He sat alone in the bustling cantina, assaulted by familiar and yet still entrancing sights, sounds, and fragrances. The band in the corner tried valiantly to combat the roar of different languages, the chink of glass on metal, and the scrape of chairs on the floor. From his shadowed booth, he had a clear view of it all, though his eyes were continually drawn to the door. He felt as though he was expecting someone, without really knowing why.

'I can't believe Zhane didn't stop me,' he thought. 'He just gave me that look. But he didn't stop me.' He stopped his thoughts there, unwilling to go to the logical conclusion: 'I wanted him to stop me.'

Turning back to his drink he stared into its blue depths, wishing that he dared get drunk. There were so many things he wished to forget. So many things he wanted to remember. But no, there would be too many questions, and he was certain that his young human friends would never understand—not that he would ever fully explain. So instead he took a small sip, only his second since entering an hour earlier. As the drink burned down his throat he continued to scan the crowd. Searching for that one familiar face, that one link to a nearly forgotten past.

A couple of off duty Quantrons shouldered past his table, carrying Mendovan blood wine. He tensed, wondering if they would pick a fight.

He forced himself to relax when he realized that he wanted them to pick a fight. The sight of the wine reminded him of the time he attended the gathering of Dark Specter's forces, right before meeting the Earthlings. 'I wasn't there to gather information. I was there for the excitement. The adrenaline. No. I was there in hopes that I would be discovered and killed.'
It had taken him a long time to admit this to himself. But even armed with this realization and the support of his friends, he was still here.

"Excuse me, sir."

The man in the rust red cloak looked up, inwardly cursing that he hadn't noticed the robot earlier.

"The lady in the corner," the serving droid said, indicating a shadowy sheltered alcove, "bid me ask if you would join her for a drink."

In this establishment, bid meant bribe. Andros stared at the robot for a moment, wondering if it was worth the risk. He was a bit bored, after all.

"She also said to give you this," it said, depositing a small figurine of two entwined dragons on the table.

Picking it up he stared at it for a moment, then tucked it away into a pocket. "Lead the way."

As they shouldered their way through the crowd he surreptitiously pulled his hood down closer around his face. While this particular planet had not fallen completely under the sway of the dark powers, there was still no reason to trust this woman, even if she did possess the token that identified Kerovan survivors to one another.

The droid left him at a table next to one of the band's blaring speakers. A black gloved hand appeared from the shadows, gesturing for him to sit. He set his drink down carefully and slid into the booth. The earsplitting music filled his mind, and he began to wonder how helpful this conversation would prove if he could hardly hear himself. Black-gloved hands appeared again and this time he could see his companion's wrists were encased in dark silver gauntlets. The hands twisted an object and set it down in the center of the table. Everything became eerily silent, save for the quiet rasp of leather on metal as the hands slid away.

"The sun has set," Andros said after a moment.

"But I hear that there is hope for a glorious sunrise," she answered, supplying the other half of the recognition phrase. Her voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"Handy trick," he said nodding at the small device. As his eyes adjusted he could see the outline of a slight figure as it shrugged.

"The band's equipment masks the presence of electronics while the device drowns the sound out for several feet and shields us from sensors. I find it useful."

"You often have need for stealth?" he asked, relaxing his guard slightly.

She was silent for a moment. "Aquitarian Ale. An excellent choice."

So she was not one to give much away. 'Interesting,' he thought. "Kerovan White Mead," he identified her drink. "Rare to see these days, and rather dangerous to order."

"Very good, Red. I see your attention to detail has not dulled," she said, raising her glass in toast and taking a small sip.

He fought for a moment to conceal his surprise. She knew far more than the average refugee should.

She gave him a moment to recover, placing the glass on the table with ingrained grace. "It is not often," she continued, "that one sees someone of your... position... in a place like this. Especially wishing he could get drunk."

"You read my mind," he said quietly, finally sensing the carefully veiled power that she contained.

"No. I read your face."

Considering the hood that hung low over his features, he found this hard to believe.

"Body language can say a lot," she explained to his unspoken thought.

He just looked at her, or at least where he estimated that her eyes were.

"Okay, that time I did read your mind. But your defenses are good enough that I can't get more than a partial reading even when you're sitting across the table," she said, a slight hint of a smile in her voice.

He almost grinned in response; catching himself just before it reached his face.

"I knew what to look for before, though," she said very gently.

For a moment he felt that he knew this woman, and then it was gone. Gone like so many other memories.

