Star Wars: Vode An (closed for Apollo Wilde and BewareTheDream)

Ever since their explosive confrontation in the dining room, Raeth started to go out of his way to get her to trust him at least a little bit. He justified his actions by telling himself that she would be able to do her job much more efficiently if she was not constantly worried about what his ulterior motives were, or what he was doing behind her back.

In truth, though, he was also doing this because the things she said to him really hurt. He would not admit this to himself, but when she explained how she knew that practically every word out of his mouth was a lie, that stung. Since then, each time she demonstrated or outright said how much she distrusted him – like she did just now – it stung.

He liked it very much when Saudaji looked at him with something other than distrust or disdain on her face or in her eyes. The only times she regarded him fondly was when they were physically intimate. Once their clothes were on, she made it seem as though she wanted to be in any sector other than the one he presently occupied. Raeth wanted to get her to regard him fondly whether their clothes were on or not.

He started by being more honest with her, and by trying not to play those games he normally loved to play.

“Azamin and my other contacts told me next to nothing about you. I was given the minimum needed to find and identify you: your location, a pass phrase, and a very basic description. Beyond the fact that you were to be the muscle to my brains, I didn’t know what to expect.” He shrugged.

“To better illustrate what little I knew about you before we met: I did not know you were a Twi’lek until you told me to get my hands off of your lekku. The realization that you were female came shortly after that.”

Raeth studied her face, curious to see if she remembered their very first encounter with any sort of fondness. It wasn’t likely, since the very first time they met, he acted like he was drunk as part of his disguise. It turned out that Saudaji wore a disguise as well, which hid her race and gender. With a careful selection of helmet, cloak, and armor, she created a disguise that was better than his, overall. Thinking back on that meeting, the agent realized that this was when he started to admire her, for she proved immediately that she could be subtle and tricky.

Smiling inwardly, he realized how funny it was that Saudaji claimed that she did not like using subterfuge and misdirection, for she preferred the more direct approach in her work. She probably considered herself to be completely guileless. The mask she wore when they met suggested otherwise. At the very least, it indicated that she had the potential for a greater capacity for secrets and lies.

Raeth answered Saudaji’s questions out-of-order. After answering her question about what the Sith told him about her, he addressed her question about what he knew about the history between the Mandalorians and the Jedi.

“Now, in regards to your people’s dealings with the Jedi, there’s a plethora of information on that subject that is available to anyone with holonet access, not just the Sith.” Raeth spun his chair towards the console. He tapped a few buttons, which brought up a video on one of the cockpit’s many screens. The video was a documentary – the sort of documentary that played on the Galactic History channel 24 hours a day.

The title of the documentary – ‘The Fury in Honor: A Look into the Devastation of the Mandalorian Wars’ – appeared on the screen in broad, bold letters. The voice of a famous narrator went through the documentary’s introduction, the volume of which Raeth reduced so he and Saudaji could converse without having to raise their voices over the video.

“You don’t need me to explain to you how much of a hard-on journalists, film makers, and historians alike have for the Mandalorian Wars. Finally, after so many centuries of the Jedi fighting the Sith, there was a galactic war that DID NOT revolve around the fanatics of the light side butting heads with the fanatics of the dark side. (Not as far as the public knew, that is.).”

The agent paused the documentary, accessed its menu options, and navigated through the documentary’s numerous chapters to find one in particular. As he searched for the right chapter, he took the time to speak his mind about the endless fighting between the Sith and the Jedi.

“Between you and me, the public has become bored of hearing the same war stories over and over again. Practically every single galactic conflict in history boils down to the same old shavit: those that follow the dark side hate those that follow the light, and both sides end up draging the rest of the galaxy into their scuffle.” As he spoke, Raeth twirled his fingers around in a circular motion, indicating an endless cycle.

“Trillions upon trillions of lifeforms die over the course of millenia because, apparently, ‘Balance in the Force’ can only be attained through widespread bloodshed. Thus, the galaxy is forced to repeat the same war with no end in sight. It’s no wonder people are tired of it.” The agent’s body language and especially the tone of his voice made it very clear what he thought about the Jedi, the Sith, and the religion of the Force in general.

“No one will admit that they’re tired of the Sith or the Jedi, of course. Even in the context of entertainment, no one would openly say that, for once, they’d like to learn about a war in which the Force was not at the crux. Besides, who doesn’t enjoy watching a well-choreographed lightsaber duel on the old holo? Or better yet, a re-enacted battle involving dozens or hundreds of lightsaber-wielding fairies prancing about amidst a light show. The Jedi and the Sith are sexy beasts, and they’ve been bringing in viewers by the billions since holonet existed.

“But there’s a limit to how long the public will remain interested in the same news, the same stories, or in this case the same wars. The Jedi vs. the Sith angle had been played to death, so a new angle had to be found. That’s when your people decided they wanted a shot at the champion. Instead of yet another galactic war with the Sith as the leaders of one side, and the Jedi as the leaders of the other, we got years of bloody warfare between the Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders and the Republic.

“Sure, Revan and his Revanchists played a significant role in the war. I suppose a war without ANY Force Users in positions of power would be too much to ask for. But at least there wasn’t a bevy of red lightsabers getting swung around. Your people were the new sexy beasts on the scene.”

“Ah, here it is.” Raeth found the video chapter he wanted. He selected it, pressed play, and the documentary resumed. The image that appeared on the screen was one of terror and planetary suffering. A black husk of a world was surrounded by the remnants of countless starships. The planet could barely be considered a planet. Instead, it was a collection of colossal chunks of burned-up earth held together by enormous bands of pulsating, green-colored energy. The world was death surrounded by more death. Just looking at this destruction made it so easy to imagine hearing the screams of the thousands, millions, if not billions of lifeforms who died within seconds, either on the world’s surface or in the vessels that now formed its orbital graveyard.

The chapter title that appeared on the screen was, ‘Desperate Measures: Revan’s Trap and the Destruction of Malachor V’. Saudaji knew the significance of that world, well. All Mandalorians did. To her people, Malachor V was the location where Ani’la Akaan – the Great Last Battle – was fought. By showing her the documentary, Raeth demonstrated that he knew the history of Malachor V as well.
Actually empathizing with the Mandalorians and feeling the gravity of what transpired on Malachor V was an entirely different matter, however. That was something perhaps only the Mandalorians could truly understand.

*****

During the Mandalorian Wars, the Jedi Council commanded their order to stay out of the fighting. The legendary Jedi Knight, Revan, was disgusted by the Council’s by taking an active role in the Mandalorian Wars. Thanks to his battle prowess and tactical excellence, he was appointed Supreme Commander of the Republic forces during the war.

By his command, a superweapon called the Mass Shadow Generator was developed and brought to Malachor V. It was there that Revan set-up a trap with which he intended to end the Mandalorian Wars. He positioned a huge Republic Fleet at Malachor V and lured the Mandalorians there. Once the Mandalorian fleet closed in, one of Revan’s generals gave the order for the Mass Shadow Generator to be activated.

Almost every single Mandalorian vessel was pulled out of orbit and sent crashing into Malachor V. It was not just Mandalorian ships, either; Revan and his officers willingly sacrificed a huge portion of their own fleet. Mandalorians and Republic citizens alike crashed onto the planet’s surface. Malachor V nearly shattered after the innumerable starships crashed into it.

Now, the planet’s pieces were barely held together by the residual effects of the Mass Shadow Generator. The broken world served as a reminder to the Mandalorians of their single most devastating loss in history.

