CHAPTER FIVE

Tension

It turned out the cantina wasn't as small as it had seemed from the outside. The structure's top was actually a restricted area, without doubt a storage, while the actual place could be accessed by an elevator with a short route downwards, to where the building grew in diameter. There were no windows and little in the way of lighting, with the exception of the entrance lobby, which also hosted a large pazaak table. From there, one could enter a large circular room, where shadow and light from the smaller chambers around waged a constant battle and shifted incessantly on the floor and walls.

The very middle of that was occupied by the large durasteel pylon which traversed every floor of the skyscraper, ensuring its solid fix to the ground. Tables and chairs had been arranged in lines on both sides, in such a way that a corridor would remain free between them, for people to walk through. Everything was firmly nailed to the floor, to prevent accidents with any who drank too much and felt the need to manifest by lifting or throwing chairs and tables.

The entire complex had three waitresses, who were so bogged down with work that they barely had a moment to catch their breath. And with all that, they still weren't spared the occasional pinching, insults and other injustices. Verily, the Sith Trooper posted outside was beginning to fade at the sight of all that, from the exaggeration Morgana had categorized him as, into the state of too little protection. She realized, though, that even if it looked extraordinarily bad, the place was, in fact, more civil than most cantinas. The influx of cretins was simply inevitable, due to the large population count of Taris; infallibly, the good people would end up keeping away from the places everyone was allowed in.

"I guess it's not that bad," the woman finally concluded, rather amused at how her imagination had turned a simple displeasure into a horror, by only paying attention to the scene's worst aspects.

It was then, when no reply came, that she realized she had somehow managed to leave Carth behind. Turning around, she nearly crashed right into a man who was standing in the entryway to the music room. At the other end, three Biths were playing on stage, behind the cantina's couple of Twi'lek dancers.

"Well, I'm sorry," Morgana spoke, loud enough to make herself heard through all the noise. Still, she did not hide her reproach toward his choice to just stand there, pretty much blocking the way.

"Hmm..." the man checked her out thoroughly. "I see from your exotic appearance that you are not from Taris originally."

Morgana nodded, confirming, then stepped aside to let one of the waitresses pass by her with a tray in hand, only to see her squeeze past the man with difficulty; he didn't bother to make any kind of room.

"My name's Jergan," he continued cheerfully, flashing a broad grin Morgana's way, in a manner far too friendly for the woman's liking.

"Morgana Ondare," she replied mechanically, hoping he'd just go away.

"What do you think of our local music?" words continued to stream out of Jergan's mouth. "The band is quite good, wouldn't you agree? They're on the verge of intergalactic stardom, you know."

The woman's first impulse was to signal for him to move away, but on a second thought she didn't and watched as a considerably taller man who wanted to come out from the music room grabbed Jergan by the shoulder. Young and not completely unattractive, Morgana noticed, as she amusedly followed the new figure's move to shove the other man out of his way.

"Run your scams in a corner, if you must," were the words that accompanied the actions, before the man turned to Morgana."He was going to say you could meet the band if you paid him twenty credits. Then, he-"

"-would have vanished with it," the woman finished for herself, with a quite intentionally charming chuckle. "Well, thanks for the intervention."

"You're welcome," he nodded politely. "But I must be off. They don't give us Sith from the military base much time off."

"You're from the military base?" Morgana had to make a huge effort in order to appear casual instead of how very interested she really was. "I mean... I'm surprised; you're dressed like a civilian."

"Eh," he sighed. "I'm off duty right now, so I'm not in uniform. But that's about to change real soon. Anyway, the name's Yun Genda; I heard yours earlier – Morgana, right?"

"Pleased to meet you," the woman smiled.

"I'm actually a little surprised you're still talking to me," he admitted. "Most of the people here on Taris can't stand us Sith."

