Sana was walking past their bedroom on her way to the mess for another cup of coffee to get her through the next two meetings that were scheduled on the holo when she caught sight of Aric in the room out of the corner of her eye. He was about two inches from the mirror on the inside door of the wardrobe, looking very intently at his face.

"Whatcha doin'?" she asked, swinging into the room, anchored by the doorframe, empty coffee cup in hand.

She grinned when he jumped and grumbled a bit. "Nothing." He shut the wardrobe door quietly and turned to face her, his face very stern.

"You were doing something."

"It's nothing," he said firmly.

"You might as well tell me," she said, crossing her arms, her grin widening.

He glared at her. "Fine. I was checking for gray hairs."

"Really?" she chuckled, "You hadn't noticed them?"

"You did?"

She walked over to him, leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Who sees your face up close and personal more than I do?"

"Well, I guess..." he grumbled, still frowning.

She cocked her head to the side. "This really bothers you."

"I just didn't expect to get them this early. Figured I'd have a bit longer before age started catching up with me. Cathar live good long lives."

"It's not like you lead a stress-free life."

"True," he said with his narrow-eyed look, "And my mate isn't exactly easy on my nerves."

"For what it's worth, I kind of like them," Sana said, running a finger down the side of his chin where the most dense patch of gray had shown up.

"Yeah?"

"Yep, you're still sexy," she said with a sigh, "now me, I'm probably going to put on weight as the years roll on."

"Huh," he said as the thought hit him, "I wouldn't mind that. A little extra here and there. Could be fun. I'll probably keep you." He grinned at her.

She laughed and lightly smacked his chest, "Good, cause you're stuck with me!"

"Yep, I'll keep you," he said, his face growing serious although his eyes were bright with smile as he wrapped his arms around her, "no matter what time does to us." Sana hugged him a bit tighter and thought about just how lucky she was.

It's really sweet, I know. I can almost feel the sweetness decaying my teeth. But I needed to retouch base with a decent, healthy relationship after too many days thinking about Quinn

Plus, I've seen both sets of my grandparents celebrate 50+ years, and there is something utterly beautiful about two people who have lived, grown, changed, both in character and in body, and still find ways to love each other.

She was being followed.

Vette slipped through the crowd on the Nar Shaddaa promenade as she made her way towards the taxi. The hooded figure following her was no expert in urban tracking. Their efforts were painfully obvious. Still, Vette was no fool. She knew that they might be just one of many. They could be giving her hints on purpose so she wouldn't catch glimpses of the true threats.

After Mel'ake fell ill with his possession, Lucerna had devoted herself and her resources to finding a way to reverse the damage done to her little brother. Vette heard from her old friend Taunt that a Jedi started a gang among some of the districts, most prominently the Nikto. The group in question had been engaged in some morally questionable activities that were very un-Jedi-like. Although Taunt hadn't heard about the group in a few years, Vette reasoned and Lucerna agreed that a Jedi willing to run with gangsters might be less morally opposed to using his powers to heal a Sith.

"Nikto sector please." Vette purposely spoke loud enough to the taxi droid that the figure following her could hear. She had never been followed by such an amateur before, this could be fun. As the automated taxi that carried her drove away, Vette risked turning back and saw the figure get into a taxi of her own (it was a woman, from the glimpse she stole, Vette could see the figure's short height and pronounced curves well enough to be 95% sure.)

After getting out of the taxi and paying the droid with fresh credits directly from Lucerna's account, Vette strode purposefully forwards. She didn't look back to see if her pursuer followed her in the taxi. She figured she would find out soon enough.

Sure enough, Vette had hardly turned the corner into a deserted alley when a girl's voice called out quietly but firmly.

"Stop right there. If you run or reach for a weapon, I'll shoot. Turn around and face me."