*****

Raeth muted the sound, but he kept the documentary playing. The image of the graveyard that Malachor V had become lingered on the screen. If it was any other woman seated beside him, Raeth would have turned off the video. But Saudaji and her people were not known to flinch in the face of death or failure, even when the death count was so huge, and the failure so significant.

“They’re a bunch of hypocrites, don’t you think?” Raeth asked. After going on a rant about those who worship the Force, as well as a rant about how people in general had grown bored with constant Sith vs. Jedi warring, he finally got around to answering her question about how much he knew about the animosity Mandalorians felt towards the Jedi.

“They sit around in their prayer circles, wearing their inoffensive brown robes, telling people that they believe in peace and balanced in everything. They talk about how they should never use their powers for anything except defense.

“Yet when push came to shove, it was the followers of the light side who willingly activated a weapon that destroyed an entire world as well as all the ships in its orbit. As if that wasn’t horrific enough, they sacrificed their own army in the process.” Anyone else who talked about such a terrible event in history would have probably been choked up, or at least would have had a tinge of sadness in their voice. Not Raeth. He talked about the destruction of Malachor V and the ending of the Mandalorian Wars with the same professional impassivity with which doctors talk about a patient’s painful disease.

Raeth turned towards her. In all seriousness, he said, “I think the Jedi are a bunch of knobs. That’s pretty much how your people see them as well, am I right?”

*****

There were other questions that Saudaji asked that Raeth did not answer right away. For example, she asked him if he had any ideas why she and he were attracted to each other so strongly, so quickly, despite having such wildly different opinions on key issues. The Twi’lek huntress also brought up Raeth’s former partner. And finally there was the subject of potential, secret reasons behind their assignment as partners.

He was willing to address each of these subjects, but first he wanted to see how she reacted to what he said about the Mandalorian Wars and the Jedi’s involvement in it.

Watching him, her brows were relaxed, her lips settling into a plush series of curves. Her gaze was still intense, but there was something that could be seen as soft in them as she watched him. Though Raeth had a tendency to lie, what Saudaji did was watch. It was a skill that not only provided her with disturbing insight, but had saved her life quite a few times. With Raeth, he was remarkably hard to read - and having to admit that drove her insane. She would be admitting a weakness to him. And surely he knew that. The fact that she admitted that he had her at a disadvantage had to have meant volumes to him. Or at least something. The look in those eyes, past the intensity, was one of honest curiosity. She was looking at him…as if she would look at anyone else. There was interest there, curiosity. She wanted to know more. There was the usual veneer of guardedness - that, well, that wouldn’t drop. Not any time soon.

As Raeth spoke, she leaned back in her chair, got a bit more comfortable. Well, not that she wasn’t comfortable before; now, for her, she was downright lounging. It would have made sense, in its own way, that Azamin wouldn’t have said anything more about who she was. Although she figured it was for a myriad of reasons. Least of all, wanting to associate with a Mandalorian - let alone an alien species. Twi’leks didn’t have the best reputation in the world. Easily enslaved, scheming, treacherous, oversexed. The list went on. Whatever bad thing could be said about a Twi’lek, she’d heard it and then some. Sometimes, it honestly surprised her that her father and mother had adopted her to begin with. Well, “adopted” would be a nice way to put it.

For the most part, if her being in disguise was considered “guile”, she saw it as part of her profession. She had to be able to lie - but the minute she was off the clock, she was back to honesty. She knew she’d be spending a lot of time with whoever Azamin paired her off with, and hoped that the two could at least be friends. As friendly as it got in this line of work. It wouldn’t do to be at each other’s throats; it’d be counterintuitive. Hence part of her suspicion towards Azamin. If anyone was in a position to know Raeth, it would be the Sith Lord. It would be a small matter to “find” a partner that would work well with Raeth, keep him distracted. There could be something larger brewing under the surface. While Raeth seemed to consider himself within good graces with the Sith, she held no such illusions. For someone that was so smart, she hoped that he at least had considered the possibility that the Sith could be doing something that could make him obsolete.

She wasn’t much for news holos; there was usually too much going on in her day to day to sit down and really observe. And, as she thought wryly, she was either too busy trying to stay alive or in the midst of the events as the holos were attempting to record them. It was interesting to see the way that wars played out from a third party and not from the front lines. The scenario played out in front of her, and her lips thinned together. She, of course, had not been alive during that war, but the stories of it, yes, those, she’d heard growing up. She couldn’t go anywhere without hearing those stories. That was the great breaking of her adopted people - what they had to someday reclaim. Until then, they’d still remain scattered to the winds, divided between petty warring factions. She idly doodled random shapes on the arm rest of her chair with her fingertip, her attention flickering from him to the holo and back to him, then to her finger.

Not quite bored, but she wasn’t quite paying full attention either. He was right - and the fact that he’d bothered with his history of her planet was interesting. It could be taken a number of ways - once he found out she was Mandolorian, he could have looked up holos and crammed over the course of a few nights. He could have been more in the know from having worked with Azamin for a period of time. And now, she rubbed her chin, processing what he was saying, but still following her independent train of thought. He certainly threw himself into whatever it was that interested him for the moment, didn’t he? First it was the Mandolorian feast, and now, he was a bastion of Mandolorian history. Granted, it was common knowledge, but now, it was relegated to academia, something that over rich students from the Core worlds liked to specialize in. Her people, a mere specialization. An off-shoot of “Primitive” studies. She ran a hand over her forehead now, trying to chase the thought away.

Ah, what was that?

Was that something close to emotion in his voice?

She smirked now, listening to his description of what he thought of it all. “Well, then,” she said at length, “Why even bother to get involved? And if I did not know any better, I would think that you might be the slightest obsessed with Mandolorain culture. I meant the statement in a vague way. I was not expecting a history lesson.” She licked her lips, her gaze drifting to the open, black expanse of space, the pale hue of the planet below them. “I know the tales. There is not a Mandolorian out there that does not. It’s beaten into every child. Literally, in some cases. As I’m sure you know by now.” In their frenzied bedroom activities, surely, his fingers had traced the tracks of long scars across her body. Some were raised, some were smooth, but her body was covered in them. Long beauty treatments (at the behest of Saboten) had lessened the appearance of the worst of them. Only her lekku was spared the treatment the rest of her body had gone through. At least her adoptive family had thought that much of her.

“The thing about the Jedi is that they assume that all life in the universe begins and ends with them. Mandolore is a fantastic example of them being wrong.” A note of pride slipped into her voice. “We existed before them, we existed after them. We will continue to survive. My people, well…you ask five different Mandalorians, and you will get five different answers. But yes, there is a sense of general distaste about them,” and she chuckled, softly. “I cannot say that I know many of my people that are overly fond of them. But strange things happen during war. Love affairs. Strange alliances. Children,” and gave a slight shrug. It wasn’t too uncommon to run into the occasional Mandalorian that was a…tad bit Force-sensitive. Not that the Force was directly proven to be hereditary, but it certainly seemed to be more of a trend with at least one Force sensitive parent. “Not saying that I am a product of that. Just that it is not entirely uncommon. It is not often spoken about, you know.

The Jedi, the Sith - they do not stop life. They do not stop lust, love, family. They cannot stop a people. They have destroyed planets, killed millions, hundreds of millions, but yet Mandalorians are still in the galaxy. We are not bound by heredity means, or by a particular species. Anyone can be adopted into our people. And so we continue to grow and thrive. Surely you know that Twi’leks are hardly native to Mandalore,” and she had a slight smirk on her lips. “Although there are some that do not think that Twi’leks exist outside of dancing halls.