"But you're just trying to protect them, right? Doing your job," Morgana threw out a subtle bait, a plan already beginning to form in her mind. "Why would anyone hold that against you?" If she could befriend this guy, there were so many things he would undoubtedly be able to tell her.

"I don't know," Yun muttered in reply, his displeasure obvious. "It's like everyone here is in a permanent bad mood. Don't they know they have to make the best of things?"

Well, Morgana had to actually agree to that. The Sith weren't exactly the kindest rulers and often oppressed the people, but the locals were being stupid by opposing them. They would have been better off trying to adapt instead of clinging doggedly to the pretense of a freedom they no longer had. Reality needed to be acknowledged, after all, and one could either go along with it or suffer the consequences.

"If only everyone had an attitude as practical as yours," she mused.

"Exactly!" the man's ego seemed to catch on to that idea. "It's all about attitude! I didn't ask to be assigned to this backwater planet, but I try to make the best of it."

Morgana would have spurred the conversation on, but Carth showed up at her side right then, giving Yun a highly apprehensive glance.

"Good to see you've made some friends," the soldier remarked to Morgana, not leaving out the sarcasm. "But I need to borrow you for a moment; it's important."

The next smile was probably the dumbest ever; Morgana was grateful that she couldn't see herself at that moment. She leaned on Carth casually, poking him in the ribs and pretty much trying to look like she had known him for her entire life.

"My brother, you know," she explained conversationally. "Carth, this is Yun."

"Step-brother, actually," Carth was luckily quick to play her game, correcting her and thus elucidating the mystery of why such a close relative of his could have black hair and blue eyes. "Anyway, nice to meet you."

Yun seemed to buy that well enough and Morgana pulled away from Carth, allowing the two men to shake hands.

"Well, I have to go," the Sith excused himself afterwards. "I've got a shift at the military base. But some of us Junior Sith officers are having a party tonight, to blow off some steam." He looked to Morgana, pleadingly. "I'd really like to see you again – why don't you drop by?"

"Sure," she tried to seem as eager as possible. "Where is it?"

"Just go to the North Apartment Complex and then follow the music," Yun suggested the easiest way.

"I'll be there," Morgana promised, with an acknowledging nod.

"Great!" the Sith beamed, then began to depart. "We're starting as soon as it gets dark. Don't be late."

"Don't you worry, I won't," the woman mumbled to herself when Yun had gone far enough, then she prodded Carth conspiratorially. "Let's go find a table." However, none of them moved, when she noticed the critical expression on his face and her good mood fled in an instant. "What?"

"Someone has been following us," he made it known reproachfully. "And as if that's not enough, here you are, befriending Sith officers!"

"What's it to you, eh?" she defied, glaring. "Where is this stalker you claim we've picked up?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted, rather worriedly. "I lost him; he probably took the other elevator, to the storage."

"Uh-huh."

They continued to exchange occasional glares, but refrained from trading any more jabs as they searched for a table. Finally, they found one in the same room the actual bar was in; it was perfect – recluse and half-hidden in the shadows of a corner. The both of them took their seats and it wasn't long before one of the waitresses noticed and stopped by.

"What would you like?" she asked politely. "We have a wide selection, but I'm afraid we're out of menus for you to look at."

"The Tarisian ale is a must," Morgana insisted, glaring over to kill Carth's protest before it even began. "And to eat... well, whatever is today's featured dish."

"Are you sure?" the waitress asked, furrowing a brow. "It's Wookiee food."

"Yeah, we're sure," Morgana replied, with that kind of "oh well" shrug.

The waitress gave her a bit of an odd look and then turned around to pass on the order. Morgana was left with Carth, who was staring at her as if she had just been declared the last living member of a specie or another.

"Wookiee food?" the soldier finally questioned her with a cocked eyebrow.

"Mhm," she nodded cheerfully. "They eat that, so it can't be that bad, right?"

"You don't sound too convinced," Carth remarked teasingly.

"I'm not," she admitted, shifting into a more comfortable position and trying to look innocent or something to that effect.

