visitor, but if it wasn’t for the lower levels of the station, sublevel eight in particular, she would have been bored out of her mind. Oh, the first time she had seen the place, tagging along in the wake of Vin and Teela, she had goggled as much as any Dantooinian farmer on her first space voyage. More than once, one of her companions had had to double back to pull her away from a bright aquarium, a shop displaying strange wares, or more likely, from one of the pools where nude bathing was in progress. But that was years ago. Now she avoided the main concourse entirely aside from the necessity of passing through it upon docking. She preferred to conduct her own business in the far less exotic (and less rigorously policed) areas of the Manaan space station. The Depths was her favorite venue because it was almost as seedy as the cantinas in the slums of her native Coronet City. It was poorly lit, smoke hung in the air, dice rattled, and glasses clinked in counterpoint to the music that pumped through the place. This was mostly a thumping beat occasionally punctuated by vocals reminiscent of an orobird’s screeching. Not that anyone listened. The place also served superior liquor, and unlike her brother Dash who avoided the stuff like the Iridian Plague, Deveny had developed a cautious appreciation for it. The bartender-slash-owner of The Depths, Graral, was large and sinister looking, no easy feat for a Selkath. Muscles bulged beneath his silver skin suit and his sloping gray face had an impressive burn scar from a lightsaber along the entire length of the left side; it was rumored that he had killed the Sith that gave it to him. The left eye had been replaced with cybernetics that occasionally sent a beam of piercing red over the crowd as Graral kept tabs on his customers. He also kept a vibro-blade behind the counter in addition to a blaster at each hip, and his security rivaled the police on the upper levels. The variety of species was just as abundant here as in the upper levels as well, but they preferred imbibing liquid to swimming in it and their business deals were far less likely to be, in a word, legal. They were made up of free-traders like Vin, Teela, and herself as well as gamblers, criminals, and many of the thrill-seeking younger racers from the swoop circuit. The latter stood out for the sheer volume of their good-natured insults and raucous laughter, and they earned dark looks from customers that came to The Depths for serious drinking. Deveny watched them now as she waited for her contact to show. One among the brash crowd drew her attention. He was a human male with dark brown hair and deeply tanned skin that was likely due as much to his heritage as to racing under many suns. Of average height and build, he was clean-shaven, almost ridiculously handsome, and had dark eyes of a color that Deveny thought might be brown, but she couldn’t be sure at a distance. He stood out for more than his looks, because though he sat among the swoop racers, he didn’t seem to necessarily belong with them. While they shouted back and forth and downed cheap drinks at a rate they were bound to regret later, he was quiet. If Deveny wasn’t mistaken (and she rarely was about alcohol), he was drinking a fine-looking red Corellian whiskey straight up. It was a sophisticated drink. She was drinking the same; but then, she was Corellian. In one thing at least he was like his friends; he couldn’t seem to keep still. While he didn’t dance in place by the tables or talk animatedly and with exaggerated gestures, the fingers of one hand tapped almost incessantly on the table. His sharp eyes continuously scanned the room, touching here and there, never lingering long, and probably seeing far more than most of the patrons would have found comfortable if they’d known he was watching. Deveny wondered if the word “relax” was even in the guy’s vocabulary. At just that moment, his eyes came to rest on hers. It was like a punch to the gut, taking her breath and leaving her, for an instant, unable to move. Later, she would remember it as an embarrassing cliché, but just then the room did seem to fade away like in the holovids until it was only the dark-eyed human and herself. One of his brows went up and he lifted his whiskey in a silent salute. Deveny felt herself actually blushing and cursed her fair complexion, especially when she saw a smile quirk his mouth at one corner. She saw him tense, knew that he was about to get up and approach her, and felt an unfamiliar fluttering of nerves in her belly. Then the moment ended abruptly as her contact slipped into the chair across from her. Irritated at having been caught completely off guard, Deveny felt like scowling at her new companion and telling her to beat it. But since the contact was one of Vin's better customers, she summoned a welcoming smile instead. She was aware of the swoop racer subsiding back into his chair but paid him no more mind. It was time to get down to business. Her contact was a Selkath female that called herself by the Basic name of Angel. That was probably for the best, because Deveny was fairly certain she wouldn’t have been able to pronounce whatever the real name was. The female had pale silver-blue skin with pure silver stripes that matched the tendrils sprouting from the back of her head. She was clad in one of the traditional Manaan skinsuits that served as an all-purpose wet/dry garment. Hers was the color of ripe peaches and went rather well with her complexion. Deveny didn’t know what the standard of beauty was on Manaan, but she assumed Angel passed the mark if the looks she was getting from the Selkath males was any indication. To her credit, Angel didn’t pay any attention, preferring to focus on business. Angel’s no-nonsense approach was one of the reasons that Vin had trusted Deveny to handle this deal herself. While it was true that he had begun giving her more responsibility in general, up until now he had always preferred to personally handle any cargo as hot as kolto. But over the years, he had built a solid relationship with Angel, a surprisingly scrupulous black market dealer. By now, Vin trusted her as much he trusted anyone not on his crew, and he had said he wanted to see what Deveny could do on her own. Considering the death grip Manaan kept on the kolto trade and the steep punishments for anyone caught smuggling it, Deveny had to admit at least to herself that she was nervous. Letting none of these thoughts show, she flagged down a waiter and ordered a drink called a Night Sky for Angel. Made with a strong, pale blue liquor distilled on Manaan, it was mixed with jogan juice and slices of the fruit dropped in, lending the drink sweetness and the dark purplish color that inspired the name. Angel nodded her approval. “You remembered.” “Of course,” Deveny said with a quick grin. There was no need to admit that she’d ordered the first Selkath drink she could think of. She made it a point never to snub Luck when he came to visit. “They’re supposed to be good here, too.” “Graral knows how I like them,” Angel replied. Her words were a soft, somehow feminine-sounding gargle that was incomprehensible to the untrained ear, making Deveny grateful for the universal translator curved around hers. When the drink arrived, Angel took a sip and nodded approvingly at Graral. The red beam of his cybernetic eye flashed briefly over their table as he nodded back once. “I’m surprised Vin did not come himself. He must be very busy indeed to hand off a negotiation of such… delicacy.” “He sends his regrets, Angel. Fact is, it’s his anniversary.” She shook her head ruefully. “Teela’s been nagging Vin to take her to the resorts on Makeb for years. Their plans kind of came together last-minute, or I know he would have explained to you in person.” It wasn’t even a lie, though she wouldn’t have hesitated to lie if it paved the way to smooth negotiations, and if she could get away with it. Right now, Vin and Teela were probably lounging at one of the many expensive resorts on Makeb drinking Pica Thunderclouds or something else even more exotic and ridiculous. Or knowing Vin, the same thing she was drinking right now. “It does complicate things, however,” Angel was saying mildly. “Vin is a known quantity. You may be a part of his crew, but you are not so well known.” “But like you said, I am a part of his crew,” Deveny said quickly. “If you know Vin, then you know that any crewmate who tried to double-cross him would find herself spaced in less time than it takes one of those swoop racers to down a shot of cheap jet juice. Well, maybe not spaced,” she acknowledged. “She'd just wish she had been.” She took a drink of her whiskey and spared a glance for the swoop racers. The one who had caught her eye was finally engaged with his friends, and she was surprised at a slight feeling of disappointment. She shook it off as her attention returned to Angel. “Besides, Vin won’t be in the business forever. It wouldn’t hurt