You are here and I am here - for our own reasons. I suppose money has something to do with both of our reasons.” She waved a hand idly at the innards of the Pylat, to his droids, to the cameras. She stood now, walking towards the large window, pressing her fingertips against the cool glass. She wasn’t sure what to tell him now, or where to go. She didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell him all of her history, what she remembered, nor did she want to go into detail about her childhood or how she came to be known by the Sith. Surely that had to peak his interest? “Do you show any interest in anyone’s past? How they come to be? do you not even wonder how I, a mere bounty hunter, came to the attention of the Sith? Please tell me that has kept you up at night at least once. Though I suspect that you don’t sleep at all.”

She turned to face him now, pressing her butt against the console. She demurely crossed her legs at the ankle as she leaned back, looking at him. Her lekku hung down behind her shoulders, suggestive of heavy pigtails.

Because he was paying close attention to her while he spoke, he could tell that she was not entirely invested in what he was saying about the Mandalorian Wars. By watching her out of the corner of his eye, he saw her creating imaginary doodles on her chair. Ah well, at least she wasn’t calling him a liar. This was the longest the two of them had conversed since the unpleasantness in the dining room.

Raeth cut his spiel about the Mandalorian Wars to a fraction of what he wanted to say. When he began to talk about his honest opinion of the Jedi, he saw that she perked up a little. That was good: it showed that she did not automatically dislike or hate the sound of his voice. He just needed to find topics that interested her.

Saudaji, with her fingertips on the transparisteel viewport, seemed to engaged in some deep thoughts, for she went quite for a time. Raeth turned off the Mandalorian War documentary, then swiveled in his seat to face her. He had a nice look at her profile. Doing his best to keep his face impassive, he indulged in the sight of her. Seeing her peer, pensively, out the viewport of his ship, with space so full of stars as her background…she was beautiful. She intrigued him. Raeth kept those thoughts to himself, and on the outside he acted as though everything was some sort of joke.

Saudaji then asked if he took any interest in other people’s pasts. He grinned immediately. Saudaji must have been getting used to seeing Raeth’s boyish grin by this point, for he put them on display so often.

“Of course I do. Knowing a person’s history helps me…helps us…better understand what makes a person tick. When we understand how a person ticks, we become more efficient at killing them.”

Raeth knew that she wasn’t talking specifically about the pasts of their targets. He suspected she asked that question to see how much he was interested in her past. Instead of acting cavalier or childish in reaction to her question, he made the smile disappear from his face, and he gave her a serious answer.

“You don’t have to worry about your history, by the way. I’ve agreed not to spy on you any longer. There won’t be any hidden cameras on you unless our mission requires it. Speaking of which…”

Raeth called out to the Pylat’s computer. “Hey, Pylat. Send Sebastian in here, would you?”

The computer chirped in response. A few moments later, the cockpit door hissed open, and Sebastian v2 stepped inside, between the equally-imposing figures of the two battle droids guarding the cockpit – Seven and Eight. Sebastian held a data pad in one hand, and a cleaning cloth in the other.

“Hello, Master,” the droid said with what sounded like barely-contained disdain. “If you’ve called for me in regards to your datapad, I am not yet done cleaning it. Your ejaculate coagulated inside one of the slots, as well as the headphone jack. So far, nothing I’ve tried has gotten it out.”

Raeth did not flinch when his personal slave droid just announced to Saudaji that Raeth clogged up one of his datapads with semen. It was clear what that implied, but Raeth didn’t care. Not only did Saudaji notice that he was a man of prodigious appetites, but he was also a man who seemed impervious to shame.

“Shut up, Sebastian,” Raeth said out of habit, even though he wasn’t at all annoyed at the droid. “Don’t worry about the datapad. Just leave it in the machine shop, on my usual workbench. I’ll replace the gunked-up parts when I have the time.
I have another job for you.” He gestured towards Saudaji. “Please go to Saudaji’s quarters and remove all the cameras. If things go well between her and I, she will be using those quarters indefinitely. Let’s do everything we can to make it as comfortable and home-y for her as we can, got it?”

Sebastian bowed its head, its broad, blunt, almost featureless face tilted a little to side, to indicate it understood its command. Usually, Sebastian gave Raeth some sass whenever its master gave it an order. Not this time, however, because the new task was not in any way disgusting or childish. (Compared to some of the other things Raeth regularly tells Sebastian to do, removing cameras he had used to peep on people in the past was relatively tame.

“Also, please make yourself available to Saudaji whenever she needs it. She may require you to purchase certain bath oils or other personal items while the she and I are at work.”

“Understood, Master.”

“Good! Now get out of here and start taking those cameras out.”

While the droid made its exit as it was told, the Imperial agent swiveled in his chair to face her once more. “It’s a small start, I admit, but when I said that I would stop spying on you, I meant it. That sentiment extends to the privacy of your family on Zeltros or elsewhere. I would like to think that I understand how important they are to you, so out of respect for that, I will keep my distance from that part of your life.”

The look he gave her was a wordless way of saying, ‘Is that okay? Any objections?


*****

Later that morning, Raeth got into contact with the port authority in Zalxuc City. Following landing procedure with the familiarity of someone who’s done this over a thousand times, the agent identified himself as Bawb Archeen, and his ship as the Lonesome Wormhole. He claimed that he was hyperjumping in from Zeltros with a shipment of Zeltros skin spice and other sensuous wares. That part was true; unless Saudaji happened to pay a visit to the cargo bay, she likely did not realize that he had purchased a couple tons of the skin spice, and he really did intend to sell it all or trade it for another good unique to Thyferra. After all, the best covers were somehow based on truth.

They received landing permission, and their arrival was logged without any notes of interest. That log and his forged identification would inevitably get lost within the countless landing records the spaceport would receive that week alone.

Anonymous and forgettable, that was how Raeth liked to be when he was on the clock.

The Patient Pylat – whose exterior paint job had been replaced with the words ‘The Lonesome Wormhole’, along with an image of a sad-looking wormhole with eyes, a frowning mouth, arms, and legs – entered Thyferra’s atmosphere, the vessel’s shields protecting those inside of it from the extreme temperatures of atmospheric entry. Within minutes, the Lonesome Wormhole was in the Zalxuc City, parked in the hangar Raeth rented for the next week.

Saudaji and Raeth were still seated next to each other in the cockpit. Their conversation continued as he piloted the ship to the surface. One of the subjects they talked about was his past partner, which Raeth did not seem at all hesitant to talk about.

“My last partner was named Duari. He was a good partner. Didn’t talk much, but we got along fine, and worked together even better. He died, which is why you’re here and he’s not.”

There was no indication of pain or sorrow in Raeth’s voice when he spoke of Duari. At the same time, it did not sound like he was making a joke about his last partner’s death. No, he as just showing little to no emotion, as usual.
Raeth tapped a few buttons, and a still image of Raeth alongside a Hapan man appeared on one of the nearby screens. The Hapan male was, obviously, Duari. He and Raeth were like exact opposites in terms of physical appearance. While Raeth had a boyish countenance, Duari had a tan, somewhat leathery, weather-beaten face that indicated he spent many years roughing it in the outdoors. While Raeth had a full head of medium-length brown hair, Duari had blonde hair that was shaved into a military cut. And while Raeth was lean and not especially tall, Duari must have been over two meters tall, and built like a bantha, he was so thick.