The two of them remained silent for the next few moments, waging a war of gazes, almost as if they were two enemies forced to work together. After all, they both realized, they knew next to nothing about each other; one could easily stab the other in the back. And Morgana knew that, with her most recent move, she had given Carth an extra reason to be wary.

"How do we get to the Undercity?" she asked, all traces of amusement vanishing from her countenance.

"There's an elevator that would take us to the Lower City and then we'd see," Carth replied. "But the access is restricted with a code and there was a Sith trooper guarding it when I checked."

"At least now I know what I need to obtain from Yun," Morgana didn't realize she was wording out her thoughts.

Carth tensed, shifted uncomfortably and looked away; his struggle not to express aversion was evident.

"Why do you hate the Sith so much?" the woman asked gently, trying to lock eye contact again. She didn't sound like the usual Morgana at all right then, with her face clouded in thought, mirroring the assortment of ideas inside her head. She was far calmer and actually looked like she cared and would be capable of treating a serious matter appropriately.

Carth didn't fail to notice all that and he looked back at her almost against his will, driven by his curiosity. "It's... complicated," he said, shaking his head lightly. "I've been a star-pilot for the Republic for years. I've seen more than my share of wars... I fought in the Mandalorian Wars before all this started." He stopped, perhaps expecting an interruption, but Morgana allowed him to take as much time as needed before he continued. "It's just... with all that, I've never experienced anything like these Sith animals can unleash. Not even the Mandalorians were that senseless."

"The Sith conduct themselves in a different way, that's true," Morgana admitted amiably, though it was obvious she would contradict him in part. "But who are we to set the standards and declare that they are wrong? They are just as entitled as we are to do what they think best."

"You can't seriously mean that," Carth protested, staring at her in disbelief.

"I do," Morgana replied, in a calm, level-headed fashion. "The only reason I trust the Republic is because the Jedi do. And I trust the Jedi."

"But..." the soldier simply couldn't bring himself to accept that. "You've seen the chaos, the destruction... all the deaths Revan and Malak caused!"

Morgana shrugged apologetically. "To be honest with you, I think we'd be better off if Revan had conquered the Republic."

"That's senseless," Carth contradicted determinedly. "I mean, look at the people here on Taris; on other worlds. Is it the Sith they want?"

"Oh," the woman snorted, quirking an eyebrow. "Honestly, the Republic is no better. What do you think would happen if the people did want the Sith? Would all those rich lazy bastards from the Core Worlds step down, pat Malak on the shoulder and say 'Yup. It's you they want. Good luck.'?"

"Probably not," Carth admitted. "But that doesn't change the Sith's limitless cruelty, nor the galaxy's fear of them."

"I guess you have a point there," Morgana conceded, eyeing the waitress who was just returning with a loaded tray.

Methodically, the serving girl deposited a mug of ale in front of each of her two customers; two plates followed immediately, containing what looked like a ball of tissue dipped in a greasy sauce.

"Uhh... what dish is this, exactly?" Carth inquired, giving the food an odd look.

"Won-won," explained the waitress, as she began to withdraw. "I'll be back later, to bring your check."

Carth and Morgana exchanged a troubled glance; the woman was the first to grab her fork from the plate's edge and poke at the won-won with it in an intentionally comical fashion.

"Well, at least it's not alive," she remarked sarcastically, daring to cut off a small piece and bring it to her mouth.

She spat it out and back on the plate without even trying to chew it, at the same time as Carth, who had reluctantly mirrored her moves.

"This thing..." she began, taking a break for a good swig of ale. "Tastes like a granite slug."

"And you would know that because...?" Carth amusedly inquired.

"Uhh... let's just say there are times you get desperate enough to try and eat one."

"I guess," the soldier continued to tease. "Well, what now?"

"I have no idea," Morgana shrugged. "But I'm not eating this."