for you to start building a relationship with the one most likely to take the reins when he retires.” Her toothy smile was all charm. Angel considered her for a moment. Deveny waited her out. “There is much in what you say. Still, you are young and, I believe, untried. I have only your word that you are here on Vin’s behalf at all. I would be a fool to take things at face value. And I assure you, young human, I am no fool.” “Never thought it for a second. It’s easy enough to verify my word, and I'd bet my blaster you already did when I notified you I'd docked. Vin has authorized me to give you the usual price plus a five percent gift for the inconvenience he’s caused.” “And normally that would be more than sufficient,” Angel allowed, her tone amused. “However, I have a special request in lieu of payment for this shipment. Having you instead of Vin has put me in a difficult situation. You see, I know that Vin not only would agree to handle this matter for me but would also succeed. You might agree, but would you succeed? That is the question I am asking myself.” “Vin trusted me to negotiate with you, Angel. He wouldn’t have sent me if he wasn’t confident that I could make the deal. Whatever the deal. Fact is, I always succeed.” “A bold claim. Very well then. You will agree to fetch the item I require, and I will give you the usual amount of product.” “Whoa, lady. I need to know what I'm getting into first, so how about you tell me exactly what it is you want, and I decide the price?” Angel took a moment to sip her Night Sky, considering her opponent. She nodded once, the cephalic lobes to either side of her mouth swaying with the gesture. “One of my rivals has acquired proof of activities I prefer to keep separate from my official dealings. You understand, the trade is highly regulated. He has not yet decided what to do with this proof, he says, and is in fact demanding a sixty percent share of my enterprise.” Deveny’s brows shot up. “Sixty, huh? Greedy little bastard. Sure he isn't part Hutt?" Since Angel didn't seem to appreciate her little joke, Deveny forged ahead. "Right. So, I’m guessing either you agree or your government gets an anonymous tip. Or maybe not so anonymous. He’d look pretty good revealing an operation like yours to the authorities. Might even persuade ‘em to look away from whatever he’s up to.” “You guess well. I want that proof.” “What is it? And where is it?” “A data disc. He keeps it on his person at all times, or so I am told.” A beat of silence passed while Deveny just stared at Angel. Her blue eyes narrowed. Picking up her glass, she downed the rest of her whiskey and set the glass back down very deliberately. “On his person. Right. And how do you know he hasn’t copied the thing? I’m not about to risk my neck to get a disc off of some guy’s person when there might be a dozen more floating around.” “It is encrypted. I have informed him that if he tries to copy the disc, the code has a failsafe that will destroy the data. Emlar has no slicers on staff good enough to break the encryption by all reports. He is looking for one now.” “Does it really have a failsafe?” “What do you think?” “I think you’re bluffing. If it did, why not let him copy it? Problem solved.” Angel lifted one three-fingered hand palm upward, the Selkath equivalent of a shrug. She said, “The point is, he has not attempted to copy it. Not yet.” “So time is of the essence and all that. Tell me something. How did he get his hands on a data disc that proves you’re… well, let’s just call it free-trading. I prefer the term myself.” Could Selkath blush? Deveny was almost certain she saw a darker hue spread under the silver-blue of Angel’s skin. “I…” For the first time, Angel was at a loss for words. “Got a little too friendly with the competition, eh?” Deveny smirked. “Looks to me like you have two scores to settle.” “Again, you guess well,” she said, discomfited. “It is one reason I will not send one of my own people. To reveal such a lapse in judgment would be unwise. Emlar might also know those I could send, but he does not know you.” Deveny considered for a moment, turning her empty glass back and forth between her palms, eyes narrowed. Other than Angel, she had no contacts on Manaan without Vin and Teela and no way to know whether this guy Emlar would be on the station anytime soon. Getting to the surface herself was, to put it no stronger, problematic. A frisson of doubt wormed its way into her thoughts, but she blithely chose to ignore it. As Angel had pointed out, Vin would have taken the job if he was here. She didn't want to disappoint him by doing any less. Besides, they needed the money from the kolto sale, and if the buyer didn't get it, Vin lost a lucrative stream of revenue. Make that more than one stream of revenue, because if she refused to help Angel, it was just as likely that the Selkath would find herself another free-trader to move her product from now on. But most important, Deveny wasn't about to admit that there was any job she couldn't pull off. “Alright, I’m in. As far as payment goes, I’m thinking an additional 15% would be very generous on your part. You know, to show your appreciation for the tactful, quiet resolution of this very delicate matter.” Angel looked as though she would protest, but finally nodded. “If you can bring me the disc – and believe me when I say that I have my doubts about that – we have a deal. And if you fail, you may tell Vin Tralus that our association is at an end.” “Why bother playing if the stakes aren’t high?” Deveny asked rhetorically. “Give me the details.” * Across the room, Theron Shan wasn’t as oblivious to her presence as Deveny might have supposed. In fact, he hadn’t been able to keep his gaze from straying back to her, and even when he wasn’t watching, he was aware. He had noticed her the moment she walked into The Depths like she owned it, confidence in every step of the feminine swagger that took her to an empty table. He wondered what she’d done to earn that level of confidence considering she couldn’t be any more than nineteen or twenty – his own age. She carried a single blaster with, he noted in surprise, a quick-draw cheat that made the blaster appear snapped in when it was anything but. Her coppery red hair spilled in choppy waves over her shoulders and down to mid-back. She wore typical spacer attire in fitted leggings (over long, shapely legs), calf-hugging boots, and a short synth-leather jacket that was cut to allow freedom of motion. If he wasn’t mistaken (and he rarely was about tech), she had a pretty sophisticated UT at her right ear and a personal field generator on her belt along with a couple of what he bet were kolto injectors. Her face was a pale oval with defined cheekbones, slanting brows, full lips, and a stubborn set to a delicate jaw. The sharp, limpid blue of her wide eyes was easily seen even at a distance, and he appreciated the way she cast a short but thoroughly assessing study over the room before ordering her drink. He knew it would be a Corellian whiskey even before the serving droid delivered it, because if she wasn’t a Corellian, he had never seen one. Once served, she assumed a deceptively indolent pose, slouching back in her chair and making steady inroads on her whiskey. She had a second one delivered before she began to pay more than cursory attention to her fellow patrons. He noticed that her eyes strayed to the door often enough that he assumed she was waiting for someone. Probably a guy, he thought. He heard his name and looked toward one of the other swoop racers, a Devaronian named Marcel, called Zip on the circuit. Naturally, they all joked that it was for how many races he’d won. “I have no idea what you just said," Theron admitted. Zip laughed. “I said stop ogling the pretty ladies and have a drink with us.” He smiled slightly and lifted his whiskey in demonstration. “I am having a drink.” “Give it up, Zip,” a spritely looking, brown-and-white-striped Cathar named Verra chided. She patted the Devaronian’s shoulder. “You know better than to distract Gale from his brooding.” They laughed while Theron went back to watching the room. They called him Gale because it was how he raced, like a wind that prefaced the coming of a storm. He was fast, strong, steady, and more than a little reckless on the swoop tracks. That style had served him well, earning him one of the top spots in the minor league rankings over the past year. He’d racked up enough wins lately that he’d begun toying with the idea of trying his skills at the next level. Of course, there was also a completely different kind of opportunity waiting for him that had just arrived via holo-message from Coruscant. But since he wasn’t sure how much he was cut out for that kind of work, he was keeping his options open. His fingers tapped absently against the table as he studied faces, deciphered deals going down, puzzled out intrigues. He couldn’t help himself. The only thing more fascinating than tech was people. Take Red, for instance. His gaze went back to her, only to find hers locked on him with laser-like focus. He watched with interest the stunned widening of her eyes that pretty much expressed how he felt in that moment. Trying for cool, he lifted his drink in a silent toast. Was Red blushing? He wouldn’t have pegged her for a blusher even with that pale skin. Smiling slightly, he decided what the hell. She might be waiting for someone, but he wasn’t here yet. Theron started to get up, only to see a Selkath female join Red at the table. Interesting. He relaxed back again into his chair. With Red’s attention off of him, he turned his own finally to his friends. But even as he joined in the ribbing and drinking, he kept an eye on her. He was fascinated by how much she said without saying anything at all. He bet no one had ever told her that body language often revealed what a placid face might hide. His old master would have had him meditating for hours if he had ever betrayed half as much emotion. He hoped the Selkath at Red’s table wasn’t adept at reading humans, or Red was going to get taken. By the end of what had obviously, to him at least, been a business meeting with the Selkath, he knew that Red was trying to prove herself, had been given what she seemed to consider a foolhardy and dangerous task, had bargained a satisfactory deal (apparently the Selkath doesn't know humans that well, or the job's more dangerous than she's letting on), and was going to hold up her end of it or die trying. Not my business. So why was he getting up and heading toward her table? “There he goes,” Zip said behind him, laughing. “Pay up.” Verra’s grumbling was the last thing he heard before he tuned them both out, stopping beside Red’s table and looking down at her. He knew she was aware of his approach, but she continued to stare fixedly into her empty glass, a furrow between her brows, until he cleared his throat. She did look up at him then, and her sardonically lifted brow almost had him turning on his heel and heading back to his own table. “So…” he said and realized this was why he never did this. He was just bad at it. “So… what?” she asked blandly. “So do I come here often? So is this seat taken? So what’s a gal like me doing in a place like this?” Yeah, this was maybe a bad idea. But he could already hear what his friends were going to say when he came right back, shot down from word one. Might as well go all in, he decided. “So you’re in neck-deep with that Selkath and have no idea how to get yourself out again.” * Deveny stared up into eyes that were not brown, but in fact an olive green with only a slight shading of brown. They were also very keen eyes, matching the obvious shrewdness of his mind. Maybe a little too shrewd. His voice was a deep baritone, just a little rough, and dangerously appealing. “Sit,” she invited, her sarcasm replaced by curiosity. Of course, curiosity and suspicion were pretty close friends. “Hard to refuse an invitation like that,” he muttered, but complied. “You want another Corellian whiskey?” Deveny offered, mainly to prove that he wasn’t the only one who could play the observant game. His half-smile made her think he knew exactly what she was up to. "I wouldn’t say no. Are you sure you should have a third though, Red?” “Hah, outplayed!” she said with a sudden, bright laugh. Blue eyes flashed appreciatively. “But don't worry, it doesn't go to my head any more than a strong caf would. I’m Corellian myself.” “Thought you were.” He flagged down a serving droid and ordered two. “Red?” she asked him, though of course she knew what he meant. Her hair was like a blasted beacon. “It seemed to fit.” “It’ll do. And what should I call you?” “I’m Gale,” he said easily after a nearly imperceptible hesitation. “Nice to meet you, Gale.” Waiting until the droid had delivered the drinks and moved off again, she asked without further preamble, “What makes you think I’m neck-deep in anything?” He took a contemplative sip of his whiskey, eyes narrowed at her over the rim of the glass. “You might have puzzled this out for yourself, but considering that I’ve counted how many drinks you’ve had, you might realize I’ve been watching you.” “Well counting to two isn’t that hard.” “I counted to three.” “I stand corrected.” A smile tugged at her lips, but she suppressed it. “Ok, you’ve been watching me. Why? And also, at the risk of repeating myself, what makes you think I’m neck-deep in anything?” “Same reason you were watching me, I guess. I’m interested. And I don’t think you’re neck-deep; I know you are. You and that Selkath made some kind of deal, but you aren’t sure you can pull it off. Possibly dangerous. Probably illegal. Not my business.” “No?” Deveny did smile now. “Well Gale, you could have fooled me. "Fact is, it’s not your business. But you’re not wrong.” It galled her to admit it, and she wondered why she even had. Eyeing him with open calculation in her clear blue eyes, she tipped back her whiskey. “Hypothetical question: what would you do if you had to locate a single Selkath among the millions on Manaan, find a way to either cozy up to him or take him out – figuratively speaking of course – and liberate an item from his unlawful possession?” “Unlawful possession?” He widened his eyes. “I would go to the Manaan security forces and report the theft immediate- ow!” She drew back her foot from where she had lightly kicked his shin under the table. “Come on, Gale. Really.” “Fine. You’re violent. I don’t think I would have come over here if I’d known.” He sat a moment in thought, those restless fingers tap-tap-tapping on the scuffed tabletop. “Okay, two ways I can see it to find the guy. You can ask around, but that’s dangerous if you don’t have any contacts you can trust. Word might get back. It’s also time consuming. You could slice the planetary network, assuming you have the skill and can get access to an unguarded terminal. That way though, you’re more likely to land yourself in a cell for processing. Then you’re on a one-way, all-expenses-paid trip to Coruscant. Unless you have a lot of skill, enough to hide your tracks.” Deveny nodded, having been thinking along the same lines. “There’s another problem. Since he’s Selkath, hypothetically speaking the only way someone like me could get to him would be if he’s on the station. Since someone like me wouldn’t have access to the surface.” “Patience, Red. I’m getting there.” She gave him a flat stare that he returned with a genuine grin. He was apparently getting into the spirit of it all now. “Once you get to him, liberating an item should be pretty straightforward.” “He carries it with him.” “Don’t even try to tell me you can’t lift something off of some unsuspecting citizen. Hypothetically. So getting to him is the problem. You’ll either have to get to him there or bring him to you here.” “Wow, you’re really smart. I wonder why I hadn’t gotten this far on my own.” “You would have, given time. Of course,” he continued, “you could also find someone who does have surface access to bring you down as a guest." “I don’t know anyone with…” she trailed off, catching up with him. “You have surface access.” He toasted her with the rest of his whiskey before finishing it off. “Swoop circuit. The Selkath might not let anyone else down there, but they’re less choosy when it comes to the races.” She sat back now, undisguised suspicion coloring her expression. “What’s in it for you?” “Are we still talking hypothetically?” “We’re not talking literally.” “Red, you wound me,” he said, shaking his head in mock sadness. “But seriously, I don’t guess anything’s in it for me other than a good time. It sounds like fun. You know us crazy swoop racers – always looking for the next thrill.” Contemplating him, she drained the last of her own drink. He wasn’t being completely honest; whether or not he was admitting it, he had a motive for helping her. Maybe he was just interested, like he said. Maybe it was a reason she couldn’t even guess at. Still, she didn’t think he was lying overall. She would be a fool to pass up a genuine offer of help from someone who not only had his own surface pass, but permission to invite a guest. Hoping she wouldn't regret it, she made her decision. “I’ll try my best not to bore you,” she said, extending a hand. “When can you take me planetside?” He rose before taking her hand and using it to pull her to her feet. “No time like the present.”

(Whew, origin story finished. Yay!) 9

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(Can't believe it's been a year and a half since I started writing this. I guess time flies when you're finishing school, getting a new job, moving, etc. Time to pick up the thread again. On the bright side, I doubt anyone noticed, and now it's like a brand new story!) 6

5

(It occurred to me that this is going to get really long and scrolling to the bottom will be a pain. So I'll put everything in spoiler tags from now on to keep it from getting ridiculous.)

3 De’ani was the first to move, but it was only to drop back into her chair. She pulled the straw from her drink and tossed back the rest of the liquor in one go. Vin’s lips twitched, but his eyes remained on Jaster and his minions. The four bodyguards had begun to rise from their chairs, but since their boss hadn’t given any order, they simply waited in poses that looked more ridiculous the longer they held them. Jaster himself looked as though he was having difficulty believing his eyes. His lips moved as he silently counted the cards again, but their values didn’t change. Deciding he had a moment, Vin risked a quick glance over his shoulder. “That’s some interesting timing, Teela. You didn’t miss much.” Teela was a twi’lek with skin of dusky green, almond shaped violet eyes, and a pixie face complete with tip-tilted nose and dimples. She was dressed much like Vin, but with more style and in brighter colors. Like him, she wore her blasters openly and despite her pretty, doll-like features, she carried herself like she knew how to use them. After quick glances at the others in the room, she had a fairly good idea of what had happened. She gave Vin a bland look. “Obviously.” Now that his first mate had returned to watch his back, Vin took the liberty of sitting back down at the table. Released from their half-rise, Jaster’s bodyguards dropped back into their own chairs. Reaching out his hands, Vin started to rake in both the main pot and the Sabacc pot. A fleshy hand latched firmly onto his left wrist, forestalling him. Vin stilled and looked straight into Jaster’s eyes, speaking in a voice that had De’ani suppressing a shiver. “You’re going to want to remove that hand, friend.” Jaster let him go at once, turning his palms out instead. “No need for that, Tralus. I was just trying to get your attention.” “You got it.” “Yes, well.” Jaster licked his lips nervously and took a last drag on his cigar, crushing it out in the ashtray before looking back to the gunslinger. “I was just going to say that you can’t leave it like this – leave a guy with nothing. You have to give me a chance to win back my money – at least some of it. It’s only fair.” “Oh, is that what would be fair?” Vin asked with a sardonic tilt to his lips. “I thought things were already fair. As in I won, fair and square.” He finished raking in both pots, a miniature mountain of credits and precious stones, looking significantly from it to Jaster. “But I see your point. I’ll tell you what – make me an offer.” “Just give me a couple of minutes,” Jaster said. “I need to make a call.” “You do that, Jaster. But this had better be good, and I’m not promising anything. Oh, and before you even ask, the XS is off the table. As a matter of fact, I’d appreciate the dock location and access codes right now.” Almost snarling, Jaster complied, transferring the information to Vin’s private line. He then moved off, already furiously tapping buttons on his holo-link. Watching, De’ani shook her head. “Don’t do it. He’ll cheat you if he can, and if he’s not calling in backup along with his banker, I’m a gand.” “And you are most certainly not a gand,” Vin replied. He used a small datapad to finish the transfer of ownership for the freighter, input his own access codes, then got to his feet. Taking one of De’ani’s slim hands, he lifted it to brush his lips lightly across her knuckles. “What you are is a lovely lady and a good sport. And since I like you, I’ll say that I think you should probably take your credits and go before things get ugly.” “That is excellent advice,” she agreed with a firm little nod. After storing her credits in the large, umber-colored bag that she carried, De’ani leaned up to whisper in Vin’s ear. “But if you decide later that you’d like some company, I’ll be staying tonight at the Fullgate Resort Hotel, room 2712. I’ll leave word with the concierge, just in case.” “I just might do that,” he whispered back against her soft cheek. “Be safe out there.” He watched the sway of her hips as she left, then raised both brows as his gaze collided with Teela’s. “What?” “Did you want to hear my report, or would you rather go panting after the little orange barfly?” Quick enough to realize that choosing the latter option would be a mistake, he schooled his features into an appropriate expression of contrition. “Of course, I would much rather listen to you.” “Whatever,” she said, not at all fooled. “It was like you thought. The kid that was in here earlier watching? Apparently, the bartender let him in, a friend of the family or something. He was after Jaster – or more to the point, he was after that diamond Jaster is wearing. I thought maybe it was his mother’s, as in belonged to his mother, but no. It actually is his mother. You Corellians are weird.” He let that pass, focusing instead on the information. “How do you know? Did he see you? Did you talk to him?” “What am I, an amateur? No, he never saw me. He had a little girl waiting for him outside, his sister. Looked just like him. I followed for a little ways and overheard them arguing.” She paused long enough to shoot a narrow-eyed look at Jaster’s back that was far from friendly and lowered her voice further. “If I got it all right, that son of a hutt is wearing the diamond they had made from their mother’s remains.” “Well, that’s a new low for old Jaster. I wonder how he got it.” “You don’t have to. Their dad sold it to him. He’s a drunk. Tough break for the kids.” “Yeah,” Vin said softly, turning to look at Jaster’s wide back. “Yeah it is. How about running one more errand for me, Teela?” “Oh sure. What’s one more? I’m only half-drowned from this delightful weather. Might as well go all the way.” “You’re enough sunshine all on your own. But don’t worry, this one only takes you back to the bartender.” He spoke quietly in her ear and passed her a handful of large-value credits. With a last, measuring glance at the bodyguards, Teela warned him softly, “This isn't like you. Watch your backside.” “I like it better when you watch it for me.” Her snort was the last sound he heard before the door shut behind her. Turning back to the others, he saw that Jaster had finished his holocall and was regarding him suspiciously. “Where is the twi’lek off to?” “Teela went to get me a drink,” Vin replied easily, pulling his chair back and sitting down. Because he knew it would annoy Jaster, he propped his feet up on the Sabacc table, crossing one leather-sheathed ankle over the other. “So, what have you got for me?” “I called in some favors, liquidated some assets.” “At this time of night? You must have very understanding business partners.” “It’s nice to have people who owe favors,” Jaster said with a thin smile. “The point is, I have enough to match what you’ve won. I’ll double it if you put up the freighter.” “Yeah well, I’m not going to do that. Unless… “ Jaster’s green eyes, suddenly too shrewd for Vin’s liking, narrowed. “Unless what?” “I like that necklace you’ve got there, and I think I’m going to need a little make-up present for Teela after she saw me flirting with the charming De’ani. I’m betting she’d forgive me if I handed her that.” Jaster’s hand flew up to cover the diamond, as if hiding it from view could erase it from Tralus’s mind. Vin could see the other man’s thoughts working overtime. The first emotion had been fear, which was interesting, but it was rapidly chased away by suspicion, then calculation. It was the calculation that Vin liked the least. To forestall it, he got up and began to scoop his winnings into a large pouch that was actually a speeder’s saddlebag. “No? Then I guess I’m going to call it a night.” Just then, Teela returned with a short glass filled halfway with dark red whiskey. She handed it to Vin, violet eyes opening in mock-surprise. “I got what you wanted. Are we leaving?” “Jaster doesn’t feel like playing anymore, darlin’,” he shrugged. Taking the glass, he finished off the whiskey in two swallows. “I’m sure we can find better things to do.” “I can think of a few,” she murmured, slipping her arms around his waist and going up on tiptoe to press her lips to his. “Mmm. I do like that whiskey. But don’t think I’ve forgotten De’ani of the heaving bosom and sultry eyes. Better come up with something good this time, Ace.” With that, she nipped at his lower lip with her sharp white teeth and slipped from his clasp. “Told you,” Vin said morosely to the room at large, fingering his lip. “What can you do?” ** Jaster, seemingly dismissed, watched as Vin Tralus slung the saddlebag over one shoulder and began to leave with his little twi’lek. He briefly considered just letting the two of them go, but then Tralus looked back over his shoulder, his smile wide and his expression self-satisfied. “I’ll be by tomorrow morning to inspect my ship and find a new berth for her. If you have anything on board you want to keep, that would be the time to claim it.” The sudden spurt of anger had him speaking before he realized it. “Wait!” Jaster thought quickly. In minutes, he’d have twice as many men here as he had now – plenty to subdue a couple of second-rate smugglers and make them disappear should the game not go his way. He almost wished that he’d had his men blast Tralus after the last card had fallen, but he’d been too stunned to move. There was no way the gunslinger should have won that hand, but if he had been cheating, Jaster couldn’t figure out how. Blasting him would have been premature. Also, silencing De’ani would have been a tricky business. She liked to game in the slums for high stakes – it added to the thrill for her – but she was big money and big connections by day. Bigger than he was, at least for now. “You’ll put the freighter back on the table, against the diamond?” “Hold on there, Teela,” Vin said, then turned back to face him. “That’s what I said. Are you in?” “I’m in.” “Well alright! Now it’s a game. Should we let Teela deal?” Jaster seethed inwardly. As if he would let any friend of Tralus’s touch something this important, and the man knew it. But he didn’t trust the gunslinger either. “No cards.” “No cards?” Vin repeated. “Well what the hell are we going to gamble with? Are we drawing straws?” “Chance cubes.” “You have got to be kidding me. Where’s the skill? Might as well ask a Jedi to foretell the winner.” Jaster allowed a smile to curve his lips, shrugging one thick shoulder. “I’ve had enough of cards for one night.” Besides, one word to the bartender and he would get a very special pair of cubes that Vin Tralus himself would have no choice but to admit had come fresh from the box. “We’ll each get a fresh set of cubes from the bartender. Best of three tosses wins it all.” Even as he spoke, one of the nikto left the room to get the cubes. “I don’t know,” Vin said, reluctant now that Sabacc wasn’t an option. “No stomach for games of pure chance?” Jaster asked, his voice oozing sympathy. “I get that. A lot of men can’t handle knowing that they’re not in control.” He was secretly delighted when Vin sent him an irritated look from those pale blue eyes. Cold as polar ice was what Jaster always thought when he looked in them. And the man himself could be even colder. It was rare to pierce that bubble of arrogance that he wrapped himself in. “Let me get a look at that stone,” Vin demanded. Again, Jaster felt his hand lift almost of its own volition to cover it. “Why?” “I want to see what I’m getting.” With an obvious reluctance that Jaster wished he could hide, he slowly pulled the chain up over his head and set the diamond down carefully on the green baize of the table. He felt fury surge within him as the gunslinger picked up the chain and lifted the diamond to eye level. With a touch of one finger, Tralus set it spinning, shooting fire from is many facets. Jaster decided in that moment that there was no way he was letting the other man leave here alive. “Pretty,” Vin said. “Ancestral?” Another Corellian would recognize it, Jaster knew. That was part of the point in taking it from Kader in the first place. In a sense, he was taking the other man’s wife, and everyone knew it. He was damned if Tralus would take her away from him after all he'd done to get her. His voice was tight. “Yes.” “Can’t be one of yours. No Corellian would willingly part with one of those. Where’d you get it?” “From an old friend.” “Huh. Tough to lose friends.” He set the diamond gently down on the table between them, just out of easy reach for Jaster, who stifled the sudden urge to snatch it back. He let the misconception stand. After all, it was none of Vin’s business where it came from, and in just a few more minutes, it wouldn’t matter anyway. Dead men weren’t all that curious. As the nikto guard returned with two sets of chance cubes still wrapped in their packaging, Teela took up a casual lean by the door. She looked bored, and not a little impatient. With a glance, Jaster had his bodyguards rising to their feet and taking up positions around the room. The twi’lek wouldn’t get far if she tried to make a run for it. If Vin noticed, he gave no sign that he cared, but then he was always a tough bastard to read. The nikto set a box in front of Jaster with an almost imperceptible nod. The other went in front of Vin. Both men dealt swiftly with the packaging to open the little lacqerous boxes holding their cubes. Vin’s were cobalt blue, painted with golden pips, while Jaster had a set as green as his eyes. Now that the game was underway, neither of them spoke. Vin was the first to roll, shaking the cubes a couple of times, then tossing them out in front of him. The pips came up six and three. Jaster scowled and rolled his own. They tumbled briefly and halted showing a measly pair of twos. He felt sweat begin to trail down his back, and the anger he had kept at a simmer since losing the freighter threatened to boil over. These cubes were supposed to roll nothing lower than a four. Had his idiot guard screwed things up? There was no time to find out. Vin was already shaking his cubes again, and a negligent flick of his wrist sent them tumbling. When they stopped, they showed three and four. Vin winced but shrugged philosophically as he waited for Jaster to roll. Jaster couldn’t take his eyes from the cubes as he set them loose, watching each tumble as if they were in slow motion; he held his breath when they teetered, then righted themselves. A one and a five. He sprang to his feet despite his bulk, his complexion an alarming shade of red. His guards already had their blasters out, but Vin was faster. Already drawing before the cubes had fully stopped, he took the first nikto guard right in the chest with a sizzling bolt of blue energy from his pistol. Then, grabbing up the diamond, he rolled behind the table just in time to dodge a stream of blaster fire that would have taken him full in the face. He came up firing. Teela had certainly not made a run for it. As one of the humans came close, perhaps intending to subdue her, she whipped a thin, small blade from her belt and into the hand that was reaching for her. The guard howled with pain but still charged, and Teela danced neatly back and twisted to deliver a side-kick to his groin. The man doubled over, making retching sounds, obviously down for the moment. Since Jaster had retreated behind another of the Sabacc tables and was shouting furiously into his commlink for his backup, that left only two guards. They had been smart enough to take cover themselves, one overturning a dejarik table to hide behind. It landed with a crash that almost drowned out the high-pitched whine of blaster fire exchange. “Grab the bag!” Teela shouted at Vin, then winced when of the remaining guards tagged the arm that the gunslinger reached out with. Vin swore, the words inventive and heartfelt, but he came up with the bag. “Now!” One moment the world made sense, and the next it was chaos. Teela had tossed a flash grenade into the center of the room. Vin had just enough time to avert his face and avoid being blinded, but there was nothing to be done against the noise and concussion. He stumbled, trying to gain his feet, and fell heavily against the table. Somehow he managed to hold onto his blaster, the diamond, and the saddlebag, but he leaned there for a few precious seconds, dazed, before Teela grabbed his uninjured arm and pulled him frantically toward the door. Jaster and his two remaining guards fared worse, disabled long enough for their quarry to escape. Out in the bar, half a dozen men could be seen trying to make their way toward the back room through a suddenly uncooperative crowd. One of them, spying the fleeing couple, gave a shout that was swallowed up by the noisy room. The men attempted to give chase, but it was like trying to pass through a solid wall made of people. Vin and Teela didn't have the same trouble, managing to thread their way easily through those in their path despite Vin's disorientation. They slipped out the door. The bartender, a gray-furred Selonian female with a soft spot for smugglers, watched in some amusement as the two got away. She touched the credits in her pouch, enough to pay for the damage to the back room and several rounds of the good stuff for the helpful patrons. She silently wished Vin Tralus well, knowing that after tonight it would be a long time before he found his way back through her door. As a scream of rage emerged from the back room and was cut off by the closing of the door, she calmly resumed cleaning bottles off of the bar.

2 The Spine’s End was doing a brisk business. With the rain falling outside, people were even more likely than usual to find their entertainment indoors, and the bar was benefiting from the extra custom. Tables and booths were packed, and it was standing room only at the bar. Men and women of every species and description sat at their ease, drinking, gambling, and watching the crowd. A haze of smoke hung over the room, and the place smelled of cheap liquor, beer, tabac, and the occasional whiff of spice. Against the back wall, a raised platform served as a stage where a twi’lek band played. A young-looking female with powder blue skin and a pair of braided silver bands around her lekku sang to their accompaniment, but it was anyone’s guess if she was any good since her voice was lost in the clamor of patrons. They called for drinks, they called for food, and sometimes they just called out obscenities at the various holo-screens broadcasting local sporting events. The Spine wasn’t a licensed gambling hall, but that didn’t stop anyone from putting credits down on a huttball game or whatever else they thought they could win. More lost than won, but their stakes were paltry compared to the action in the bar’s back room. That was where the real fortunes changed hands. Accessed through a single, unmarked door near the main bar, the space was about a dozen meters long and perhaps half as wide. Three Sabacc tables sat in the center, with small dejarik tables set up against the shorter walls. It was quieter in here, with no screens to distract the players. Music was played softly, provided by a jukebox in one corner. It was smokier than outside, but the liquor was a lot better. At the moment, only one of the Sabacc tables was in play. Four players sat around it, considering their cards in silence. The Sabacc pot was currently an impressive pile of credits and small gemstones, indicating that the game had been underway for some time without a big win. For the current hand, betting had just begun. Only two of the four players had many credits left. One was a pretty zabrak with caramel skin and angular black facial tattoos. She had a pattern of short horns that formed a crown within her night-dark hair. Each horn was linked to the next with a small silver chain from which tiny bells dangled, tinkling with every movement of her head. She wore a figure-hugging outfit of matching shirt and pants in rich orange that went well with her complexion. The other was human, clad in a dusty gray leather jacket and black pants tucked into knee-high black boots that had seen better days. His hat, wide-brimmed with a flat crown, was currently pushed back from his head, kept from falling by its leather strap around his neck. His blond hair curled against his nape and temples, framing a classically handsome face with straight brows, a square, scruff-covered jaw, and eyes like blue ice. He had a long blaster strapped to his right thigh and a smaller one on the left, and the hilt of a vibroknife protruded from one boot. The third player was a duros. His red eyes were currently narrowed beneath his heavy brow ridge, and he kept rubbing one long-fingered hand over his mouth as he studied his hand. The pile of credits he had started with was only a fond memory, and it was clear he would call it a night after this hand – he’d probably be the first one out. From the flight suit that he wore so casually, it was likely that he was one of the many freighter captains who plied their trade along the Corellian Run. Jaster Miles, another human, rounded out the table. Perhaps fifty years of age and balding, he was overweight, richly dressed, and apparently unarmed. He wore a waist-length double-paned jacket of purple that strained over his bulk. His unfortunately skin-tight silver pants were tucked into glossy black boots that could have served as a mirror in a pinch. Outwardly he had no weapons, but he wore ornate silver bracers at each wrist. A ring adorned nearly every finger, a large cabochon ruby winked at his left ear, and a tear-shaped diamond as big as his thumbnail dangled on a fine silver chain around his neck. While most of the other players were here alone, Jaster had brought friends. Two humans and two nikto that looked as wide as tram cars lounged in the background, drinking nothing stronger than beer as they kept their eyes on the game, and especially on the other players. Unlike their boss, they were indeed armed, and their various jackets did little to hide the bulge of blasters. They might have been part of the décor for all the notice Jaster took of them. As he looked at his cards, he lifted his cigar and took a long draw of the fragrant tabac. Long-lashed, bright green eyes – surprisingly attractive in his otherwise florid features – lifted to regard the man across from him. “Trade one.” The gunslinger, Vin Tralus by name, nodded and flicked a card his way, deftly snagging the one sent back and placing it on the discard pile. From there he shifted his gaze to the zabrak, but he kept part of his attention on the other man. He noticed the slight, telltale lightening of features that indicated a very good trade. “Deal one,” the zabrak said, giving the gunslinger a warm smile. Vin smiled back, toying with the idea of spending some quality time with her after the game. Of course, he knew that it was exactly what she wanted him to be thinking; open flirtation was a common tactic in Sabacc. With a broad wink, he slid her the next card. Her game face was better than most, but she spent a little longer sipping her drink whenever a card made her think. This one did, and he watched as she drew on the straw. “Fold,” the duros grunted, tossing his cards face-down in disgust. Gathering up his scant few remaining credits, he nodded once to the others. “A good game. Hopefully a better one next time.” The murmurs of farewell quickly faded behind him as the three remaining players refocused on their game. “I’ll take one,” Vin said. When he added the card to his hand, he was careful to keep his features bland. Along with the ace and seven of coins and the nine of flasks, he now had Endurance. It was Pure Sabacc, and it was hard to beat, especially as early as round four. Judging by the reaction of the zabrak, she at least couldn’t do it. “Betting goes to you, Miz De’ani,” Vin prompted softly. “Hmm. Well, I’m not quite as eager as our duros friend to let you walk away with more of my credits, Mr. Tralus,” she replied. She lifted her glass again to sip from her straw, watching as his gaze drifted to her pursed lips. “I’ll go two hundred more.” “Only two?” he asked, ice blue eyes wicked. “No risk, no reward.” “The most rewarding risks aren’t taken at the game table,” she countered archly. “Could we get to my bet, if the two of you don’t mind?” “Not at all, Jaster,” Vin replied promptly, the smile remaining in place as he focused on his other opponent. “I live to serve.” “That’ll be the day,” Jaster muttered. “I’ll match the two hundred and raise two thousand.” The zabrak’s attention finally left Vin, and she watched in some surprise as the fat human pushed the remainder of his credits into the main pot. “Well now, things just got interesting,” Vin commented. He grabbed enough credits to call and tossed them on the pile. Then, his placid expression in place, he pushed the entirety of his impressive pile of credits into the main pot. “I’m not sure how much this all is, but I’m in a generous mood, so I’ll just say it’s forty thousand or thereabouts.” “I am most definitely out,” De’ani said, laying her cards face down and pushing back from the table. Rather than leaving, she leaned back in her chair and sipped at her drink, not about to miss the end of this match. “Be reasonable, Vin!” Jaster exploded. “I don’t have enough left to cover it.” “Then I guess you’re out,” Vin said pleasantly. “Wait, wait. There must be something…” he said almost frantically. Vin waited him out, motionless except for a quick smile and a wink sent the zabrak’s way. “What about a ship?” Jaster demanded suddenly. “I have one.” “You don’t have this one. It’s the XS Stock, but CEC developed a whole new suite of modifications that haven’t even hit the market yet. Trust me. You want this ship.” Vin pretended to think about it, lashes lowering to shield the icy blue of his eyes. He didn’t know how the hell Jaster had gotten his pudgy hands on the new mods, and he didn’t really care. With only four years in service, the XS Stock was already recognized as the ship to beat all other ships in its class and outside of it. It could outrun any but the fastest fighters, with a big enough hold to make it a competitive option for traders. It could be crewed by as few as one and had enough armaments to make any pilot flying less than a corvette nervous about engaging. Best of all to his mind, there were almost limitless options to configure hidden compartments for cargo that wasn’t strictly legal. The XS’s were so in demand that CEC was backlogged for more than a standard galactic year. Yeah, he wanted that ship. “Alright, fine. But no more shifts. We lay them out, right here, right now.” At Jaster’s quick nod, Vin began to lay his cards out face-up. The ace of coins, the seven of coins, and the nine of flasks each lay side by side. Finally, he added Endurance. “Twenty-three,” he said. “Pure Sabacc.” Jaster only smiled and slowly placed down the ten of sabers, the ace of sabers, and the Queen. “Twenty-three. Pure Sabacc.” Vin heard a gasp from De’ani, but he didn’t look away from the smug face of his opponent. He was aware of the sudden stillness of Jaster’s goons, but for now his attention was all for the game. “Then we go to sudden demise.” “If you don’t mind, my friend, I think that I would like the lovely De’ani to deal out the last two cards.” “You don’t trust me,” Vin said with an attempt at a wounded expression that quickly flashed into a razor-sharp smile. “Smart man.” Neither man looked at the zabrak as she got to her feet and slowly eased the deck out from in front of Vin Tralus. “Would you gentlemen like to cut for it,” she asked, “or shall I deal them out?” “Deal them,” the men said almost in unison. Her hands not quite steady, De’ani dealt first to Jaster, revealing the second Queen. “Twenty-one,” she said quietly, her eyes darting worriedly now to Vin. With both Queens gone, everyone knew that only one of two cards in the deck could save him, but the gunslinger looked as unruffled now as he had when the game had begun. She took a breath and dealt the final card. “The Idiot,” she said in patent disbelief. “Twenty-three. Pure Sabacc.” Now Vin moved. He was out of his chair before anyone could even blink, right hand on his blaster and his eyes, flat as a sand snake’s, watching for the smallest twitch in Jaster’s goon squad. The tableau stayed frozen for only a second or two, but it seemed far longer. Then it was broken by the opening of the door and a cheerful voice asking, “Did I miss anything?”

(I've wanted to write backstory for one of my toons for a long time, but just never sat down and made myself do it. Hopefully this sticks, because I'm having fun with it now and I have a ton of ideas. Edit: It starts shortly before the signing of the Treaty of Coruscant, so the Corellia detailed here is not quite the same one we see in-game. If anyone bothers to read, thanks, and I hope you enjoy it.) Evolution 1 Under a leaden sky heavy with the promise of more rain, Coronet City gleamed. A contrast between technology and nature, its towering spires of shining silicrete rose from beds of green, where parks and flowering gardens with ornate gold statues and musically tinkling fountains were set like jewels amid the verdure. Artistically wrought benches of various colored stones and metals often sat within the gardens, inviting the weary pedestrian to sit for a while in peace. From there, a visitor’s eyes were inevitably drawn skyward. Above, skytowers competed for prominence, lit with signs proclaiming their affiliation and purpose. One might sport a brilliant, colored array of letters designating it as apartments, while another had a rotating hologram around its summit inviting customers to shop in unparalleled luxury. Still others had stylized aurebesh marching up their sides, each character a glowing work of art. The buildings varied in construction from circular white towers to spikes seemingly made all of glass, with the more traditional rectangular construction usually enhanced with features like columns, spears of light, or clever twists in the architecture. Many echoed the love of nature seen below with stepping terraces of greenery along their sides, dripping with both flowering vines and carefully planned falls of water that circulated from the lowest tier back to the top to fall again. Tallest and most spectacular of all were the corporate towers, both on and off Incorporation Island, often etched with precious metals and even crushed crystals. These were adorned with names like Corellian Engineering Corporation, Czerka Corellia, Moonlight Transit, Key Gen, Coronet Shipping, Aratech, and others – the commercial lifeblood of the planet. Between the buildings, the skyways teemed with traffic. Airspeeders and mass transit shuttles vied for position in the unending flow, looking from the ground like colorful, ordered schools of fish. Occasionally, brilliant blue lights flashed as traffic droids swooped down to flag the most reckless flyers. Beneath that layer of traffic ran Moonlight Transit’s rocket tram system. Convoluted and sprawling, controlled by sophisticated computers and droids, the tram system ran constantly, with scarcely thirty seconds between the passage of one humming bullet-shaped compartment and the next. The maglev tracks threaded through the skytowers and over the parks and attractions below, often tunneling right through the larger structures as the hurtling compartments made their lightning-fast way between terminals. On the lowest level, pedestrians predominated, but the wide boulevards still contained their share of speeders. These vehicles, hampered by rigid and rigorously enforced traffic laws, moved little faster than the people walking around them. However, what they lacked in speed, they made up for in opulence. Small-scale Hutt-style barges, Aratech racing speeders, luxury Vondell cruisers – each was a testament to the wealth and importance of its owner. Being at ground level, especially in the business and recreation sectors, was an opportunity to show off one’s personal importance to all of Corellia. Looking down from the sky or up from the ground, one could easily see why Coronet City was called “The Jewel of Corellia.” Even the rain, which had resumed its onslaught, only enhanced the beauty by providing countless diamond-drops of water that sparkled and gleamed in the varicolored light as they fell, only to join the ubiquitous sheen of water that slicked over the city like a coating of shimmersilk. ** From the outskirts of Coronet, just beyond Labor Valley, the view was a bit different. To the shrewd eyes of bold blue that looked out across permacrete yards and factories toward the city proper, “The Jewel of Corellia” seemed as insubstantial and fantastic as a holovid. Those eyes dominated a young face marked by high cheekbones, slanted brows, and a firm chin. The girl who owned these sharp features was only twelve, and though she had grown taller over the last couple of years, she remained slim as a boy. Her clothes were a battered assortment of castoffs in cheap fabrics, but they were clean. Hair the color of a russet Tatooine sunset was tucked up under a narrow-brimmed hat, with a few tendrils escaping around her neck and ears. Currently the girl was crouched at the mouth of an alley that ran between a local grocery and a bar that proclaimed itself “Spine’s End” in flashing red letters. In the rain, the light reflected from countless surfaces, bathing the girl in its glow every few seconds. She wasn’t worried about being seen though, not in this weather. People in this part of Coronet minded their own business most of the time anyway. When the frequent, days-long rainstorms blew in, the locals kept their heads down and moved quickly. Here, the buildings were squat, practical constructions of silica and steel, unadorned by the flowers and precious metals the wealthy could afford to waste. There was still plenty of light, but it was usually the quick, flashing red of a dive bar like the one she watched, the flashing white-and-green of CorSec, or the golden credit symbol that denoted a moneylender or, just as likely, a gambling hall. The residents of the tenements that were interspersed among factories and warehouses had no need of lit directional signs or friendly droids to find their way – these streets were home. Only visitors needed those, and very few had the courage coupled with a lack of intelligence that was required to visit this area after dark. As the girl shifted, snugging herself more tightly into her mostly waterproof jacket and ignoring the cold damp where the waterproofing failed, the figure she was watching for emerged from the bar. He was tall, dark-haired, and broad-shouldered and moved with the careless arrogance that characterized many native Corellians. After a brief look around, he strode directly toward the girl and took her arm to draw her deeper into the shadows with him. “You were supposed to stay back, Dev,” he hissed in exasperation. Eyes as bold and blue as her own peered down at her from a height that seemed far less intimidating than it had even a year ago. “You were supposed be out ten minutes ago,” she hissed back. “You were worried about me,” he said, humor warming his features, so akin to hers. “Please.” “You were.” He punched her lightly in the shoulder. “Admit it.” “No. Did you get it?” The reminder of why they were both out in the rain tonight instead of warm at home removed the smile from his face as effectively as wiping a datapad. He just shook his head. “Dash! You said you could do it!” Her voice rose slightly as she punched him back, not quite so lightly. “Ow! You little dock rat.” He rubbed his arm, realizing, not for the first time, that she was getting bigger and stronger. “I can do it. But he’s surrounded in there by half a dozen guys, a couple of them nikto. You’re crazy if you think I can lift it with that kind of heat.” “I could do it. You should have let me go,” she muttered. “Right. Let you just walk into that dive alone, all ninety-five pounds of you, and make the lift. No one would ever notice a little girl slipping through the crowd. Forget it, Deveny.” “I’m not a little girl,” she gritted out, offended. “I’m twelve, and I’m faster and better than you ever thought about being.” “Yeah, and twelve is just old enough to make you damned interesting to the type of guys who hang out at the Spine. Forget it,” he repeated. “We’ll find another way.” She argued as he pulled her after him down the alley and toward home. “When will there be another chance, Dash? He took all that’s left of Mom. Who will get it back if we don’t? Dad? He’s the one who sold it!” All the contempt that a twelve-year-old could muster was in that last, bitter accusation. Dash stopped abruptly and Deveny nearly ran into his broad back. When he turned to meet her furious gaze, his own was a mirror for it. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I want to let that scum keep Mom’s diamond? He’s wearing it on a chain around his fat, greedy neck. I wanted to choke him with it!” His chest heaved as he tried to rein in his temper, to keep from taking out his anger on Deveny. At eighteen, he was enough older than his sister to have had a hand in raising her even before their mother had died. Later, with their father all but checking out, Dash had taken on the job full-time, though he’d been just fourteen. He’d learned that yelling at her was the surest way to have her digging in her heels. Plus he felt like dreck afterwards. Perversely, Deveny felt her own temper cool as Dash’s heated up. Or maybe it was the genuine anguish she heard behind the fury. She felt it, too. Yelling at each other wasn’t going to get Mom’s diamond back, even if it did feel good to poke at Dash when she was mad. Her anger dissolved, and since it was all that had been holding her grief at bay, she felt tears threaten instead. “How could he do it, Dash?” she asked, blue eyes huge in a pale, narrow face that searched his for answers he didn’t have. “How could he just sell it like that? It was Mom.” Since their family had observed the Corellian tradition of having a loved one’s remains cremated and the ashes compressed into a diamond for remembrance, Deveny’s statement was as much literal as fanciful. Dash understood perfectly. The diamond of a family member was sacred, and for the two of them, it was all they had left. But he remembered better than his sister what their dad had been like before Mom died. Dev’s resentment went deeper than his. “It’s not him, Dev. It’s the whiskey. If he ever stayed sober long enough to think, he wouldn’t have done it,” he said, raking a frustrated hand through his short dark hair. “It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have dumped his whole stash. It made him desperate.” “No way! It’s not your fault. He did it. Mom doesn’t mean as much to him anymore as a stupid bottle of Corellian whiskey. Stop making excuses for him!” They stared at one another for a moment, tension and helplessness thick between them, until one of the rocket trams raced by on its tracks overhead. The high-pitched hum of the engine and whoosh of displaced air as the car passed brought them both to a realization of their surroundings once more. They started walking again as the rain began to fall in earnest. “At least we know who has it,” Dash said, raising his voice to be heard over the rain. “We’ll get it back,” she said firmly, to convince herself as much as her brother. Dash stopped with her under an overhang, turning her to face him. Only when her eyes lifted to his did he reply. “Yeah. We will, Dev. I promise.” “You promise?” At his nod, she nodded, too. “Okay.” Hand in hand now, they jogged through the dark, rain-slicked streets toward home.

You're right - they all betray your character regardless of gender. What I was getting at is that the ones I mentioned are most likely to be romanced by straight women and gay men, which I think gives the betrayals more impact for those specific players. I do seriously wonder why it's never the female NPC involved in a romance with a male character that behaves this way - Kaliyo is a stretch for me, btw, because you find out about her activities and resolve the situation with her firmly on your side in the course of one encounter. Maybe you're right about the minorities being more scrutinized these days, with people just waiting to read something into the most innocent of actions. Maybe I'm reading into things! Or maybe not, because I can think of plenty of games where antagonists are women. Would straight guys and gay women have more of a problem being betrayed by their romance option than straight women and gay guys? I have no idea. Like you, I hope it's just something they haven't thought of.

I’m going to qualify this right away by saying that I have only played the stories from the female perspective, doing straight romances. If my view of events is skewed because of that, feel free to point it out. Just be kind It seems to me that the straight female lead is the one who is always suffering the most betrayal in SWTOR (and BioWare games in general), although that changes with the availability of Theron’s romance for everyone. Prior to that, I remember my SW being betrayed by Quinn, her romance option. The female smuggler who pursues any kind of relationship with Darmas likewise gets betrayed. My first Jedi consular was into Tharan Cedrax, but guess what? She got dumped for a hologram. I honestly don’t know if there are any male players who get betrayed by females in their storylines along the way, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t come from any of their romanceable companions. Anyway, this post isn’t to complain about all of that. I enjoy the stories with all their ups and downs. What I’m trying to say is that I feel like people who don’t experience these betrayals at the level of someone who romanced the character are getting left out. While the betrayals can be frustrating, puzzling, and even infuriating (I’m looking at you, Quinn!), there is no doubt that they add a depth to the story that makes it memorable. For example, I’ve read a whole lot of posts discussing the Crisis on Umbara and its plot twists, with lots of players speculating on whether or not they will kill Theron. There is similar discussion over Quinn, with his betrayal still standing, I think, as one of the most polarizing events in the game. This makes us look deeper into the NPCs in question, trying to second-guess their motives and thought processes, and reveals them to us in a way that we don’t see otherwise. I appreciate stories that have a greater focus on the NPCs, because even though my character is the Alliance Commander, Empress, or whatever, she doesn’t exist in a vacuum. I know her because I play her. I want to know more about my favorite NPCs that I surround her with. On the other hand, it’s become a thing with BioWare writing to betray, or at least give the short end of the stick, to the straight female/gay male. I won’t drift too far out of SWTOR territory, but I want to point out Anders in DA2, the horrible Alistair choices in Origins, and the way a couple of ME2 romances came to abrupt ends in ME3. It’s a pattern, and one that I think needs to be broken. Not only is it a disservice to the players who choose to romance these characters (usually straight females and gay males), but it’s also a disservice to the players who never get to feel that tumultuous aspect of a storyline through their affection for characters who betray them. Share the love, BioWare. Or I guess in this case, share the angst. TL/DR The current Theron story arc is great, because I’m really into his character and I appreciate the attention his story is getting along with my character’s. I think other players – straight males/gay females – would benefit from having their heart strings plucked the way BioWare always does for their counterparts.

I had no idea the DvL bosses were so difficult to find. That just adds an entire new dimension to how frustrating the system currently is. I agree that if a mechanism is already in place to weight things, it doesn't go far enough. I wonder if the devs are just waiting it out to see whether things balance on their own. The first few days, before everyone on my server did a mass migration to the dark side (apparently), things were more equitable - although the dark still had the edge, which is fair if there are more players - and it was fun. Right now? Not fun.

This. Except on my server, it's the DS that always wins. This is exactly why I think there should be a better balance overall.

Very true. It's difficult to get a raid together for a whole lot of people, leaving them out unless they can gain a level while their side is in control. So if their side is never in control, and they can't get in a raid, they miss out entirely. I just think there must be a better way to handle the tokens.