The girl sounded younger than Vette expected from some one willing to follow her into the Nar Shaddaa ganglands. As the Twi'lek held her hands in the air and turned around, her theory was confirmed. The Mirialan girl standing before her looked at least a year younger than Vette. The fact that under her lowered hood she wore her dark brown hair in girlish pigtails at the base of her neck and completed the look with a carbonized flower pinned above her ear didn't help her appear any older. Her yellow-green skinned face wore a furious expression as she held a blaster aimed at Vette's throat. Vette saw that the blaster was well made, and she also had a vibrosword and shield generator at her hip. Although the Mirialan's clothes were casual and allowed for freedom of movement, Vette could see that the craftsmanship was top notch. This girl was either rolling in credits, or spent the vast majority of her money gearing up for her foolish venture. Vette studied the girl carefully.

"I don't think we've met, Miss...?"

"Lizzie." The girl spoke with conviction. Vette laughed.

"And I suppose that's your real name?"

"And I suppose the name your Sith called you is your real name, Vette?"

That sent Vette's mind racing. She didn't recall seeing this girl, and she knew about Lucerna. Lizzie had recent information, and Vette needed to figure out how.

"We haven't met, have we Lizzie?"

The girl shook her head. "You haven't seen me, but I've seen you on the security cameras. I'd never forget your face, or the face of that Sith you were with."

Vette tried to make a mental list of the places she went with Lucerna, but couldn't narrow it down quite enough.

"Look," Vette offered. "I'm sorry if your dad or uncle or big brother or cousin or some one was a soldier at a place we raided and they got killed. But the truth is that Lucy, that's my Sith buddy, doesn't like killing when she can help it. I'm sure she took no joy out of ending the lives of any of your loved ones."

As Vette spoke, she saw a sliced security droid stalk towards Lizzie. Lizzie apparently saw Vette's gaze shift, since she made a rookie mistake that saved her life. She took her eyes off her hostage to look behind her and managed to dodge the droid's first strike. Lizzie fired several rounds at the droid, injuring it somewhat before it hit her right arm with a swipe and knocked the blaster out of her hand. Not wasting any time, Lizzie drew her vibroblade and started swinging. Although the droid landed a few powerful shots, Lizzie didn't cry out or beg for help or mercy. She kept on swinging away at the droid, though most of her blows missed. Evidently her dominant arm was injured.

Vette drew her blasters and pointed at the droid in spite of herself. True, Lizzie tried to take her hostage, but the girl had pluck, and Vette had been a party to a lot of lives destroyed. Vette tried to get a clear shot. Lizzie was still flailing against the droid, her injured arm causing more and more misses. It was rotten luck that caught the girl with a bolt to the nerves in the arm, she seemed rather capable of defending herself before the hit. Despite that nagging little voice in the back of Vette's mind labeled "Common Sense," the Twi'lek ran towards the battle. She adroitly put a blaster to the droid's head and fired, causing a small explosion of wires and bolts. Wasting no time, Vette turned on Lizzie and relieved the girl of her vibrosword. She grabbed hold of her injured arm and held it tight, keeping Lizzie trapped in a hold that must have been painful.

Lizzie screamed, but not out of pain. It was more of a feral cry of despair. Due to a bizarre twist of fate, Vette held the power now.

"Go ahead." Lizzie ordered before spitting on the ground. "Take me to the Sith, have her torture my sanity away. Don't even think of being merciful and killing me."

"Torture?" Vette was puzzled. "Lucy would never. Sure, she had to watch her old master torture a guy once, that was nasty, but I don't think she's ever used it herself."

"Then have her undo whatever Sith trick she did." Lizzie said, struggling against the hold. "If she's so nice, have her fix my best friend, and tell him what happened to make him lose his memories."

"Ah." Vette said in understanding. "Your friend is the kid from Balmorra, right? The Rylon boy?" She remembered now. The poor boy was being interrogated about his father, the Imperial spy, Commander Rylon. Lucerna had been ordered by Baras to eliminate both son and father. Neither were a threat any longer.

"Former Ensign Durmat Rylon is my best friend." Lizzie said defiantly. "I will never forgive you or the Sith for what you did."

"I don't think Lucy will ever forgive herself." Vette replied. It was true. Lucerna's first instinct was to disobey Darth Baras' orders and attempt a jailbreak instead of an assassination. However, the interrogation cage and its lock provided to be a match for the young Sith. After several minutes of Lucy being completely stupid and attempting to hack away at the boy's cage with her lightsabers, Durmat came up with the idea of using a memory-wiping serum that was slated for disposal. As it was destined for the garbage, no one would notice it missing, and Lucerna and Vette had smashed the droids in the interrogation room proper. The only witnesses to their methods were Vette and Lucerna themselves, since the Ensign was relieved of the entirety of his memories. Although Vette regretted the boy's fate, the experience struck a strong chord with Lucerna. She was forlorn for several weeks afterwards. The only thing that finally pulled the Sith out of her depression was meeting Mel'ake and adopting him as her little brother.

"I know this'll be hard to believe." Vette began, "But that big mean Sith shed tears because she couldn't improve your boyfriend's fate."

"He was never my boyfriend! I never said he was my boyfriend!" Lizzie roared. Vette tried not to laugh. Here was a probably sheltered rich kid in the Nar Shaddaa ganglands with no weapons in easy reach, an injured arm, and being held in a tight grab by a street-savvy ex-slave, but she wanted to make herself heard. This girl had interesting priorities.

"How is Ensign Durmat doing now?" Vette asked out of curiosity and concern.

"Not good," Lizzie admitted. "I help him out best I can, but it was hard with him not remembering me at all at the beginning." Vette nodded in sympathy. She heard enough.

"Come on, I'll take you to your spaceport." When she saw the puzzled look on Lizzie's face she continued. "The kid obviously depends on you, especially with his dad gone. Lucy cared about his well being, and I'm sure she'd never forgive me if I let his girl- uh, I mean, best friend die or get seriously injured out here. Plus.." Vette tapped Lizzie's arm, causing the girl to wince in pain, "It's not like you have much of a choice. I'm sorry we can't undo the changes to your friend, but if I help you get back safe and sound it'll stop his current situation from changing for the worse." She smiled sadly. "Sometimes that's all we can do."

Lizzie relented with a growl and Vette let go of her hold. "Fine, just let me get my weapons. I'm not going to attack you, but my uncle would be furious if I lost them."

Vette picked up the vibrosword and blaster and handed them to Lizzie. "Here, by the way, I like the flower in your hair."

Lizzie set her jaw and smiled grimly.

"It's called a forget-me-not."

Vette picked up the vibrosword and blaster and handed them to Lizzie. "Here, by the way, I like the flower in your hair."

Lizzie set her jaw and smiled grimly.

"It's called a forget-me-not."

The wine made him smile. So out of place for a woman who lived such a hard-edged lifestyle. She liked blasters with plastight grips, pulled her hair back in a spiraled knot, ate Rodian street food any time it was available, checked her comm compulsively for silent alerts, and bought large amounts of Alderaan wine. The hunter lifted his head from the sniper scope as his quarry disappeared into her ship with a crate of the fine vintage.

Another time, sweetheart.

***

Skari stopped inside the main hatch, set down the crate, and rolled her shoulders, trying to get rid of the tension that had plagued her for days.

"Blizz!" she called as she packed her armor in the storage cabinet.

"*Hey Boss!*" he chirped happily, emerging from the engine room.

"Hi," she said, "Did you check the ship over today like I asked? Exterior and interior?"

"*Yep! Blizz check the whole thing!*"

"Find anything?"

He nodded. Her jaw tensed as she waited for the news. "*Left thruster need fixed, so Blizz fix it!*"

Skari managed to pull a smile together. "Thanks."

"*No problem, Boss!*" He scurried off to do who knows what.

She checked the locking mechanisms again, stowed the wine in Gault's room, and climbed the stairs to the upper deck.

"Hey, you don't look so good," Mako said as Skari stepped onto the bridge.

Skari sat down in the captain's chair and started flipping through the current bounties. "We haven't shown up on here lately, right?"

"Not since you took out Gor'tha the Hutt and half his mercs."

Skari nodded, a frown set deep on her face.

"What's going on?"

"I think we're being watched. Damn sure feels like it anyway."

"That why you had me run checks on all our firewalls?"

Skari nodded, "Any cracks?"

"Everything's solid," Mako said, "Oh, that reminds me, a message came through while you were out."

"Thanks, Mako," Skari said as the slicer headed down to the lower level. Skari pulled up the holo-message and frowned as Major Sana Kaarde's figure popped up.

"Skari, hope you're doing well. We're having a little family get together next month on Voss, wondered if you'd like to come. Let me know. Oh, and a new blaster came through from Blastech, thought you might like to take a look at the prototype, give me your thoughts. I'll be on Nar Shaddaa next week if you're in the area."

A family get together. And they'd invited her. That was...different.

***

The hunter walked along the Upper Promenade, hands in his pockets, eyes straight ahead. No one gave him a second glance: another lean man, average height, with half a face of scars, dressed in casual clothes and a hat. On Nar Shaddaa, he hardly stood out. He kept pace with the Chiss on the Lower Promenade, watching for her out of the corner of his eye, the flash of blue every so often telling him she was still there. She stopped and scanned the crowd with a scowl on her face. He continued on a few paces, pausing to stop at a vendor selling some crap souvenirs. Before she moved again, he walked quickly down the ramp to the lower level, moving in the opposite direction. His patience was rewarded when she headed to the taxi speeder pad and set course for the Red Light Sector. And that little Rodian restaurant she liked so much.

***

The Rodian platter had been delicious, and that new blaster Sana had shown her was sweet, well worth the trip if she could get her hands on a pair of them. Skari walked along the dirty alley, eyes watching the corners. Should have brought the crew maybe, but they needed the time off to do their own things. Too much time in the cramped ship would drive anyone nuts, and she didn't need Gault threatening to strangle Blizz again for going through his stuff. A slight movement in the corner of her eye had her pulling her blasters. Just a rat. Maybe it was too much time on the job. Got you paranoid, seeing things that weren't there. Or maybe she was being hunted. Again.

She heard a muffled pop a split second before her left leg went out from under her.

"Sh*t!" She went with the fall, feeling the numbness from the tranq dart stuck deep in her thigh spreading quickly through her body. "F**king bastard," she snarled as she tried to lift her blaster toward the hazy figure that jumped down from a ledge. Her vision was quickly fuzzing out. She wasn't going to walk out of this one.

***

Skari could feel her head spinning like she'd spent a few hours with some of Gault's wine. The room was shadowy. Cold. The floor nothing but dirt. A couple dim lights lit the space, but there was nothing to see but dark bare walls. She was tied to a chair in the middle of the room, her armor was nowhere to be seen, and her hands were in what felt like electro-restraints behind her. Her head cleared enough for her to be sure of one thing: whoever did this was going to f**king die...just as soon as she got the Nantellan key she had hidden in her hair into her hands.

She stretched her shoulder up as far as it would go, rubbing at the space behind her ear. She could feel the small piece of metal slide out of place. Carefully, she eased it down into the collar of her undershirt and down into the sleeve.

"Awake. Good." Skari peered into the dim light to make out a whipcord lean man of average height entering the room. His face was all angles and planes - shaved head, sharp cheekbones, slanted golden eyes, narrow nose, faint lines beginning to form at the creases of his eyes. He was attractive, even with the mess of burn scars on the right side of his face. He was going to make a handsome corpse.

"What the f**k is this about?"

He walked across the room, stopping a few feet away to crouch down on his haunches so he was on her level. He had a knife out that he kept flipping while he examining her with a considering eye. "I've hunted a lot of people," he said after a moment, "but, sweetheart, you're probably one of the angriest I've ever seen."

"Oh you haven't seen angry, a**hole," she growled, jerking at her bonds a bit. The Nantellan key slid down her sleeve a little farther and out the cuff. She caught it between two fingers before it hit the ground.

He smiled slightly. "You really don't know when you're beaten do you?" He stood. "No sense wasting time." He walked over and sliced through one of the three scars that ran down her right cheek. She gasped as the pain seared through her and blood began trickling down her face.

"Now," he said coolly, "I need information. Give me what I need and your death won't be overly painful. Don't and I'll make you beg for it to end."

She laughed harshly, "It'll be a hot day on Hoth before I beg."

He cut down the second of her scars, pushing a curse out of her. "Yes you will," he said matter of factly.

Skari met his eyes directly. Gold eyes should be warm, but his were the eyes of a stone cold predator. She went to work maneuvering the key into the lock on the restraints while her blood ran in red rivulets down her blue skin.

"What I need is a name," he said, his eyes steady on hers. "Five years ago someone hired you to kill an accountant on Kasnee 8. Do you remember the job?"

Skari paused in her hidden efforts to unlock the restraints. "I remember the job," she said soberly.

"Young man, a boy really, blonde hair, large ears?"

Skari resumed trying to escape while she talked, drawing out the time. "He had freckles, right?"

"That's the one." His jaw clenched for a moment.

"He someone to you?" she asked.

"My brother."

"I'd say it was just a job," she said as she activated the key and felt the lock give way, "but I don't think that would matter much to you."

"You're right," he said, reaching over to slice open the third scar, "it doesn't."

His hand never reached her face.

She exploded out of the chair, grabbing his wrist with one hand while her other fist slammed into his ear. She headbutted him before he could recover and, for good measure, brought her knee up hard between his legs. He gasped and folded over for a split second. She twisted the knife out of his grip and quickly hooked one side of the restraints onto his wrist. He swung a hard punch at her which connected to her side, but she kept her head even as she lost a lungful of air and managed to get the second restraint over his other hand. She hooked her foot behind his ankle and yanked his feet out from under him, putting him down hard on his back. He lunged for the knife, even with his hands in restraints, as she scooped it up and stepped back.

He laughed hoarsely as he struggled to breathe through the blood running from his nose. "You are something else, sweetheart."

"Stop calling me that, a**hole," she growled.

"Whatever you say, honey." Laid out he might be, but the man didn't look beaten. Skari didn't dare get close enough to him for him to reach her, but she glared at his new pet name.

"I'm curious, how'd you get out of the cuffs?"

"A girl's got to have some secrets."

"Fair enough," he said, shifting slightly to make himself more comfortable.

"You waited a long time to come after your brother's killer," she said.

"Didn't hear about it till recently. We didn't talk much. Been hunting in the Tabrel Sector."

Skari frowned. "I heard of a bounty hunter working that area. They call him the Tracker...you?"

He nodded. Skari stepped another step back from him. She was damn lucky to be alive, damn lucky. The stories she'd heard....

Skari thought for a few minutes. The thought that came into her head was incredibly stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. But that job on Kasnee 8 had eaten at her conscience for a long time and this way she might finally be able to lay to rest the memory of that boy begging for his life. She met the cold predatory eyes of the man at her feet. Incredibly stupid.

"What's your word worth?" she asked him finally.

"If I say it's as strong as Mandalorian iron, would you believe me?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Skari snorted.

"I thought not."

"I'd like to propose a partnership," she finally said. He sat up, his face completely serious. "I've tried to find Akko Nadras, that's his name, for years. Never sat right, killing that boy, and you're right, he was a boy. I don't have the skills to track the guy who put the order in though. You do from what I've heard. But I need to be sure you're not going to try to kill me or harm my crew. Otherwise I'll kill you right now."

"A partnership. With the woman who killed my brother."

"I pulled the trigger. I won't make excuses for that. But I would like the chance to make it right. Well, as right as it can be." Skari considered just how stupid a move this was again as he got to his feet. Even with his hands in restraints, his movements were sure, balanced. He was strong and quick and dangerous beyond belief.

"I heard you've gone respectable lately," he said.

"I don't know about respectable," she said with a shrug, "Just trying to be on the right side for once."

He looked at her carefully. "Ok. A partnership. I don't try to kill you, and you help me take out the guy who ordered my brother dead."

"Word of honor?"

"For what it's worth."

So stupid. She stepped into striking range. Stupid stupid stupid. His face was inscrutable as she slid her key into the lock.

"A Nantellan. I'm impressed. Those aren't easy to come by."

"Had to find something to spend my money on," she said, slipping the key back into her hair as she watched him cautiously.

He held out his hand for his knife. Skari looked down at it. "How bout you give me back my blasters, and I'll give you your knife."

"Fair enough, sweetheart," he said with an appreciative smile. He walked to the door and opened it onto a deserted hall. He led her down it into a small room that he'd obviously been sleeping in. The spare pallet on the floor, bag, and collection of weapons marked this as his space. Everything was neat, even in the grimy room. He collected her twin blasters from the pile and handed them to her. She handed his knife back to him. He flipped it once and then sheathed it in the small of his back. Both of them continued to watch each other carefully, two wary predators ready for the other to strike.

Skari jerked back as he suddenly reached towards her face, pulling up her blasters.

He chuckled, "Relax, sweetheart, just cleaning up my mess."

"Just don't make sudden movements, okay?" she said as she carefully holstered her guns, "Or they might be your last ones. And quit calling me that."

He smiled as he gripped her chin with one hand and wiped the blood from her face with a clean rag. He handed her a med pack and began to pack up his belongings. She put the pack to her face, a sigh escaping her as the cool numbness started to lessen the throbbing pain in her cheek.

"Ready," he said in less time than she would have thought possible. He stood in the middle of the room, relaxed, alert, and capable of pretty much anything. This was probably the stupidest thing she'd ever done in her life, even worse than mocking a room full of Dread Masters.

"What's your name, Tracker? So I know what to put on your gravestone."

He laughed. "My name is Solomon Crae."

Solomon, I'd like you to meet these nice people. Please don't kill them, k?

Solomon Crae is actually a character who's been wandering around in my head for quite some time. I have plans for him to live in our world and do dastardly/heroic deeds, but I wanted to get to know him first so you guys get to do that along with me in the sw universe.

I actually made a toon for him, although it's not quite right - he needs a few lines on his face. So consider this a rare snapshot of Solomon Crae, circa 10 years ago: http://i715.photobucket.com/albums/ww157/iamthehoyden/SolomonCrae.jpg

Her husband had not been a faithful man. But she had loved him, forgiven him, stayed at his side. She had been the one he came home to, the one he wanted a family with. She hadn't grown up clean and his shadows hadn't scared her.

Had she really only known him for four years? It felt like a lifetime. She had been 16 when she first saw him. Mirial wasn't a place one immediately connected with seedy cantinas and dark corners. But it had them, and she had worked one. Tsarren had come in with his best friend Markus, threw around credits, drank like liquor was being outlawed the next day. She'd served them all night. She'd woken up in Tsarren's bed the next morning.

She'd lied about her age at first. He was so much older at 22 she had thought at the time. A scoundrel, a rake, a rogue. It was Markus who discovered she was still really a child. Markus with his dark hair and debonair smile and his jealousy. Markus had wanted her too, had made a half-hearted attempt to get her himself by telling Tsarren she was too young. Tsarren didn't care. He came around as often as he could between shipments. She was head over heels in love with him. He wanted her. He loved her certainly, obsessed over her, was possessive from the first. Eight months after meeting him he asked her to marry him. She was 17. She had said yes without a thought.

Her parents weren't happy. Furious really. Especially when she left home to cruise the galaxy with him. That didn't last long. He said he worried about her, wanted her somewhere safe so they could start a family. She knew now that she cramped his style. He wouldn't give her up, but he didn't want her with him. She was so in love with him she believed every word. He had bought her this big house and dropped her off to stay and make it a home. The next time he came back he got her pregnant.

She could remember fondly now. Her husband wasn't the best man in the galaxy. But he was a good man, and he had been her man. He'd loved her, in his own way. And she'd taken him anyway she could get him.

Her pregnancy had been difficult and the baby came early. A little girl. He hadn't been there for the birth. He tried to be, racing the hyperlanes and sitting with her on holo. He never got to meet his daughter in person. After a day of life, she left.

It changed him. He started taking fewer jobs. Started talking about retirement. He even started talking about having another baby. She would have done anything for him and they started trying again.

But that one job, that one single, can't-say-no job always cropped up. The last time it was for the Jedi Order. All she had known when he left was that he would be going into Imperial Space. He'd died on Voss when his ship was shot down. He'd had a cargo hold full of Force sensitives, trying to get them out of the Empire.

The Jedi Order praised him as a hero. She'd always known he was. Tsarren was a good man and he'd died doing a good thing. She had that always.

Now she stood outside the ship yard, her fingers fidgeting with the door code. Tsarren's ship was in there, resting these last months while she grieved. But the creditors had come calling. Tsarren may have been a good man, but he died with a debt that could have bailed out Coruscant's economy. She was going to lose the house. The speeders were already gone and she'd sold off most of what they had owned already to keep the worst of the leg breakers at bay.

She wouldn't miss the house. It had been home at one time. But they had left her to rattle around between empty walls and listen to the echoes of the life she could have had. She felt like she was a hundred and eight year sold. She wasn't even twenty-one yet. She would not allow it to be this way. She couldn't.

Tsarren would never forgive her if she gave up.

She entered the ship yard and ignored the protocol droid that came to help her. She could see what she wanted already, a familiar curve of power and metal. A ship she had known like she had known her husband's body.

She stepped to the door and uncoded it. The air was stale and dusty. Something had gone bad while it sat and the offness smeared the air with rank.

A C2-N7 unit was standing guard at the door. It had been turned off when the ship was stored. She fired it up without a thought.

“Oh, oh my,” N7 said as the lights flickered to life. “Master Aurai, it is wonderful to see you.”

“Hello N7,” she said quietly. “How are you functioning?'

N7 performed a basic internal scan. “My joints are rusty, my chips are dusty. It has been three hundred and eighty-four days since I was last active. But I am functioning satisfactorily.”

“Excellent. I need you to show me how to fly.”

“I'm sorry?” N7 asked, though it had processed what she said perfectly.

“We're going for a low atmosphere test run,” Aurai said. “And I'm going to need you to make a full diagnostic on the ship. After you show me how Tsarren flew.”

“Of course, Master. Right this way.”

She could pilot speeders and basic ground hoppers. Flying the Carnivale was going to be another thing all together. N7 was a sufficient enough teacher that she managed not to kill them both but she was going to need a better instructor. She knew exactly who to call.

He answered his personal holo after a moment, looking annoyed until his eyes met hers. “Aurai.”

She smiled warmly. “Markus. You look good.”

“Uh, thanks. You look... you look good too.”

She lowered her eyes modestly even though she had worked very hard on her appearance specifically for this call. “It's nice to hear you say that.”

“Uh listen. One sec.” Markus turned away and spoke in hushed tones to someone. Aurai heard a giggle then a female sigh of displeasure.

“Is it your wife?” the female voice questioned.

Aurai chuckled as Markus assured her no. He shooed her away and turned back to her.

“I'm sorry. You have company,” Aurai said with a slightly disappointed frown. “I shouldn't keep you.”

“Oh no, it's fine. She'll keep. Listen, Rai. I... I'm sorry I haven't been around.” Markus looked uncomfortable and apologetic and Aurai took pity on him.

“Losing Tsarren had to be a nightmare for you too. We handled it in our own way. That's kind of why I'm calling you now.”

“Yeah?” Markus looked hopeful.

“Do you have any time available for me?” She smiled softly, dipped her chin and looked at him through her eyelashes.

“I'll make all the time you need, Rai. You know I'll do that for you.”

“I want you to teach me to fly the Carnivale.”

That shook him. “The... I thought she's been destroyed when Tsarren went down.”

Aurao put her finger to her lips. “Officially she's scrap. But Master Bard Xern, the Jedi that went with Tsarren to smuggle those Force users from the Imperials, paid to have her fixed up for me. He respected Tsarren. I got the feeling they had been close on that job. Master Bard wanted me to have something that was important to Tsarren. And now I want to fly her.” Markus hesitated. “I can pay you,” she said, trying to keep desperation out of her voice.

“Aurai. You know I won't take payment from you.”

She gave him a secret smile. “We'll discuss a method of payment when you get here.”

He froze and looked at her closely. She lowered her eyes shyly again and continued to smile. “Yeah. We'll talk,” Markus said finally. She had him. Aurai knew that Markus Kinbridge would never accept credits from her. But he would take something else. Something he'd wanted for a very long time. Whatever blonde floozy dripped off his body tonight, he'd be thinking about her and what he would teach her.

“When do you have time?” she asked innocently.

“I'm actually between jobs at the moment. I put in interest to ship some freight to Ord Mantell, but that deal hasn't come together yet. I can be there in a couple days.”

She smiled wide now, feeling her plans come together perfectly. “I can't wait to see you. But I'll let you get back to your guest. Thank you, Markus. I knew I could count on you.”

“Anything for you, Rai.”

She blew him a kiss and cut the connection. Soon. Soon she would be free of this house of what could have been and would be flying the galaxy doing what Tsarren had loved. His memory would live on in her actions and the credits she made would go back to getting the grog off her back that he had left her.

Markus would set her up with a job to start. He had amazing connections. She would make a name for herself out there. And she would leave this all behind her.

She was more than ready.

At the Dark Temple, it was Mel'ake's first betrayal by some one he considered a family member. His older brother fulfilled his oath to take care of him after their parents died until the always-loyal Dm'eri was discovered to be force sensitive and hauled away to the academy on Korriban. Mel'ake was alone without family until he too was sensed to be strong in the force and taken to Korriban. He was alone in his struggles there until his future master, Lord Zash, showed him the first kindness he felt in years. It was while he kept his head held high with newly found confidence as Zash's apprentice that he accumulated a small following of individuals he could trust. There was Dm'eri's old friend Lucerna, the strange cyborg who adopted Mel'ake as her little brother. There was Andronikos, the skilled pilot with the devilish smile. There was that weird ghost-man named Kallig that Mel'ake wasn't completely convinced wasn't a series of dreams. There were others, military men on Balmorra, a cult on Nar Shaddaa, but Lord Zash was the first who reached out to him.

And now she was going to kill him.

The betrayal hurt, but above all he felt a wave of gratitude. Harkun was right after all. He was worthless trash, undeserving of the extra year of life Zash granted him as her apprentice. She was the closest he had come to having a mother, and if she wanted to kill him so she could have his body, he wasn't going to stop her. Mel'ake stopped resisting as he felt his vitality drain away.

"Master!" Khem Val cried and barreled into Zash, interrupting her concentration. Mel'ake felt his strength return, but he couldn't make himself move. He stood there, stupefied as the Dashade pummeled his master. He heard her scream in fright and despair as she reached towards him.

"Apprentice! Help me!" Mel'ake could feel the force pull away from him again. He couldn't force himself to move, to take any actions. That was when Khem Val leaped between the master and apprentice. There was a flash of white and purple light pushing him to the ground-

"Apprentice!" Mel'ake heard Zash's voice call out to him. The stunned Twi'lek picked himself off the temple floor. He saw Khem Val, but no sign of his master.

"My Lord?" Mel'ake called out cautiously.

"Apprentice, what have you done to me!?" It was Zash's voice, but Khem Val's mouth was moving. Mel'ake held a hand to his forehead. He was expecting this trip to bring changes, but not like this..