He looked at her in an oddly studious way, keeping silent for a few moments, as something seemed to weigh on his mind. "Can I ask you something?" he surprised the woman completely.

"Hmm..." Morgana pondered. "Only if I get to ask a question in return."

"It's a deal," he agreed, then took a small break to formulate his inquiry mentally before wording it out. "Why Revan? Revan is dead; why not Malak?"

The woman's face clouded again, with a frown heaving above her suddenly darkened eyes. "Because... Revan was a true leader, one who set the example in person, from the middle of things, instead of sitting back and giving directions, like all the Senators do." For a moment, she almost looked as if she would slip away into a dream, but she recomposed herself quickly. "I guess that's just the Jedi way, of course. But Revan also was a powerful, inspiring presence; Malak is no such thing. You've seen how he wages war – he relies on numbers, fear and crude demonstrations of force. Everything is straight-forward; no more brilliance, no more great tactics, like the ones Revan had in store."

"Well spoken," Carth admitted, albeit with difficulty. "And you're... right. Revan was the genius that Malak will never be, but their purpose has always been the same. Now, what was it you wanted to ask?"

"It's obvious that your hatred of the Sith has other, more personal roots," Morgana treaded carefully, poking her fork at the won-won. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't ask that," Carth sighed with resignation. "My home world was one of the first to fall to Revan's... Malak's fleet. The Sith bombed it into submission, and there wasn't a damn thing our Republic forces could do to stop them!" His eyes flashed briefly when he was done, as he undoubtedly recalled the scenes.

There was no way Morgana could bite the words back; they simply begged to be spoken. "You're talking as if it were a fault of yours. Like you failed somehow."

"It shouldn't be my fault," Carth snapped, obviously uncomfortable and trying to mask his insecurity behind righteous anger. "I did everything I could... I followed my orders and did my duty." He shook his head vehemently and then looked at her in a sharp manner; there was some odd sort of hope there, almost as if he was asking for her approval. "That shouldn't mean I failed them! I didn't!"

"Them?" Morgana asked. "You mean the people of your home world?" The very next moment, she wished she hadn't said that; she desperately sought for some way to fix things, but there was none.

Carth was visibly shaken. In a way, he looked like a man who had a confession to make and wanted to do so once and for all, while on the other hand it was obvious he wouldn't. "Yes," he replied hurriedly, only to change his mind the very next moment. "No... no, that's not what I mean. I mean... you've already asked more than your one question."

"And you don't trust me," Morgana added the first thing she could find to guide the conversation over to another subject.

"I'm sorry," the soldier began to recompose himself. "You probably mean well with your questions. I'm just not accustomed to talking about my past very much. At all, actually."

"And... you don't trust me," the woman insisted jokingly.

He raised an eyebrow. "You seem to bring that up a lot. Are you to be trusted?"

They sat there wordlessly, facing each other, with none willing to be the one to back out; also, Morgana didn't want to answer that. Her sincerity would have only enhanced his paranoia, while lying that her goal wasn't solely her own safety didn't suit her personal moral code. She had always been open about what she thought and wanted. She never lied directly, but simply omitted to add things when it was convenient.

"I take it you won't be eating that?" the waitress broke the two out of their state.

Both gave a small start – none had seen her return to their able. They were quick to recall their calm, as much as it was still possible, and to confirm that the waitress could lift their plates.

Morgana stood up, stretching her back. "You order us something decent to eat," she told Carth. "I'm going to go look around." As she drifted past him, she slowed down to lean in and add a little more. "If you trust me enough to allow that, of course."

"Just... go," the soldier sighed and turned to look at the waitress, making the first palatable choice he could think of – Twi'lek food. "Do you have any rycrit stew?"

"No," the woman shook her head. "But we have roast gornt, if it will do."