"It's frustrating, isn't it?" she continued, "to have someone's name, or a face, or a memory in your mind and not truly know what it means."

He nodded. "How—"

"It's been happening to everyone of Kerovan descent recently. Do you remember when it started?" she asked, seemingly unwilling to let him ask any questions.

"A few months ago. I woke up in the middle of the night... screaming. It was like some sort of overload. And then it was gone. My friend Zhane was with the Kerovan rebels then, they all suffered the same occurrence. Ever since then, I've had these flashes of insight, surges of power in my talent, memories and dreams that I can't account for. When Karone—" he stopped, surprised at his own sudden outpouring of information. 'Damn. Why am I so quick to trust her?'

"It is not wise to discuss her here," she said quickly. "But I understand how you feel."

"Who are you?" he asked, again feeling that he somehow knew her.

"Shh. Watch."

He forced down his own impatience with being constantly interrupted and turned, his eyes immediately tracking the direction she had silently indicated.

It was a small creature, only a few feet in height, but it flitted in and out of the crowd with practiced ease. Andros had noticed it earlier in the evening, shortly after he had arrived.

"What do you see?" she asked, leaning slightly more into the light.

"It is a Meistrian," he replied immediately, when his quick glance at her supplied no further information than that she was wearing a black cloak. "Though it was not born on Meist Proper. Trained thief, assassin, natural hunter, and I'd say he's twenty-seven to thirty standard years..." his eyes narrowed. "He is tracking me."

"Good. I see your training begins to return. You will need it."

"I've been doing well these past years," he said defensively.

"I would not call relying on the skills of four Earthlings and a newly thawed troublemaker 'doing well,'" she shot back.

"I trust fully in all of them. Earth still stands, which is better than can be said for most planets in this sector."

She flinched.

'Hmm. There's a story there,' he thought. 'I wonder if she's—no, it can't be. I'd be dead already.'

"Be warned—her memory will return faster than your own, and they have seen to it that she will no longer suffer any pangs of conscience. I would not want to be in her way, especially with the full weight of Academy training behind it," she cautioned shifting back in to the shadows.

Andros didn't wince at the reference to his beloved sister. Her position still hurt, but while she lived he still had hope. "What do you suggest we do?" he asked, also leaning casually back.

She sighed, "I fear that there is very little, save to curtail your search for Zordon and stay close to Earth for the next few weeks."

"And why should I trust you?"

She actually laughed. "Now there is the ranger I remember."

"I'm afraid I don't remember you," he said, actually wishing that he did.

She sobered. "I can't tell you, Red. Someday I hope I will be—I can't."

Andros detected a definite hint of wistfulness in her voice. "I understand. So why should I follow your advice? Assuming my companions agree."

"Their first responsibility is to Earth. Your first responsibility is getting them out alive. Astronema will grow in strength. Zordon cannot help you if Earth falls," she pointed out.

The red ranger nodded agreement, turning back to the crowd. "You, also, are being tracked," he realized.

"Yes. I would strongly suggest taking yours into a dark alley and explaining things. Mine... ahh, yes, there they are." She said, as a phalanx of Quantrons entered the room.

"Would you like me to help clear them out?" he asked, shifting into position.

"I would like nothing more than to clean the floor with you, but I am afraid that I cannot accept." She set some coins down. "Good night, Red. Wait a few minutes and it will be clear—do not try to follow."

"Of course not," he promised, though he found himself wishing that he could. Again, there was that flash of almost knowing.

"Oh, and Red," she said, bending in so close that her breath caressed his cheek. Her hand found his in the darkness beneath the table and she pressed two data discs into his palm. "Be prepared. If all goes as planned, I will get our memories back within the next few weeks. The side effect will be much stronger next time."

"Thank you," he whispered. Thousands of memories flitted through his head, then disappeared. Watching as she detached herself from the shadows and glided gracefully through the crowd, he cursed his faulty memory.

Even in full light her appearance revealed no more of her identity. She was well shrouded in a cloak, though her hood cast more shadow than was natural. Even her patterned gauntlets told him nothing. Only her walk gave him some clue to her identity, and to why he trusted her so readily. She was a ranger.

A slight pall was cast over the room as she passed, and there were several seconds of respectful silence. As she joined the Quantrons she did not turn back to him, but somehow he knew she was thinking of him.

Picking up the device she had left behind he slipped it into a pocket with the data cards. He left just as silently, watching the tailing Meistrian out of the corner of one eye.