Of particular interest of the holographic image was the way the two men stood with each other. It was a nearly full-body shot, and the two of them appeared to be enjoying some leisure time at a bar in between missions. Raeth had his arm around Duari’s waist, not his shoulders. Their hips touched. Not only that, but their cheeks touched as they posed for the picture, both of them holding drinks and grinning ear-to-ear.

This single image suggested that Raeth and Duari were more than fellow assassins. The fact that Raeth showed her this indicated that he had no problem sharing an intimate portion of his past with her.

Well, it wasn’t that she wasn’t completely ignoring him - just not paying him her undivided attention. Saudaji was a multi-tasker extraordinaire; she’d have to be, with the current line of work she was in. She could feel his eyes on her, tracking her movements, gauging for her reactions. That was something they had in common; powers of observation. Both discreet, both waiting, watching, filing anything away. She figured that he was attempting, as always, to gauge her reaction to him. Her reasoning was simple: the minute that he showed himself as human to her, the warmer she would be. But, for now, she danced around that unnamed space between them.

She expected his answer to be brief -and it was-, and she expected the smile. She wasn’t entirely sure if he was attempting to goad her into an annoyed reaction (which she had a sneaking suspicion that he took glee in), but she didn’t feel like handing that victory to him. So, she kept her face passive while he spoke, listening. What he was saying and what did he did, though, were contradictory. Was he still attempting to hide his interest, or did he merely take her base description (Twi’lek, Mandolorian) and just run with the opportunity to learn something new?

The latter seemed to make the most sense. The only interest, she could admit to herself, that he showed in her as an individual was sexual. And even then, it was only along the lines of a typical lover - what would make her scream the loudest, cum the hardest. Even then, they’d barely scraped the surface of that. The thought made her expression sour, only for the briefest of moments. It was silly to think that he’d take any invested interest in her as a person. If that’s how things were going to be, she could do that. Train herself to do it. Treat him as a mark that she’d have to honey trap. And she’d have to be okay with that. It wasn’t that the sex was terrible -truly, it was some of the best she’d had, and there was mind-numbing potential of it getting only better-, but the lack of emotion behind it that pricked her ever so slightly. Just slightly. If she was being honest with herself, she was still vulnerable from her last romp with Mahoroba. It wasn’t just the sex then, it was the forcible closure of one very deep aspect of her life. Despite all of the rough and tumble reputation that Mandolorians had, their ability to love and build family was one of the strongest. That was the truth of how they survived. Close-knit clans, adopted siblings. And even in this range of work, it wasn’t uncommon for even the most hardened Mandolorian bounty hunters to at least attempt to cobble together a family. It was a drive, something almost hardwired in each one of them.

At his comments about spying, she gave no reaction. At this point, it was typical, even expected, that he would. Not that he would have learned that much spying on her on Zeltros - all he could have really guessed was that she was close to Saboten and she had an ex-husband. Nothing too horrific or earth-shattering. And on top of that, it was clear that he had no interest in what was going on in her life, as he hadn’t asked a single question about it. Right as she made that connection, Sebastian plodded in, complaining about the ejaculate in the datapad. And that was what broke her composition. She gave Raeth a good, long side-eye. Complete with the slight furrowing of her brow, it suggested that he was something not quite human, and that she wasn’t really sure what to do with him or that knowledge. He seemed a caricature of a walking orgy - and that, well, it was a miracle that he’d gotten this far.

She did, however, put a bit more distance between the two of them. Wow. She’d never been around a being that seemed to show such a lack of control of his desires. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear he was more of a Hutt than a human. It was only when he started in about Zeltros that he had her full attention again. “I have already said my piece on that,” she said, slowly, trying to pull her emotions together in a flat line. She was, of course, alluding to the threat she’d made earlier. It was very simple - if he threatened her family, she would kill him, and potentially die in the process. That meant scant little to her, as long as it meant her family was safe. She was sorely tempted to give him a slight dig about being surprised that he’d even give a vrelt’s ass about what went on with her, but she decided not to. It wouldn’t be worth it, in the long run. It was only fun taking snipes at people who would react, and reacting to any sort of emotional jab wouldn’t work on him. She returned his inquisitive look with an “Are you done?” look, and then strode out of the cock pit. She needed to get away from him - get her head straight and figure out what she was going to do.

___________

She’d come back right as he started contacting the port authority. She settled in next to him, crossing her legs soundlessly. As he began to talk about his old partner, her lips pursed, and she raised an eyebrow, surprised that he’d even bother. But as he kept his description notably brief, her face again settled into that impassive mask. Considering how emotional she was, the fact that she could steel her face was quite notable. She’d shown him a plethora of faces since they’d been together, but the closer they got to the start time of the mission, the more controlled her face and emotions were. It was similar to a dimmer switch - each encounter would bring everything just a bit darker. There was almost a mild current about her - she’d spent the time away from him exercising and stretching (around the bulk of Sebastian) and her body seemed to hum with eagerness. After all, as he’d put it before, she was the “muscle” of the group, and her efficiency was built on keeping in shape.

Even if she wasn’t able to go all out on this mission. No point in letting it go to waste; she was sure she’d find something else to do while she was there to be able to use that energy.

Her eyes, searching the distance for nothing, went to the screen as the photo pulled up. Of course, he’d be that close to a Hapan. For humans, they had a reputation for being some of the most beautiful. Years of selective breeding, she’d heard. Not that she had much personal experience with them. She’d heard that they were haughty, prone to being egotistical and self-absorbed. Figures that he’d get along with Raeth - the fact that the other man tended to be silent lent credence to her earlier thoughts.

And she didn’t miss the subtext of the photo; the press of their faces, closeness of their hips. So there really was no limit to what he wouldn’t do, and who he would do it with. And it seemed to be a trend to fuck his partners. Well. She sucked in a soft breath, bit her lip. She’d fallen headlong into that trap like an idiot. And she couldn’t blame chemicals or hormones on this at all. It was just something about that stupidly boyish man that apparently drew people in. Well, enough was enough of that. She would just have to show that she had more self-control. She was, after all, a Mandolorian. And, as such, she had a warrior’s spirit and discipline to uphold. She’d made a mistake, thinking that this man could be a comrade in arms, someone who would understand what it meant to fight and die alongside one another. And rather than keep running from that, she was going to accept it. She had made a mistake, not as costly as she felt she was making it out to be, but a mistake nonetheless. Time to move on.

If the air between them had chilled before, now it was downright glacial.

Gone was the somewhat playful, impetuous woman of before. Replacing her was the fearsome warrior, the ones that ghost stories and rumors were told about. Even the softness of her figure seemed to harden under her sleek black suit. If they were going planet-side, and depending on the nature of their mission, she would probably have to change. Her outfit would have been inconspicuous on a human, but on a Twi’lek, it was downright unusual. At the very least, she should have been showing off her stomach.

She idly kicked her feet up, propping them up on the ship’s dash lightly. Under the dim light of the cockpit, the hard lines of her muscular thighs were sharp highlights against the otherwise matte black of her suit. She could’ve said something about that partner, could have asked more. Heh. After admitting her mistake to herself, she would go through and yank out all curiosity. Not even that long ago, she thought, she may have been interested. At least in hearing potentially sordid sex stories. And now she didn’t care. It was funny how easily that switch was made…a weight lifted from her shoulders.

It’d be a much quieter trip moving forward. She idly wondered how long she’d be partnered with him - Azamin hadn’t been too specific on the details. She would have to follow up on that once this mission was done. If she could get out now, that’d be ideal. The money from this job alone would keep her set up for quite a while. She couldn't whine to Azamin about Raeth; chances were that the Sith Lord already knew the foibles of the man she'd partnered with. And if it meant facing a Sith Lord's wrath, so be it. She wanted out.

Raeth noticed Saudaji’s arctic demeanor right away. It was easy since she gave him the silent treatment. Here he was, attempting to strike up some conversation while they made their way to Thyferra’s surface, and all he got in return was her droid-like mask, and maybe a mumur of acknowledgement if he was lucky. He made a joke or two, and that got no reaction from her either.

Saudaji didn’t even ask about Duari. The agent thought that the picture he showed her would’ve piqued her interest, but it didn’t. That bummed him out some.
Despite her more-distant-than-usual behavior, Raeth did not worry about it too much. He frowned a little, and it did upset him somewhat. But he assumed that she acted like this because this was how the Mandalorian was during a mission: cold and steady like a rock, and unwilling to be distracted. Raeth shrugged, resolving not to be concerned about her behavior unless it somehow got in the way of their mission, or if she continued to act this way after their mission was done.

After deciding to let the matter go for now, Raeth piloted the Pylat while simultaneously watching her out of the corner of his eye. Saudaji looked mouth-watering in her black, skintight outfit. The way her thigh muscles worked beneath the body-hugging material was noted, savored, and the memory of it stored away for future wank time.

Earlier, when Sebastian came in with the datapad Raeth had soiled with his ejaculate, and Saudaji gave him a pointed look, Raeth reacted by simply shrugging at her. That gesture was brief, yet it said so much without the use of any words: "What? I needed a release. As if you don’t masturbate when you have to."

Saudaji was right: this man had enormous appetites, and it was easy to assume he had no self control. A person with no self control was dangerous to have as partner. Raeth was unaware that Saudaji was occupied with such thoughts when they truly began their first mission together. Nor was he aware that if Saudaji had her way, this would be their only mission together.


*****


The Patient Pylat – under the guise of the Lonesome Wormhole – was left in a hangar of a Zulxac City spaceport. The security at the spaceport was beneath Raeth’s standards, but that was okay; the Pylat’s onboard security measures would take care of anyone silly enough to try and break into it. Seven and Eight alone would reduce any would-be thieves to ash, and they were just one of many obstacles that someone would have to go through to get to the cockpit.

Standing on a planet’s surface for the first time since Zeltros, Raeth and Saudaji played the roles of two space truckers who were on Thyferra to deliver a shipment of Zeltros skin spice and other erotic goods to Zalxuc City, then to Xucphra City from there. Half of the goods they brought from Zeltros had already been purchased and transferred to a local merchant. (Raeth enjoyed making money on the side during missions. Between this sale and the one that waited in Xucphra City, he would cover this mission’s food, fuel, and miscellaneous expenses. Everything from this point on would be pure profit, provided nothing catastrophic happened.) The remaining half of the cargo was loaded onto a rented speeder truck. Their gear was also stashed onboard, hidden in a crate labeled “Lubricants”.

The two killers were in disguise from the moment they set foot on Thyferra. Raeth’s disguise was elaborate and well-practiced. To Saudaji, who was getting to know what the agent was really like, his disguise may have seemed ridiculous. Raeth played the part of Bawb Arsheen, a long-time trucker and good ol boy from the agriworld, Chandrila.

Saudaji learned that the arts of acting and disguise were other things from which Raeth derived a great deal of pleasure. The agent’s appearance, manner, and speech changed when he played the part of Bawb. He spoke with a perfect Chandrilan accent, his words slow and affected by a charming, agriworld drawl. He even walked differently when in this character, who swaggered where ever he went, never in a hurry, as though there was nothing in the galaxy so important that it required him to pick up the pace.
Bawb was a guy who liked the simpler things in life, like beer brewed on his home planet, a comfortable pair of jeans, and watching podracing with his buddies on the weekends. He was dressed in a red-and-green flannel shirt whose tail was tucked into his jeans, and whose sleeves were rolled up some to reveal a healthy-looking (and artificial) tan. Over the shirt he wore a black vest, and on top of his head he wore a trucker hat with the Chandrila Chiefs team logo on it.

Even Raeth’s face was different. Using sophisticated make-up, he gave himself some wrinkles, a slight tan, and other features that made him appear older and more outdoorsy. He changed his hair color from brown to blonde. Since Bawb was supposed to be middle-aged, Raeth dyed his hair to a color of blonde that was beginning to turn white.

All things considered, it was as though he didn’t just play the part of Bawb; he transformed into Bawb.

Not only did Raeth enjoy really getting into his characters, but Saudaji discovered that he refused to drop character, even when they were alone. She would have been correct if she thought he did this just to get a rise out of her. Thus, the Twi’lek had Bawb keeping her company during the roadtrip from Zalxuc to Xucphra City.

*****

The radio of the speeder truck was turned up loud. On it, a classic country song played, one that had been popular among truckers for centuries. Raeth, utilizing an accent that was indistinguishable from the real thing, sang along at the top of his lungs.

“Corebound and bluuuuured, loaded up and truckin’
We’re gonna do what they say can’t be done
We got 10 parsecs to go, and a short time to get there,
I’m corebound, just watch this smuggler run!”

He had a big smile on his face, indicating that this had to be his favorite song of all time. The next time the song’s chorus hit, Raeth stopped singing and pointed at Saudaji, as though he expected her to join in. If she did not, Raeth would put on a man pout and show exaggerated disappointment.

“C’mon, girl, you know the words," he drawled. "An’ you know that singin’ a duet is so much bettah than singin’ solo.”

If Saudaji continued to be her stone-cold self, then Raeth would turn off the radio. “Aw, have it your way, honeypot.”

A small screen hung from the ceiling of the speeder truck. Raeth turned the screen on and switched the channel to the local news. As expected, the labor disputes in Xucphra City were being covered. If Saudaji still wasn’t in a talkative mood, they could at least gather some intelligence about the current situation at their destination.

Any attempts to engage her were pointedly ignored. Part of her screamed for being so childish; playing the silence game? Really? Like she was still a youngling. Ridiculous. The other part of her applauded her restraint for not giving into his goading. She had to center herself, look for that part of her that would remain still in the midst of battle. It was a fine line between bloodlust and meditative calm, and it took cycles upon cycles to master.

Drawing in a deep breath, she held it, held it, then slowly let it out soundlessly through her nostrils. Since it had been a while for her to use breathing techniques, the first few breaths left her light-headed, spinning. Her eyelashes gave the merest of flutters before she continued to focus. He’d taken the hint, and had fallen blessedly silent.

It was a very quiet trip to the spaceport.

________

Shabla d’kut. I am going to kriffing MURDER him.

It was in Raeth’s, or Bawb’s favor that mind-reading was not one of his talents. If he had taken a peek into Saudaji’s, or, Lula-Lee’s mind at the moment, he’d be disturbed by all of the very inventive ways she knew how to kill someone. Namely, him.

Unlike his disguise, which ran to the comfortable, and covering, hers ran to the…scant. Jean shorts that fit nearly uncomfortably tight (only years of having to wear dancer’s garb kept Saudaji from constantly pulling out her thong underwear from where it had ridden further into the cleft of her butt) and cut so short that if she stood just so, the full peach-like curve of her rear peeked from under both legs of the shorts. She too, wore a flannel shirt, feminine pink and white to bring out the crisp sea-foam blue of her skin.

She’d subjected herself to a body painting - not that she was unfamiliar with the skills of disguise herself, but she’d rather parade about as a man as opposed to this-, and the job she’d done on herself was flawless. Colored contacts turned her brown eyes to a vivid spring-leaf green, startling and enticing against the cool of her skin. She wouldn’t go so far as to pass as a human; Twi’leks were common enough in the galaxy to blend in damn near anywhere, and the fact that she tarted herself up to look like a delectable young thing with this older man meant nothing. She played on the Twi’lek reputation of going towards the biggest spender.

The shirt was rolled up to her elbows, and knotted firmly under her breasts, exposing the length of her stomach. Her ample breasts were given a bit of help from a push up bra, and her scar had neatly been painted over. Clear gloss on her lips and eyelash extensions gave her the doe-eyed look of a healthy agri-world worker, and over her lekku, she wore a battered straw hat. She’d gone the extra feminine mile and wound pink ribbons about each lekku, ending in a neat little bow at each end. Battered knee-high cowboy boots completed the look, the heels worn nearly flat from use. Even her gait had changed - from her general cat-like prowl, she’d adopted a sort of bouncy skip. It was pure sex appeal, scrubbed with the clean-living allure of being from an agri-world that’d make other sentient male beings eye Bawb with envy.

In the scant moments they had together, of course she’d ignore him, doing her best not to instantly wrap her fingers around his neck for insisting on such an idiotic disguise. If she could just get through this mission, she’d wash her hands clean of him and take her money and just vanish. Poof. Gone. And it was only when she allowed herself to dwell on how quick she’d leave after the mission was complete that she was able to do something that was close to relax. And as the speeder truck bounced and jumbled along, she ignored what the road was doing to her breasts (equally buffering them from side to side. Enticing enough to watch, a nuisance and a half for her), and kicked her booted feet up on the dash. The shorts shifted, cut further into her crotch. The faintest wisp of sapphire pubic hair slipped from the side of the high cut - yes, she’d gone so far as to dye her pubic hair accordingly. That, she’d admitted, she had a little bit of fun with. The temptation to have dyed it a vibrant violet or piercing pink had been strong, but, alas, she had to stick with the blue skin tone.

As he belted along with the song, she kicked back further in her chair, keeping her face neutral, although she was thinking about plucking out each of his eyelashes, one by one, with her fingernails. It was remarkable, really. When he invited her to sing, she slowly, deliberately, drew her hat over her face, a universal gesture of, “I’m going to sleep. Piss off.” Under the mesh hat, her voice came through - like him, she’d adopted the accent flawlessly. Going the extra mile, she pitched up her voice an octave or two, threw in a sugar-sweet intonation, and a dash of broken Basic for good measure. Who could resist? “Lula-Lee rest eye,” she chirruped under the hat. “Trip long.”

Waiting for silence to drop over the cab of the truck, she too, listened into the news. “Strike scary,” she sing-songed under her hat, careful to keep her face from showing. “Too too scary, Lula-Lee want know if this safe.” Might as well sell it all the way. And two could play at the obnoxious as hell game. She knew that rented trucks usually had some form of surveillance within them, and it wouldn’t do for her to be silent the entire trip. Background noise was needed, and while Raeth was beyond being suspect, she knew she needed to do the same, no matter how loathe she was to do it. She was being a brat and she knew it - she needed to distance herself appropriately, but do her job and do it well. And sometimes being a sex-kitten from an agri-world was part of that job description. “Bawb keep Lula-Lee safe?” She pulled the hat down a bit from her eyes. Although it was clear that she absolutely detested Raeth, the eyes that caught his were wide, innocent, had a trace of fear in them. A faint thread of adoration - what would that backstory be- shone in them, and she blinked those long lashes at him, once, twice, waiting for a response. “Lula-Lee no want be slave,” she added.

Raeth actually did find a camera inside of the truck cab. As paranoid as he was, and because of the many, many legitimate concerns that came with their line of work, Raeth never willingly entered a vehicle without first scanning it. He was a tad bit annoyed when he found the truck rental company tried to hide an interior camera from him, a paying customer. But as easy as the spying device was to detect, it was even easier to disable. He shut that shit down and knew the rental company would not say anything about it, since hidden cameras were not mentioned in the rental agreement.

With the camera gone, they did not have to worry about maintaining their acts due to risk of discovery. But the two of them did not drop character. Raeth did it because he had so much fun immersing himself in a character, plus he was getting a real kick out of annoying Saudaji. Saudaji maintained the act for reasons all her own, and Raeth LOVED IT.

When Saudaji first spoke to him in her Lula-Lee voice, with her Lula-Lee mannerisms, Raeth nearly exploded in theater geek glee. He knew that the jade huntress had more of a talent for lying or pretending than she liked to admit, but the talent she showed him on Thyferra blew his mind. On the outside, the Bawb mask did not falter, but on the inside his mind he was going crazy like a teenage girl at a pop music concert.

Saudaji’s new look did not help, either. The change in skin color. The expanse of firm, toned stomach that she showed off completely. The height at which the sports bra pushed up her generous breasts. The pink ribbons with which she decorated her lekku. Her barely-there denim shorts that offered him a peek of her pussy and more than just a peek of her ass cheeks when she moved or sat the right way. Damn, all of it was a tremendous turn-on for Raeth, who was intensely attracted to her already.

To his credit, he somehow managed to keep himself from getting too distracted by her “agriworld temptress” get-up. He managed not to stare at her, too much, behind the wide aviator sunglasses the covered his eyes. They had a mission to do, and they had ignored work to indulge in fervent fucking enough, for now.

But no matter how hard he tried to think of unsexy things, Saudaji was getting to him, deep. He had a very noticeable boner from the moment they settled into their seats and got their road trip under way. Throughout their drive from Zalxuc to Xucphra, he often squirmed in his seat, or sometimes he even adjusted the crotch of his pants in an attempt to get comfortable with his erection.

“Damn, girl, if you don’t look as fine as a jug of Chandrila sweet tea on a hot day,” Raeth drawled this genuine compliment after Saudaji put her feet up on the dash, thus exposing some of her sweet Twi’lek peach. Raeth’s erection continued to push against his fly. It didn’t help that he allowed himself to watch her breasts bounce within her shirt for a few moments.

Raeth forced himself to look away from her and focus on the road.

Some time later, Saudaji feigned concern while watching the news footage of what was happening in Xucphra City. On the screen, a huge crowd of Thyferran laborers clogged the streets leading to the Xucphra Corporation factory and its headquarters. Protesters bobbed their signs in the air, yelling out rhyming chants. The leaders of the protests addressed their gathered masses with megaphones while camera droids buzzed about in the air. The white collar employees of the Xucphra Corporation struggled to get through the crowds to work. Meanwhile, the executives of the corporation – the ones who had any power over the causes of the worker’s strike – flew into work safely aboard expensive, personal airspeeders that landed on the buildings’ roofs.

Saudaji eyed the footage with convincing fear. If Raeth did not know better, he may have been convinced that the thus-far peaceful protests really did scare her.
Then she said that thing about Bawb protecting her. Raeth did not know for certain if Saudaji was purposefully seducing him. Regardless of her intent, she was getting to him, hard. With a hand he did not realize was shaking, he reached over to grasp the inside of her thigh. Her flesh was so warm, her thigh was so firm, and her skin was so smooth. Raeth’s lips parted, and he moaned. She felt so good.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head, Lula-Lee.” Somehow, Raeth managed to maintain his accent, as well as the overall Bawb effect. He gave her thigh a squeeze. Then another, before he ran his palm up and down the inside of her leg. Raeth licked his lips while his erection strained against the crotch of his pants, harder than it had moments before.

If Saudaji struck at him or did something else to show him, without a doubt, that she was not in the mood for his touch when they were on mission time, so be it. Even a single touch of her bare flesh was worth the physical pain caused by her retaliation. In the back of his mind, however, he hoped that as cold as she was acting towards him, some part of her still reacted positively to his touch.


*****


Regardless of how Saudaji reacted to Raeth putting his hand on her thigh, new footage from the labor dispute coverage would remind Raeth that the pleasure of flesh could wait, but their mission could not. Their target appeared on screen to give a statement to the media. The image of Jedi Master Yent Virak filled the screen. The camera droids that hovered closest to him not only recorded him, but their built-in microphones amplified what he had to say.

“The Jedi Council,” Master Yent began, “would like the public to know that it is dedicated to the peaceful resolution of these disputes.”

As much pleasure as Raeth was experiencing from even the slightest feel of Saudaji’s flesh, he reluctantly drew his hand away from her. His attention was split between the road and what was happening on screen. But he would glance at Saudaji, longingly, out of the corner of his eye while the news footage continued.
“The Council and I also urge everyone here to keep your actions peaceful. Please, do not let your dissatisfaction with your current working conditions to lead to anger, and from there to violence. I applaud each and every one of you for keeping your protests peaceful thus far, and I hope that you will continue to do so while I meet with your leaders as well as the leaders of Xucphra.”

Yent Virak was lean. He was leaner than Raeth, which may have been surprising, since Zabrak tended to be more broadly-built than Humans on average. And based on all the data that Raeth had given to Saudaji, which he asked her to study and memorize, Yent was as much a master of war as he was a master of diplomacy. Rumors were that he was as big as a Gamoran bull when he was a young Jedi Knight. Now, though, as a Zabrak who was at the middle of his expected, non-Forced-enhanced lifespan, Yent looked so lean that it was easy to imagine he barely ate anything at all.

The Zabrak were known to use face paint or permanent tattoos to decorate their faces and heads in elaborate designs. Yent’s face and head, however, were bare of such decorations, so anyone who watched his news interview saw that he had clay-brown skin, and the horns at the top of his skull were white like Human teeth. His horns formed a pattern on his skull reminiscent of a crown.

Trying to focus on work, Raeth talked to Saudaji about their target. He studied the live footage to determine things like how many bodyguards, if any, could he see in the background, or how heavily guarded the Xucphra City streets and buildings looked near the protests. He also looked for the Jedi’s apprentice.

“Who do you think that is, Lula-Lee?” Raeth pointed at the screen, at someone standing behind Yent Virak. The person he pointed at was a Hapan male, like Raeth’s last partner, coincidentally enough. Like many Hapan males, this subject was tall, had masculine, square facial features, and had the sort of good looks one could expect from a movie star. Raeth asked Saudaji who he was even though they both knew that was Deelio Spier, Yent’s apprentice.

Perhaps Raeth asked her who it was to test that she had studied the mission data he gave her. Maybe this was just small talk with which they could both continue practicing their acts.

Saudaji figured Raeth would have a plethora of fetishes - and that she probably wasn’t the first being to wear these clothes. It felt like they were sized for someone smaller - not as curvy, not as muscular. The ill-fit did wonders for her figure (in Raeth’s eyes; she felt like she was popping out all over the place, and not in a good way. The pinching, she felt, cut off the natural lines of her body and created unnatural new ones), but it didn’t do much to improve her attitude. Still, her “Lula-Lee” persona was as flawless as his, and her distemper didn’t show.

His reaction to her outfit certainly was apparent, though.

She didn’t have the benefit of shades to cover her eyes, so there was no discreet checking out on her behalf. She’d noticed it when they first started their trek to the truck; a hitch in his step, a slight tug here and there. Definitely a fetish, she thought, as she slowly hauled herself into the truck. Deliberately picking to enter in on the driver’s side and then slide across to her own, she made a show of her rear, feeling the bottom half slide from under her shorts as she climbed in. It was all done very subtly, of course - there would be no late-night holoshow burlesque in her approach- but it would have been distinctly clear to Raeth that she knew what was was doing.

But, to add insult to injury, she had taken that initial glance at his erection…and then proceeded to promptly ignore it, focusing her attention on the truck, on the road, exclaiming here or there that she was excited about the trip, but she was still tired from the long hyperspace journey. That she wanted to try out some good food, maybe look at some livestock. It’d be even better if he’d take her through the shopping districts; she wanted to see what she could buy while she was there. All of the innocuous babble that could be expected from an agriworld woman on a new trip to a new place.

Listening to the newscast, she kept up her scared facade, keeping her feet still firmly propped up on the dash. The muscles in her thighs contracted as she forced her body to try and stabilize through the rocking on the truck. As he spoke to her, she lowered her hat, and flashed him a smile as bright as a super nova, relief showing in those falsely green eyes. She’d told him earlier that he had underestimated him - and she meant it. She hadn’t gotten this far in the game by being bad at her job, no matter what facet it took, and she’d be lying to herself if part of that smile wasn’t spurred by shoving her sexuality and her ability in his smug, stupid face. Look at him. He couldn’t even keep his hands off of her. And she played into it, letting a charming coo slip from her lips as she took her legs from off the dash, slapping them closed and giggling. A light swat of his hand with her hat as she squealed, “Bawb must eye on road!” How she truly felt didn’t show through. She’d noticed the faint tremble of his hand, and inwardly, she felt a personal wave of smugness slip over her. Even if she didn’t want him to touch her (that, she still had mixed feelings about), she wasn’t fool-hardy enough to let it break her persona.

Her attention, divided between “playfully” reprimanding him to keep Raeth’s hands to himself and the holocast, was brought fully to the holocast as he asked. On the job or not, she measured up the Hapan apprentice as she would a fine meal. If Raeth was watching her face, studying it for reactions, he’d note the thinnest flicker of a predatory desire, as if she was sizing up her next meal. Now, if that was entirely sexual or taking in her potential victim was up to his imagination. As if to remove all traces of doubt from his mind, she twisted around in her seat to face him, the seat belt drawing tight between her breasts and making them bulge all the more.

“Lula Lee think he handsome student. Yummy like fine nerf steak,” and she licked her lips. “Lula Lee want spend much private time with him. Make Lula Lee sad that Jedi say they no like attachment. But Lula Lee want show error of ways,” and she undulated her body in her seat, a slow roll starting from her hips up to her chest, all too reminiscent of how she moved when she was on top of him. “Lula Lee good that. Much good.” And now, well, she really was just fucking with him. Payback from the earlier song.

There was something appealing, though, in the idea of enticing the apprentice away, using just her body. It seemed contradictory to how she behaved in regards to using her body for a target. In reality, it had less to do with sexuality and more with tearing down the apprentice. Sowing that seed of doubt to throw his entire world in turmoil. To see him suffer, to see those pillars he’d built his entire life around come tumbling down. Torturing with a touch, a breath, the right kind of perfume and the slightest sway of her hips. An apprentice, a Jedi - those were the big challenges. Swaying them away from their believes was far more difficult than just killing them - and if she was going to be wasting her time with Raeth, she at least wanted a good challenge out of what was going on. While she understood his normally covert ways of assassination, she wanted, no, needed, something to actually put her to the test. If hand to hand was out, well, she had other ideas.

That coquettish smile still on her face, she locked eyes with him, looking past the tint of his shades. Her expression, only discernible to him, clearly said, “He looks more like your type. You want a hit at it?” It was her way of acknowledging that she knew he had a sexual relationship with his past partner, that Raeth couldn’t keep himself under control, and just a pinch of, “If you don’t get it from him, you damn well won’t be getting it from me any time soon,” to underscore that no, she hadn’t forgotten, and that she wanted him to keep his distance.

Oh, Raeth knew what Saudaji was up to. He suspected that she chose to play the role of innocently seductive agriworld bumpkin, Lula Lee, to try and torment him, as well as try and throw him off his game. When he first offered her the barely-there disguise, he half-expected her to refuse. After all, one of the things they argued about was how he forced too much on her – whether it be gear or methodology – and did not respect her enough to let her choose her own way.

When Saudaji snatched the costume out of his hand, he was a bit surprised. But after he watched her make a show out of entering the truck cab, it all made sense. She selected a fake identity that matched the clothing and dove right into that identity. He guessed that she wanted to shove how good she was, how sexy she was, in his face while simultaneously teasing him here and there to try and screw him up.

Raeth smiled on the inside. If he was right about what Saudaji was thinking, then he found a reason to respect her more. Game on.

On the road towards Xucphra City, shortly after Raeth indulged himself by touching her naked thigh and running his palm along it, Saudaji responded by playfully swatting his hand away. She closed her legs, too, which was a shame. Like” Lula Lee” said, “Bawb” had to keep his eyes on the road, so after one more lingering glance at her and her yummy-looking legs, Raeth focused on the road. Behind his wide-lensed shades, he caught glimpses of her out of the corner of his eye.

Next, the subject of Master Virak’s Hapan apprentice came up. Saudaji found a new way to tease him. Adjusting positions on her seat, she pantomimed what it would be like to fuck the young Jedi, Deelio. Raeth took his eyes off of the road so he could face her fully and watch the show she was putting on. Within his jeans, his dick bulged right away. The length and thickness of it made his pants uncomfortable once more.

Raeth’s lips pursed, and he let out a long, slow breath of appreciation. So Lula Lee said that she’s much good at that? Oh, Bawb believed her, and Raeth knew firsthand what she was capable of. Indeed, the way she gyrated on her side of the truck cab reminded him of what she did when she fucked him on top. So distracted by those memories and the possibilities of what they could do once they had some free time, Raeth didn’t notice that their speeder struck was getting dangerously close to the highway lane’s separator. A helpful driver honked their speeder horn, which caught his attention just in time to see what almost happened and straighten the vehicle out.

“Whoa! Slag it all, Lula Lee!” While playing the role of Bawb, Raeth’s drawl was maintained so well that he spoke slowly even when he was cursing out of exasperation. “You keep that up and you’ll make me drive this speeder right outta tha road! Dayum.” Despite his profanity, he gave her another, lingering look, and smiled.

“I swear, Lula Lee, if you were a rack a’ ribs I would eat you right up and ask for seconds.” Shaking his head, Raeth gave her the ‘Ooooo face’ by forming a little ‘O’ with his lips. Then it was back to watching the road, back to concentrating on business.

“You and me gotta talk about that apprentice.” Although he maintained the Bawb act, he stopped pretending like they were being watched and thus had to engage in vapid road talk while driving to Xucphra City. And although Saudaji, in her continued attempt to get under his skin, talked about the things she wanted to do to Deelio Spier, the Imperial agent ignored it for now.

He also ignored certain similarities that Deelio had to Duari, his deceased partner. That’s another thing he would think about later.

In their good ole country personas, Raeth and Saudaji went over mission plans. Whenever he worked a mission with another person, Raeth insisted on repeating the mission details over and over again until both he and his partners knew all the key elements inside and out and by heart. Saudaji had proven that she studied the mission data he provided to her, so now they were just practicing.

“For this to all work out, I just need 5 minutes alone with Virak’s transport.” Listening to Raeth go over how they were going to kill a Jedi diplomat while talking in a Chandrilan accent sound somewhat ridiculous. But he kept it up. He liked it, plus he was really looking forward to listening to Saudaji go over their mission plans while talking as Lula Lee.

“At the same time, we need to cause a ruckus: somethin’ big enough, showy enough to get Xucphra, the Jedi, an’ everyone else to thinkin’that someone from the Labor Union got tired of all that peaceful protestin’, and were now ready to shed some blood to get what they want.”

The overall plan was so simple that it sounded crazy, not to mention worrisome. There was nothing simple about non-Force Users killing Jedi. But Raeth assured Saudaji that the plan would work, because he had done similar things in the past. They would kill Master Virak and either make it look as though the Labor Union was somehow responsible for his death, or they would make it look like an accident.

“That’s where you come in, Lula Lee. I’m thinkin’ the ruckus will have to involve that healthy-looking apprentice there. What do you think? You distract the apprentice, keep him off my back, and I will take care of the rest?”

For the rest of their road trip, the two of them discussed their plans.

Shabla di’kut!

A quick squeal left her as she balled up in the seat, expecting “Bawb” to run into the divider. As he swerved away, she let out a sigh of relief, then mockingly cut her eyes at him. “See, Lula-Lee tell. And no could afford Lula-Lee if Lula-Lee ribs. You no have stomach for all Lula-Lee have,” she added, with a light sniff. Oh, yeah, she was definitely fucking with him. In her sugar-sweet reply, there was an added element of challenge; she was flat out telling him that he couldn’t handle all of what she had to offer. Let him respond to THAT.

“What there talk about? Lula-Lee distract. Seduce. Have much fun,” she said, as simply as if she was describing the color of the sky. She was adding her own element to their discussed plan. She knew that he considered her as just “muscle”, but he’d be in for a few surprises. While she was best in face to face combat, well, spying and going undercover weren’t things that she was entirely unfamiliar with. Although she made it a habit not to go undercover, well…she couldn’t help but to enjoy this role just a little. Raeth’s glee was infectious, and as much as she wanted to wring his neck, it was hard to ignore. She’d keep her warrior’s resolve - after all, this was strictly business, and she had an image to uphold. However, as she continued to watch the holocast, it was clear that she was sizing up the apprentice in more than a professional manner.

While Saudaji did have a streak of the voluptuous, it was a drop in the pail compared to Raeth, and as such, could have been easily overlooked. With the look that she focused on the holo, it’d be hard to tell how much of that was unprofessional in a pure desire, or if it was tied to something deeper. The assumption she hoped that he would make was that was interested in merely sleeping with the apprentice. Sex, in this particular instance, was barely an afterthought for her. She wanted him to suffer. She wanted to get deep within his mind, worm her way into his most intimate thoughts and pull him apart. Watch him fall as his entire world crumbled around him, and she’d be the one to pull those pillars down. It wouldn’t be enough to kill him. She needed to utterly destroy him - and this, well, this was her use to the Sith. She was an excellent tool to turn promising apprentices to the Dark Side, wholly, entirely, with a depth that exceeded all expectations. And what’s more - she relished the turning.

“Lula-Lee think this take days. Much good that way. