Erithon couldn’t find the source of the sound. He’d checked the common room. Nothing. He looked in the med bay. Nope. He even stuck his head into the cockpit, where Prelsiava Tern turned and gave him a weird look, but the music never stopped. He shrugged and backed out again.

That left only one spot: her quarters.

It was probably kind of off limits, but he was bored. It seemed like they’d been in hyperspace for ages and had finished all the necessary tasks they could. Maybe she’d beat him at sabaac again.

Fortunately, her door was open and Aitahea herself was curled up at the foot of her bed, a blanket swathed around her. The consular was completely absorbed in a holo.

“Hey,” he drawled, swinging around the frame, “Master Jedi, I just-”

“Shh!” she hissed, waving a hand at him, eyes fixed on the projection. Three females, one Twi’lek and two humans, stood surrounding a microphone. They were singing in a beautiful counterpoint, heads nodding and eyes closed. “Come in, but hush!”

The trooper crept gingerly inside. The austere room didn’t surprise him at all, unlike the enraptured Jedi. It seemed she’d been only half done arranging her hair she twisted one braid in her fingers, the other still curling over her bare shoulder – yikes, hang on, Erithon thought frantically. No, wait, she’s just got a sleeveless top on, stars have mercy.

“Um…” he began, but she shushed him again and patted the spot to her left. Erithon’s eyebrows threatened to migrate into his hairline.

“Listen,” she insisted, never taking her eyes from the projection. He’d certainly seen her focused before, but never on something so… ordinary.

He eased himself down next to her, his attention split between her and the singing trio. He didn’t mind the music, sweet and melodic, but watching his adept, unwavering Jedi captivated by something that wasn’t threatening to maim or kill them was admittedly more interesting to him.

Engrossed as she was with the singers, she didn’t notice his attention. He was fixated on her, the bright voices becoming a pleasant hum in the background. She still twirled the end of the completed braid in her right hand, but the one she’d dropped to offer him a seat was now pressed to her lips. She swayed a little in time with the music, oblivious to her shoulder brushing against his.

Erithon swallowed hard and pulled his eyes away from her, back to the trio who soared to a high point, sharing a single note for a few moments before breaking into harmony again and slowly drawing the song to an end.

Aitahea sighed blissfully and sagged against his arm while the image switched to an announcer. Erithon stopped breathing. “They’re absolutely miraculous, aren’t they?” Her head dropped dreamily to his shoulder. “Tember says someday she’ll take me to-” She lifted her head slowly. “-see them.” Recognition dawned on her face, bringing with it a rosy blush.

Pretty, Erithon thought. Especially up close like this.

Moments passed before either of them moved. Finally, Erithon attempted to scoot away a few inches while Aitahea chose to stand, clasping the blanket close to her chest.

“Uh,” he started, and cleared his throat to begin again, “You could watch this in the common room.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Hey, I don’t care!” Erithon shook his head, chagrined. “I mean, it doesn’t bother me. It’s your ship, anyways.” He stood up and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s just go finish it up out there, yeah?”

Aitahea began to smile before a look of panic crept into her eyes. “Oh. I can’t.”

“What? Why not?”

Her face was absolutely incandescent. “I… need to get dressed first.” She clenched the blanket tighter and Erithon finally grasped the huge mistake he’d made.

Abort! Retreat!

“Yes.” Erithon whirled around and headed immediately for the door. “That’s exactly a great idea to get dressed first,” he garbled, sensible words eluding him completely. “Uh, I’ll go find a snack. Be right back! I mean, back to the common room, I mean. With a snack. Bye!”

Erithon vanished, and Aitahea stood blinking while her burning cheeks cooled. Gathering her wits, she strode to the open portal in three steps and slammed her palm against the control pad. The door whispered shut and the Jedi put her face in her hands. Already standing in the galley, Erithon did the same.

Neither of them heard the other begin laughing.

I promise at some point I’ll turn the tables and have Aitahea admiring Erithon, but hey, here we are. Fun fact: Sing-Off is the only music show I really follow (when it’s even on), but I tolerate The Voice a little.

“I can’t do it anymore, Ai.”

Aitahea Daviin turned at the sound of her sister’s voice. She’d never heard Tember sound so despondent, so stricken. Not when Aitahea left to continue her Jedi training after the Sacking of Coruscant; not when her first serious boyfriend broke up with her; not when she lost her first crewmate to enemy fire.

Tember’s sorrow and shame rushed over Aitahea in a painful wave. The Jedi knew immediately what had happened – something that had happened all too often since the emergence of the Eternal Empire – but it was Tember who needed to say it.

“What happened, Tember?”

The smuggler trudged into the room and slumped down on the couch next to Aitahea, curling her legs up under her and leaning into her sister. Aitahea put an arm around her, hiding her shock. Tember was not one for displays of affection with anyone.

“We lost the supply transport, Ai.” Tember’s voice hitched, and Aitahea felt her struggle to hold back a sob. “The ship we were escorting, you know the one. The Eternal Fleet came out of nowhere. The ship – and everyone on it - was gone before we even knew what was happening.”

Aitahea closed her eyes and tightened her arm around Tember. “I’m so sorry. But I’m glad you escaped.”

Tember stiffened, then threw herself to her feet, hands clenched into fists at her sides. The synthleather of her gloves creaked with the gesture. “That’s the problem, Ai. I keep making it. Me. But we keep losing so many.” She strode across the room, turning on her heel to make a quick circuit as Aitahea watched.

The sage remained sitting, allowing her sister room for both her feelings and pacing. “You’ve saved many more than you’ve lost, Tember,” she offered quietly.

“But we still keep losing them. So many dead…” Tember’s unsteady voice trailed away, and when she looked up at Aitahea, her eyes were rimmed with tears. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

Aitahea crossed the room to embrace her sister. Tember seemed to shrink into Aitahea’s arms, letting loose a rough sob. “You can’t save all of them, Tember.”

Tember laughed hoarsely. “Even I know that. I’m just some gunslinger, Ai. I’m not important. The commander is important, she’s doing things. I’m just losing ships and people.”

“Tember.” Easing her sister gently upright, Aitahea projected comfort and understanding into the Force. Tember relaxed a little, and Aitahea turned her gently to face the back of the room. “You are important. Look.”

Tucked into the small trundle bed at far end, white-blonde hair poking out from under the rough blanket, was Tember’s niece. Lucent.

“Oh, kriff,” the smuggler swore, then clapped her hand over her mouth, looking at Aitahea in chagrin. “I didn’t know she was in here.”

Aitahea’s nose crinkled in amusement. “You can’t wake Lucent up, Tember. She sleeps like an uxibeast. But look again.”

Tember shifted her gaze slowly back to the sleeping child. “I didn’t think she still took naps, Ai.”

“When she’s been up all night reading holocomics she does.”

A grin came unexpectedly to Tember’s face. “Heh. Wonder where she got that,” she snickered, a bit of her usual roguish charm creeping back into her voice.

Aitahea arched a brow at her sister, but smiled nonetheless. “You are important to her, Tember.”

Tember turned her eyes back to Aitahea, a bit of hope easing away the bleakness in her gaze. “Well, sure. She’s your kid.”

“She wouldn’t be here without you. Do you remember?”

Tember looked away, remembering. When Arcann swept into Republic space and blockaded Coruscant, Aitahea and Erithon had been trapped dirtside. They’d been settling into temporary residence with their parents in preparation for Lucent’s birth. Tember was approaching the capital world, trying to control her enormous delight at her impending aunthood, when the Eternal Fleet appeared.

Sia had tried to get them to the Luminous, but they couldn’t even get to the spaceport safely. Tember ducked expertly through the blockade and hovered the No Promises just above the roof of their parents’ apartment. Aitahea and Tember’s parents refused to leave – just like they had after the Sacking of Coruscant – but Tember had refused to allow her sister’s child to be born on a terrorized planet.

If anyone could get them to safety, it was Captain Tember Daviin. The Voidhound, the Republic privateer, the best pilot in the galaxy. Even with her standard hyperdrive (okay, let’s be honest, it was a little more than standard. Tember had taken care of that herself), she’d managed outmaneuver the Eternal Fleet gunships and got them safely into hyperspace.

Then, like some ridiculous holodrama, Aitahea had gone into labor. Tember had actually thrown her hands into the air, a moment of levity in the face of terror, before Prelsiava ordered her to get blankets and Erithon eased Aitahea to the medbay.

Lucent was born while they were still in hyperspace. A child of the stars in the truest sense. It was the most amazing thing Tember had ever experienced. There were four of them in the room: Tember, Sia, Erithon, and Aitahea. Then suddenly there were five. Five sentient beings where there had only been four.

She’d done that.

“You rescued all of us, Tember. More than once,” Aitahea explained. “Yes, we will lose allies, perhaps even friends and family, but each one we save is important. Even those yet to come.

“You’re important to them.”

Tember’s gaze dropped to her boots. “I guess.”

“And I know.” The Jedi smiled affectionately at her sister and nudged her toward the little bunk where Lucent slept. “It’s time she got up. Why don’t you wake her? She’ll be glad to know you’re safe.”

The smuggler reached for her sister’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Yeah. Hylo can wait a few more minutes.” Tember smiled gratefully at Aitahea, an unexpected tenderness in her gold eyes, before turning toward her niece.

Aitahea watched as her sister crept to her niece’s bed and tickled the girl awake, delighting in the noise of their laughter as it echoed through the halls of the Alliance.

[AN: A couple things - I’m excited to write more with Tember. She plays a big role in Aitahea’s life, even if they’re apart more often than not. They both join the Alliance, along with Erithon & Prelsiava, and even Isme.

Tember's feelings about Lucent's birth - there suddenly being five people in the room - was my literal reaction to my own nephew's birth. I got to be in the room and I still recall it with wonder, even after having a child of my own.

Finally, I really wanted to use the word ‘persistence’ somewhere. It has a lot of meaning socially and politically right now, just as I expect it does for anyone in the Alliance. It only made it into the title, but there you are.

Thank you for reading, and I’m always so grateful for any comments or feedback. Love!]

“Good morning, sir!”

I looked up, chewing a bit faster. Our new crew member stood in the door frame, uniform immaculate, not a flick of hair out of place in what probably wound up to a tight bun at the back of her head. I shouldn’t be surprised, I surmised as I waved her in. Even after fighting she hadn’t looked in much greater disarray than most people I knew after a day’s work at the office. “Sorry,” I had finally managed to swallow. “Come in, Sergeant. Good morning.” I pointed to the counter. “Caf’s ready. If you prefer tea, I think there is a package behind the cereals.”

“Caf is fine, sir, thank you, sir,” Elara said in her crisp Imperial accent.

Too much formality too early in the morning. Technically we were still off duty. While pretending to read the report on my datapad, I watched out of the corner of my eye as she got a fresh cup and poured herself some caf. She looked — out of place. While Jorgan tried to bludgeon me with exaggerated respectfulness out of spite, it seemed to be just her way. I hadn’t seen her behave in any other way towards anybody in the chain of command. Maybe we could work on that once she had settled in. I concentrated back on my reading when she turned. Paying attention to too many things at once I managed to miss my mouth with the fork, almost skewering my cheek and dropping part of my breakfast. “Kark!” I mumbled as I assessed the possible damage to my uniform. Regarding present company, being an inspiring example in that department would be hard enough without oi-oi stains on my shirt.

She sat down opposite me. “Is that cake, sir?”

Did I imagine the slight accusatory undertone? “You didn’t want some, did you?” It sounded more defensive than it should.

“Cake for breakfast is egregiously unhealthy. The nutrition guidelines…” she cut off mid-sentence and a look of pure horror crossed her face as she realized she was lecturing her new superior.

“Great, because that is the last of it.”

She looked at what was left of the piece of cake on my plate. “The last of it?” The horror was replaced by disbelief as she put two and two together. We had received the cake as a gift from some settlers before we left Taris yesterday afternoon. Jorgan’s diet consisted almost exclusively of meat, and she hadn’t gotten any cake either. Her eyes grew wide.

“Is there a problem, Sergeant?”

“Sir, no, sir, of course not, sir.” Her facial muscles were back under tight control.

“In order for it to stay this way, I’d like to advise you, not to mention the nutrition guidelines in my presence again -- unless my blood values demand otherwise, or I outgrow my armor.” I tried to contain my glower, I really did. It wasn’t that I had cake that often.

Despite sitting, she shrank visibly. “Understood, sir!”

For penance I’d do some extra rounds in the gym later.

The slope of the roof was barely noticeable. In exchange the structure of the sheet metal pressed through my thin shirt into my shoulder blades. With my hands beneath my head I tried to ignore the world around me. When I tilted my head back, I could see the huge supply pipes, which ran up to the next level, behind me. Their incessant buzzing, gurgling, and whirring provided a constant background noise I couldn’t turn a deaf ear to, not even at this late hour. Instead, I imagined waves rolling onto a stony beach as source of the sound. The fact that I had never seen an ocean was rather helpful. The dark underside of the next level limited my world only a few meters above me, but my dreams could not be caged. I closed my eyes and concentrated on hovering somewhere between here and there, my limbs weightless in the void. Only a few hundred floors separated me from the surface, from there it was about a two hour drive by taxi to the next spaceport, another hour or two by ship to reach the next hyperspace route. Beyond hyperspace a universe full of possibilities was waiting for me. The head of a nail pressed into one of my knuckles and brought me back to the reality of my life on Coruscant.

At the edge of the roof Izobel announced her arrival with a slight cough. A moment later she had climbed onto the covering. I opened my eyes and watched her slip over to me, though I could not see much more than a shadow. With an elegant turn around her own axis she sank down beside me, where she sat cross-legged, her knee brushing my side.

"Hi, Nat. My date took a little longer, "she whispered.

I answered with a vague harrumph. Of course it had taken longer. Iz was always late. Plans, in which Iz occurred, had to be fundamentally flexible, especially if she didn’t even know about being involved. But then it was your fault anyway. Not that anything would change this fact. You always bore the blame.

"I am supposed to give you Mox’ kind regards."

I grunted again. Mox was an ******e. And the fact that Iz had gotten involved with him was not really relevant to this opinion.

"Did you wait for me?"

"Couldn’t sleep." How was I supposed to sleep when I had been waiting for her to come home? After all, I knew where she was. We usually told each other where we went. We took care of each other.

She tilted her head to one side and leaned forward. Her eyes narrowed to better be able to read my expression. "You worry too much! I have everything under control! "

That was true. Izobel twisted everyone remotely capable of any feelings around her finger, even though I usually wouldn’t use the words Mox and feelings in the same sentence. I could not resist grinning. "That's what worries me!"

A playful punch to my side was the answer. "Maybe it should."

Before I knew it, she sat astride me and tried to pin my arms with her knees. The wrestling that ensued probably woke half of the neighborhood. Nobody was stupid enough to complain. In the end, we lay side by side on our backs, breathing hard and giggling every now and then whenever we had recovered enough of our breaths.

"Mox fed me Oi-Oi berries," Iz finally said. The statement hung in the darkness for a while, gathering weight.

I had it on good authority the ******e had not obtained the berries himself. Still I would have preferred to avoid the subject. "Did you like them?" I asked, being polite anyway.

"Yes!" She answered without hesitation. "Fruity, sweet and also a bit sour, refreshing, and a unique taste of their own. Oi-Oi-berrylike. "

Despite myself I laughed. "Oi-Oi-berrylike, that’s the perfect description." Since Black Sun had set up their blockade of our borders fresh fruit had grown rare. So I was glad she liked the things. In that case it had been worth the effort.

"Have you ever eaten some?" she asked.

"Once." It had been only a day ago. I couldn’t afford to spend a considerable amount of credits on **** without checking its quality first. Definitely not when the credits I was spending belonged to Mox. He made life difficult enough for me without that kind of trouble.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing!"

This time I caught her arm just before its impact with my ribs. I rolled over to her. My face was close to hers. After I had made sure I wasn’t lying on her braid, I propped up my head in my hand and studied her silhouette.

"What if I had been waiting for you?" I asked. While I waited for an answer I gently traced her profile with one finger. She tilted her head back and her chin strained towards my finger. I breathed a kiss on her bared throat.

Iz made a purring sound before she replied. "Maybe I'd ask you what other attractions the market had to offer besides Oi-Oi berries."

Suddenly her neck had lost my interest. I looked her in the eye. "You knew it?"

She glared at me with her forehead furrowed in mock indignation. "Do you have any idea how long I had to whine until Mox promised me Oi-Oi Berries?"

Oi-Oi berries were only available in the market in the next sector. Of late Black Sun controlled the area in between. While I did not think it wise to kick this specific can down the road, the boss had decided to avoid an open war. That meant, without a direct order from him or one of his lieutenants, we stayed on our own turf. Immediately, I wondered what else Iz had done to get those stupid berries. I sighed to get rid of the irritation. After all, that was none of my business.

"I know you wanted to go to the market and didn’t get an okay from the boss." A mischievous grin spread across her face. "If anybody manages to cross the border and come back unnoticed, it's you. It was a sure bet, Mox would send you."

I knew the roofs of the surrounding sectors like the back of my hand. The idea of Mox’ blocky shoulders getting stuck in the shaft above the abandoned sewing shop conjured a smile up on my face. However, it didn’t last long. "He would have been happy if I had not come back."

“Ermm,” Iz pondered, "have you ever thought about keeping your mouth shut once in a while and doing as he tells you instead of irritating him each and every time? You may enjoy the boss’ favor, but so does Mox. He is a lieutenant, after all."

I snorted. "You’re a fine one to talk!"

"Some parts are extra fine, I have been told," she teased as she stroked her substantial bosom with both hands.

Well, that made it much better. I rolled back onto my back. "Maybe I should just challenge him?"

Now it was her turn to come closer. She leaned heavily on my upper body. "Don’t be so kriffing stupid! You are not ready yet. You lack the skill as well as the support. I know it, you know it, and so does Mox. You may not think much of him, but he recognizes a potential threat when he sees one. He understands you’ll grow more dangerous with time. Do not let him provoke you into doing something rash!"

"That almost sounds like you're worried about me."

"Nonsense! But if you let Mox kill you, then I'll have to avenge you, and then he might kill me too. I feel like I’m too young to die."

"I wouldn’t want to be responsible for your untimely demise, not even indirectly!" I conceded.

She rested her head on my chest and hugged me. "You know I'd miss you terribly if you were gone."

I put my arms around her and held her tight. Dreams were not plans, and my dreams actually included Iz more often than not, even those not centered on physical activities. "I don’t plan to go anywhere."

"Except to the market once in a while," Iz said with a quiet laugh. "What did you even want there?"

"I bought something for you!"

She looked up in surprise. "For me? Bought? Properly with credits and stuff?"

"Well, otherwise it's not really a present, if you ask me." I nodded meaningfully, and I could not resist a potshot at Mox. "Besides, you should make the effort to get it yourself."

"How lame would it be to send someone else?” she smirked. Excitement replaced the expression. “Can I see it?"

"Wait a minute!" I fished the gift out of my pocket, sat up and put it on the floor in front of us.

"What is it?" Iz had also sat up.

"Something I've recently seen on the holo net." I pressed a switch and the little device came to life. Light streamed from it, sparkling in Iz's eyes. Her hair shone like spun mythra. "Lie down and look up!" I pushed the little projector a bit farther away with my foot, then lay down next to Iz.

Above us a window to the universe opened. Countless stars twinkled like gems in front of the dark background of the ceiling overhead. Back then I had no idea what their names were, and I didn’t know the constellations, but they were beautiful nonetheless.

Iz held her breath, then squeezed my hand. “Thank you for sharing your dreams with me,” she whispered.

What was left of the night we spent in silence, side by side, beneath the stars.

"Darth Baras's apprentice, Vemrin, is a digusting creature," Overseer Tremmel ranted, "Baras has no regard for the ways of the true Sith. He accepts aliens and mixed blood, inferior races, and with his power and influence, he stands positioned to ascend to the Dark Counsel. With Baras' blessing, Vemrin could become a Lord, perhaps even a Darth, disgracing all which is truly Sith."

"Oh," Pansey frowned. Tremmel's overt racism had always made her feel uncomfortable. He claimed to have treated her like his own children, but it was far from flattering. He treated his own children as expendable assets that he had no emotional connection to.

"You are our last, best hope at eliminating Vemrin before he disgraces the ranks of the Sith with his inferior genes," Tremmel seethed.

"You do realize that Vemrin is a human," Pansey reminded him, "And I am one of those aliens that you find so lowly and disgusting."

"Precisely," Tremmel said dismissively, "Vemrin may be human, but he is not of the old bloodlines and he has no regard for the old ways. Even so, with Baras' sponsorship, he could rise high in the Empire. You? Even once you destroy Vemrin and become Sith, you will still be less than nothing. Something like you will never change the Empire."

Pansey felt the wind blown right out of her sails. For years Tremmel had kept her in reserves, telling her how powerful her connection was with the force, but never training her to actually harness her emotions and use the force that she could feel all around her. To have so much power and no way to use it, it made life a never-ending mockery, a constant parade of disappointment. Today, finally being called up to the Korriban Academy, Pansey had her opportunity to face the trials, and yet Tremmel had never given her the training she needed, taking great efforts to ensure she had been set up for failure. Overseer Tremmel had taken one of the most powerful force users ever found, and because of her 'inferior race', had denied her even the basics of training. Pansey wanted to be grateful that he had finally given her an opportunity, but his every word made it clear the contempt he had for her.

"Go and kill Vemrin," Tremmel demanded, "Kill the apprentice and Baras will be left flaccid, unable to shape the future of the Dark Counsel with his disgusting acceptance of aliens."

The Acolyte known as Pansey did kill Vemrin, impaling him on her vibrant pink shoto lightsaber, but she was not prepared for the fallout of this act. She had hoped to remain at the Sith Academy on Korriban, that Tremmel would finally see worth in her. Instead, it was Darth Baras who saw the value in a young girl with a magnificent connection to the force. Baras who treated her as a worthy apprentice, rather than judging her as inferior for her green skin. Baras who offered her place as his apprentice, and Darth Baras who laid bare the conditions of her climb amongst the Sith. Darth Baras demanded she kill the man who had used and manipulated her for years, the man who had insisted that Pansey was nothing more than a pitiful creature simply because of how she was born.

Even so, Pansey didn't enjoy killing Tremmel. His refusal to ever teach her the Sith Code had deprive her of that lust for blood and treachery that so many others embraced. She felt pity for the sad old man and his narrow-minded views. But Darth Baras stood to change the Empire for the better, to usher in a golden age of equality amongst the races. Darth Baras was a man that Pansey knew she would always be able to trust, and so whatever he wished, she was going to do it.

Even cranked to full volume, the battered old holoviewer could barely be heard above the hubbub of the rambunctious crowd. Few of them were paying much attention to the game anyway, engaged as they were in arguments, table games, and loud conversation. One table had even raised voice in song, a popular ribald ballad about a seductive female bounty hunter. It was crowded, much more than one might expect from a neighborhood bar in the middle of a work day. While many of the customers were dressed in casual attire, most were dressed for work – a mix of manual laborers, office workers, and service-industry employees.

A sudden hush spread across the room, as one table after another stopped in mid-sentence and turned to stare at the woman standing in the door. She stood silent for a moment, giving the bar a chance to look her over. She obviously didn’t fit in here; her robes, well-tailored white and gray fabric, stood out among the drabs and faded outfits of the others, and that was one thing. The other thing that grabbed their attention was the lightsaber hanging from her belt. Most of them had seen Jedi before, but rarely up close – and the only time Jedi came to this neighborhood was when they were pursuing a criminal. More than one of the patrons had had unpleasant encounters with Jedi, either as targets of a manhunt or interrogation as suspects or witnesses. There was as little love for the Jedi here as there was for security officers – and most of the security patrols in the area could at least be bribed.

Photin surveyed the bar, feeling a bit uncomfortable with dozens of eyes staring silently and suspiciously at her. She sensed no real danger, however, so she stepped quietly into the room. There was barely enough space between the tables and chairs to walk through, but the crowd parted before her as she approached the barkeeper. The whole time there were whispers and murmurs among the customers. “A Jedi? What’s a Jedi doing here?” “Nice robes she’s got, whaddaya think they’re worth?” “Hey, you think maybe that’s her, the one he told us about?” The barkeeper stood alone, arranging empty glasses on a tray, watching her approach. Photin stopped in front of him. He met her gaze with a solidly stoic sabacc face, almost as if daring her to ‘read’ him, or intimidate him.

“Excuse me, sir, I want to make sure I’m in the right place. Is this the Two Blue Moons?”

The barkeep set down the glass he was polishing and nodded. “That’s right. What’s yer business – Jedi?” There was strong note of suspicion in that final word. The murmurs died, and Photin could almost physically feel the people behind her leaning forward to listen.

“I – I’m looking for a man called…Scooter? I was told he, um, hangs out here.”

There were scattered gasps among the crowd. The barkeep’s eye twitched, but he said nothing; by way of reply he pointed down to the end of the bar. Following his direction, Photin spotted a large flatpic of the man she’d talked to in the slaver’s hold, surrounded by flowers. A shrine; he’s dead then. She stepped up to read the printed banner above the picture. Passed away three days ago – I barely missed him. If only they'd released me from the hospital earlier! Tears welled up; she hung her head in mourning. “I’m sorry, my friend, I should have come sooner,” she muttered.

After a long moment, there was a sudden thunk next to her; the barkeep had plunked down a glass next to her on the bar, and was filling it with a clear liquid. He set the bottle aside and folded his arms, watching her. Photin turned to the crowd; they all seemed to be watching her with a mix of suspicion and expectation. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she spoke.

“At the darkest moment of my life – betrayed, beaten, alone – I’d lost my lightsaber, and even got my hand cut off,” she held up her still-shiny new cybernetic hand, spreading the clawlike fingers for all to see. “And imprisoned in the hold of a slaver ship. I was about to lose hope, I could see no way out. That’s when I met one of the other captives, a retired bolo-ball player who called himself 'Scooter.' He was unconquerable, even bound by chains and wracked with a fatal illness. He encouraged – no, demanded that I push on, that the only thing to do was to keep going, no matter what. It was his spirit, his unquenchable courage, that inspired me to, in his words, ‘go down charging,’ like any good bolo-ball player. Everything that happened on that ship: over a hundred people saved from bondage, a Sith lord driven away – he gets at least some of the credit. I could not have done it without him.”

She paused to carefully pick up the glass with her cyberhand, taking care not to crush it. Holding the glass aloft, she said, “Scooter made me promise that when – not if, but when, he insisted – we escaped, I would come here. I will regret all my life that I only knew Scooter for a few hours. Some of you have known him for years; please, if you can indulge a silly young Jedi, I would love to hear your stories about him; funny, sad, his bolo-ball career, his best and worst jokes – anything.” She looked at the glass in her hand. “I only today got out of the hospital. The Masters of the Jedi Council want me to report to them as soon as possible. But I keep my promises, so I had to come here first. And if I can’t talk to Scooter himself, I’ll take the next best thing: his friends. To Scooter!” Steeling herself for a moment, she tossed her head back and gulped the drink. The stuff tore at her throat like hot acid and burned all the way down; she coughed and sputtered, and the tears in her eyes were no longer just ones of sadness. When she finally caught her breath, she croaked, “by the stars! That’s the worst stuff I’ve ever had!” The barkeep burst out with a wide gap-toothed grin and turned the bottle around to reveal the label: “Sith Spit 190;” even Photin had heard of the fearsome reputation of the overly potent beverage. The crowd laughed and cheered. She set the glass down with a solid thunk, shook her head and gave them a wide, if shaky, grin. After another coughing fit, she spoke in a raspy voice. “Oh, and I also promised him I would buy the house a round in his name. And I keep my promises.”

Cheers erupted from the crowd as they swarmed the bar.

Oh poor Pansey, if she is feeling so confident in her master I'm really not looking forward to what is going to be happening down the road. It also gave me a different perspective for Tremmel, which is always nice.

As a player it has always annoyed me that you never see any real training, just 'go and fetch' missions, though I do suppose it would be a bit boring to play through. Plus the not knowing the Sith Code on your warrior, I knew it as a player so in my own head of course my SW knew it.

Looking forward to more.

I liked it I had to admit I was really wondering where it was going at the beginning. I wasn't expecting the ending either but it was good. I was kinda hoping for some of the stories. Your Jedi's reaction to the liquor was pretty good too, I was definitely able to imagine her choking on the harsh stuff in a questionable cantina while everyone was giving her the side stare.

Looking forward to seeing more.

The tent’s place had been chosen wisely. Koth took a look around as he approached. The early morning sun would greet the inhabitant, while the trees the tent sat underneath would keep the worst of the midday heat at bay. The underbrush showed only the first signs of a narrow path treaded down in the humic ground. Koth’s legs were wet up to the knees from the evening dew gathering on the still green grass. Not many people had business to come to the western edge of the space cleared for smaller spacecraft. The wind blowing from the west carried away much of the noise from the maintenance crews, and brought with it the clean smell of the forest mingled with the odors of food cooking above a camp fire. A pang of regret hit Koth as he remembered hiking through the swamps on Zakuul. In a way life had been easier then, with survival being their only goal. He thought of water fresh from a spring, and small crustaceans roasting over glowing embers. With the right herbs those hadn’t been too bad.

The low murmur of voices and laughter drifted from behind a head-high wall made of branches providing visual cover. Before Koth reached it, a low rumbling growl stopped him dead in his track. A large black and yellow akk dog lying in front of the tent raised its head and regarded him warily.

A moment later the hunter appeared at the edge of the wall. With a signed command he silenced the dog, which rested its head back on its paws and relaxed. “What do you want?” the hunter asked in his gruff voice. He was out of sorts with Zakuulians in general, and Koth couldn’t really blame him. Being forced to fight in the Arena Grand on Zakuul wasn’t something Koth would wish on anyone.

“Sorry to bother you! I was looking for the Commander or the Taral’Ari. They were seen heading this way.”

“If I see them, I’ll let them know you’re looking for them.”

Koth knew when he wasn’t welcome. “Thanks. I’ll be back at the Gravestone.”

Just as he was about to leave, Lana appeared from behind the wall. “Of course it is Koth!” she called back over her shoulder. “I told you he could smell a meal three kilometers up the wind.” She poked the hunter’s side with her elbow. The gesture was oddly familiar for Lana, a familiarity she reserved for friends in private settings. “Why don’t you invite him over to the campfire, Thorns?”

“I don’t have any bowls left.”

Lana’s brow rose slowly while she stared at him. The hunter didn’t twitch; Koth had to give him that.

Koth coughed. “That’s okay, I got work to do.” He pointed towards the Gravestone. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your reunion.”

Lana broke away her scowl from the hunter to impede Koth. “Nonsense! Wouldn’t be the first time the two of us shared a bowl. This time the food doesn’t hail from a can, and it has actually been heated.” With a glance at the hunter she added, “and this time the stew doesn’t contain any human body parts!”

“Body parts?” Koth asked, sensing there was a story there he hadn’t heard yet. Sometimes it was still strange to think of Lana as someone with a life before their mad quest to free the Outlander had started.

Slightly tilting his head the hunter pointed a finger admonishingly at Lana. “That whole cannibalism hoax was your idea.” Despite the poor lighting Koth was sure the hunter’s mouth twitched in an attempt to grin.

Lana raised her hands in defeat. “Guilty as charged!”

With a nod towards the fire the hunter invited Koth to join them.

Koth followed him and Lana. When he reached the edge of the wall he stopped. There, sitting around the fire, were not only Ciner, and Theron, but also the Commander and the Taral’Ari. “Didn’t you say, the Commander and the Taral’Ari were not here?”

The hunter smiled. “Actually I didn’t. You only implied it!” He waved to both men and pointed back to Koth. “Koth was looking for you!” Then he held out his hand. “I am Thorns, only Nik,” he nodded towards the Commander, “gets to call me Nat.”

Koth shook Thorns’ hand. “Koth.” The hunter’s handshake was firm, but not intended to turn into a wrestling match.

“I take it you know the others, but just in case you have forgotten, this,” Thorns pointed at the Commander again, “is Nik, and this,” he said indicating the Taral’Ari, “is Ru. Anyone using any fancy titles this evening gets to acquire the next crate of beer!”

Koth stayed as long as the rest of the guests, and when he left it was too early to speak of a new friend, but the ice had definitely been broken. Anyway he needed to come back to get the recipe for the stew.