Carth nodded his agreement and she departed, leaving him alone, to study the mug of ale in front of him, or something to that effect. Since the activity wasn't all that enticing, the soldier eventually found himself caught in a careful examination of his surroundings. Soon, his eyes fell upon a monitor he had failed to notice so far, installed on the wall nearby. It seemed as if someone had just turned it on because something was going to happen. A more attentive look identified the image as that of a circular arena with two combatants facing each other across it.

The first one was still relatively young and looked rough, like one who had gone through a lot, endangering his life on countless occasions, but still lived. The expression on his face, when the camera closed in and focused on it, was sheer determination and maybe an amount of cruelty.

"In this corner," the duel announcer's strong, charismatic voice, whose previous comments Carth had ignored, made itself heard. "I give you... Gerlon Two-Fingers."

As his name was spoken, the combatant raised a hand in the air and waved to the spectators watching on both sides, from behind strong permaplas panel-windows. They whistled and cheered for him, though many of them were, as Carth noticed, nudging each other and trading jokes. The duelist's right hand, the one he was waving at them, explained his name in full; it missed three of the five fingers a human was supposed to possess per limb.

Carth wondered how this man hoped to fight another with only his left hand usable. Still, he could sympathize with Gerlon, as he also hid his weakness behind a mask of strength, by doing things a broken man would never be able to accomplish. Just as the duelist, the soldier had a wound, though of a different nature, which weakened him, but he would not admit as much.

The doubt about Gerlon's chances to win only lasted until the camera switched to the face of his opponent, an aged, blading man, whose insecurity was clearly disclosed by everything he did. His smile was wry, his wave to the public shy and only half-complete; the crowd snickered way more than it applauded.

"And over here, looking to climb the ranks yet again..." even the announcer sounded highly ironic. "...Is the ever persistent Deadeye Duncan!"

Both duelists advanced further toward the center of the arena, to face each other across a significantly smaller ring traced on the floor. Gerlon was hard as a rock and moved with insistent determination, while Duncan shifted nervously and kept glancing to the public.

"I hope all your bets are down," the announcer commented, in a way that held the pretense of something spectacular, and he was accompanied by a drum roll. "Because we're ready to roll!"

That seemed to be what everyone was waiting for; the spectators ceased their rumor and agitation to watch the scene attentively, some sipping drinks or picking at light snacks, while the camera drifted away to offer a full view of the arena. The duelists started to draw their blasters of a perfectly synchronized common accord, Deadeye Duncan with an insecure right hand and Gerlon Two-Fingers with a rather clumsy left.

It didn't take long at all – the former didn't even draw properly and dropped his blaster to the ground. A proper duelist would have probably concentrated on dodging the laser beam when his opponent would shoot. Instead, Deadeye Duncan panicked, froze for a second, then tried to recover his weapon. The slightly amused and pretty slow Gerlon Two-Fingers had to fire at him just once, to hit him square in the shoulder. The aged man shuddered briefly on impact, drifting a bit backwards and collapsing to the floor on his side immediately afterwards.

Carth recognized the effects of a stun ray immediately; well, at least no lives were being wasted for this whole charade.

"Well, that was quick, wasn't it?" the announcer barely contained a chuckle. "And, to nobody's great surprise, Deadeye is down again." The crowd reacted with more laughter and conspiratorial elbowing of each other. "Don't worry, folks, he's just unconscious. As usual. Our medics will have him up and about in a bit. So, I give you the winner... Gerlon Two-Fingers!"

The view screen Carth had been watching everything on showed a last image of the public cheering and applauding as the camera swept above their heads unnoticed, while some were already moving to collect the winnings from their bets; then, it all faded away into the usual blue background.

The soldier was left to meditate on what he had seen. He found it rather demeaning for anyone to take pleasure in seeing others fight, albeit with stun weapons only. There had been enough wars and battles already, far more real than this useless display, for more than a lifetime; how could some people still be eager for more? How could anyone treat such crude activities, which should have only been performed when critically needed, as entertainment?

He pondered on that, grimacing to himself discreetly, for a while more, then concluded with a sigh and just dropped the matter into the land of resignation. Shortly afterwards, Morgana found her way back and reclaimed her seat across the table, beaming proudly with some accomplishment or another.

"You won't believe this," the woman began, leaning over the top of the table, supported by her elbows. "I have a great plan that could make us some credits... we're most likely gonna need them soon enough, you know."

Carth shrugged. "Work is easy to find; but let's hear it."

"We're going to participate in a dueling contest," Morgana started excitedly. "Well, the 'Mysterious Stranger' will. I'll find us a disguise good enough for both and we can take turns."

"You've got to be kidding," Carth berated her. "We are not getting involved in anything remotely connected to that. Plus, we'd be cheating."

"All right," she said, throwing him an odd glance and smirking mischievously. "Let the woman fight; the helluva man you are."

"I'm guessing you won't give up on that idea?" the soldier sighed, his actual displeasure only partial, as he seemed to be quite enjoying the manipulation.

"No chance," she replied sweetly.

"You must be the most frustrating woman I've ever met," he remarked rather heatedly, managing to look pretty much exasperated.

"Doesn't look to me like you've met many," Morgana retorted coldly, halting his reply with a lazy gesture and locking a direct and bold eye contact. "You listen carefully – I'm not an idiot."

"I never said you were," Carth replied, almost rolling his eyes.

"Then stop treating me like one," she demanded, as serious, by then, as one could ever get. "You really don't have to contradict me every time I come up with something."

"Agreed," Carth nodded, after a moment of thought. "If you promise to warn me before you do anything I might not like. I'm not one for surprises."

"I promise to preserve the monotony of your life, then," the woman teased, though in such a way that she made it clear she meant the serious part of it as well. Then, she returned to displaying the cheerful smile when she saw the waitress approaching with their new food.

It seemed dissimulation, deceit and role-playing were some of her best talents. All in all, she looked just as stable as the weather on a planet with way too many influencing factors.

---

"This is called a sound-dampening stealth unit," Thress explained, as he finished clasping the generator-belt around Loraya's waist. "It will be useful if the sensors can detect sounds and motion alike. The drawback is we'll have to hold hands or something, if we don't wanna lose each other."

"Understood," the woman replied, swaying a little and taking a couple of steps, in order to get used to the weight and feel of her new accessory. She then stopped and gave the man a reproachful look. "I still don't know why I've agreed to help you with this... suicide," she muttered, begrudgingly.

"It's because you like me?" he hazarded an ironic guess. In fact, he had tried about seven different persuasion techniques, including the Force-supported one; none had worked, but Loraya had finally grown tired of his insistent attempts and had half-heartedly agreed.

"I wouldn't count on that, ex-Jedi," the woman snapped, using the title, the first syllable in particular, as an insult of sorts. She then took a calming deep breath. "Why did you desert them, anyway?"

"Hey, that stung, you know?" he pretended to protest vehemently. "Stop using such big words, sister; I didn't desert; I just... left." He smiled blandly.

"No, seriously," the woman insisted. "Why?"

"It's a long story," Thress shrugged uncomfortably, looking away. "All you need to know is that I did what was best for all of us." He dismissed the subject with a hand-wave and turned back to her. "Look, I know it seems otherwise, but we'll have to keep out in the open. No crawling along walls or lurking in the corners. Alright?"

"Care to explain why?" Loraya inquired, as she watched him start climbing the short vertical staircase toward the trap door above their heads.

"The sensors are probably in those exact places," Thress said, as he reached the top, using only one hand to hold on, while the other fished for something in his pocket. He pulled out a security tunneler and began to meddle with the trap door's controls, for which he lacked the proper code. "If there are moisture or heat sensors as well, we might be screwed," he continued absently. "The generators can't fool those. Luckily, their range is limited."

"Well, that's comforting," Loraya snorted in a highly sarcastic fashion.

Finally, Thress managed to get the trap door to glide open and skidded through into the small chamber above. Kneeling on the floor on the gap's edge, he signaled for Loraya to follow; the woman climbed the stairs with the agility of a feline and pulled herself up beside him in no time. They both stood and looked around, using adjustable sight-enhancing contact lenses to pierce the darkness.

It looked like they were standing on some sort of shaft's bottom, whose overall surface was just large enough to contain the two of them and someone else. There was no apparent purpose for that room and it was marked by no particular features, except a slight inclination of the floor toward the trap door they had just come through, leading to the sewers.

"I'm not sure what this particular chamber's use is..." Thress mused, pointing to the right immediately after that. "But if I slice through this wall, we should get inside one of Brejik's storage rooms."

"Slice through the wall?" Loraya mocked him. "And how exactly are you planning to do that, oh, very intelligent one?"

He grinned, grabbing an object the woman had so far failed to notice hanging at his belt. "With this," he clarified, waving it in front of her. It was a lightsaber.

Admitting her defeat in that matter, Loraya watched as he activated his weapon, the blade's color a vibrant yellow. Then, he stabbed it at the wall progressively, slowly, waiting for part of the durasteel alloy to melt before he pierced further through, each time with a new fizzing sound. It turned out the wall wasn't really as thick as one would have thought, and the former Jedi began to draw the lines of their improvised door.

Loraya would have continued to watch, fascinated by the surreal display, had she not heard something else, closing in on them... from above. "Winstar," she hissed, stressing. "What in the galaxy is that?"

Thress stopped, pulling the lightsaber free and deactivating it; he didn't look too concerned, oblivious to the approaching rumor. He turned to face Loraya, just in time for the both of them to get soaked with an abundance of water and who-knew-what-else flooding down through the shaft. All that was apparently supposed to drain by means of the trap door, but instead of staying open, it responded to the remote control who was unaware of its current state by gliding shut. When the influx finally stopped, they were left standing in a knee-high puddle.

"Well, at least now we know what the room was for," Thress chuckled.

"Winstar," Loraya nearly snarled, trying to keep her voice low, as she stared at what appeared to be water crested by white foam, though it had the smell of several chemical substances mixed in together. "You are an idiot."

"Hey," the man excused himself. "Be glad it's just whatever they use to wash the dishes, and not... anything else."

"What a relief."

Winstar resorted to simply ignoring her reproach and held the lightsaber up again, with the intention of continuing his work on the wall. He pressed the button on the hilt's side – nothing happened, except a small crackling sound making itself heard.

"Uhh... short circuit," he noticed, trying to plaster an innocent smile to his lips.

"Terrific," Loraya commented.

"Well, I did carve out the door on three sides and a half," Thress noted.

Since it was the only available option, each of them propped a shoulder against the three-and-a-half-edged patch of wall and began to push assiduously. It offered far less resistance than they would have expected when it bent inwards, so they found themselves barging headfirst into the storage, unable to stop the effects of inertia, then crashing between the storage's cylinders and lockers. Luckily, they were intact and managed to pick themselves up soon enough.

They activated the stealth field generators wordlessly and one-handedly, while their free hands met, as per their previous agreement. Carefully, Thress sliced the door open and led the woman into the next room, a large basement by the looks of it. Judging by the elevator's position, it exited into the kitchen, which was bad. Whoever had washed the dishes, sentient or droid, could still be there.

They ventured anyway, ascending to the next floor, only to find the kitchen completely deserted and its door to the dining room open. The turrets there were active, their carbine-shaped heads turning slowly to the left and right, at regular intervals.

The two advanced carefully, with Thress often lagging behind to see if he could spot the sensors and maybe identify them. His searches were fruitless, which caused the already agitated Loraya to lose all semblance of patience and tug at his hand, almost causing him to stumble and lose his balance. Right then, two of the closest defense turrets executed abrupt turns toward them, then froze like that, looking as if they were about to shoot.

Time seemed to freeze on that moment; without thinking, Thress shoved the woman behind him and held still, shielding her and waiting to receive a shot that never came. It took them another slow second to realize that the turrets had simply been programmed to turn right then and everything was fine.

"Thank you," the woman dared to whisper, not without surprise. Then, realizing he couldn't hear her, she just gave his hand a light squeeze, genuinely grateful, before both of them moved on to the hallway.

There were even more turrets there, with their heads out of their boxes below the floor and just as active as the others, and three more doors. One of them was larger and indubitably thicker, which only marked it as the main entrance to the residence from the Lower City. Another was open and revealed a living room with a few monitors, a small table and some chairs. Except for two pairs of security droids posted near the monitors, no one was inside.

The last door had to lead into Brejik's fabled private bedroom, which was supposed to be loaded with sensors and cleverly concealed defense mechanisms. The Vulkar leader was rumored to keep all of his credits hidden somewhere in there, along with evidence of his illegal dealings and activities. It was said the Beks had made some unsuccessful attempts to steal those and the thieves had suffered the most painful and gruesome deaths, but no one knew for sure. Luckily, Thress and Loraya didn't need to actually go inside – they just had to take a look.

Only Thress could tell what he did and how exactly he toyed with the controls in such a way that the door silently cracked open only a little bit, enough for them both to peek in. They began to do so calmly, only to give simultaneous starts and pull back immediately. After a few moments of insecure hesitation, Thress risked another quick look, trying to avoid a certain direction.

Once he was sure Bastila really wasn't in there, he and Loraya began to carefully sneak back the same way they had gotten in there. They didn't bother to erase the signs of their passage, since there was no way to mend the gap in the storage's wall and their doing was going to be discovered anyway. No one could know who it had been, so they were safe.

The stealth field generators remained active until they were back in the flooded room, where Thress needed several minutes of assiduous work to get the now defective trap door to open again. Finally, after waiting for the water to drain out, they descended back into the sewers, where they paused to take deep breaths.

"Okay," Thress began to enumerate, raising a finger for each thing he counted. "We've looked everywhere, we got soaked with nearly-toxic water, I got my lightsaber short-circuited, tried to protect you from nothing real. And... we almost walked in on Brejik when he was doing... stuff." He nodded, allowing the five fingers to relax again. "No sign of Bastila."

"Oh?" Loraya looked pretty amused when she teased him "Are you sure she wasn't the one Brejik was doing the 'stuff' with?"

"Positive," Thress nodded. "Bastila's a Jedi who actually believes in the crap they... erm..." He stopped himself right there, feigning a sudden coughing fit. "I mean... if Brejik set her free, the only thing he'd get to lay even a finger on would be some lightning." He took a break, to defy Loraya's incredulous expression with a sly smirk. "Besides, she wasn't a Twi'lek last I knew."

Loraya gaped, fixing him with a shocked gaze. "You actually checked?"

"Hey," he raised his hands defensively. "A man's gotta make sure. Erm... anyway, what are we missing?"

"Well, obviously your Jedi woman isn't here," Loraya assured him.

"But you said-"

"I said," she interrupted him sharply, taking an emphatic break. "That this was probably where Brejik would take her, not that she would undoubtedly be here."

"Eh, great," Thress sighed theatrically. "We just broke into someone's house for nothing."

"No! Really?" Loraya snapped, with mock-awe. "And, Winstar? This wasn't someone's house. It was Brejik's."

Thress seemed to think for a bit. "Yeah, you're right. Serves him well."

"Serves him well?" the woman exclaimed. "Are you stupid? This man will hound us if he finds out!"

"Yes, I'm stupid," Thress smirked. "But admit it – you liked the risks. This is probably the best thing you've ever done."

"Right..." Loraya grumbled as they began to walk away, doing her best not to admit he was right.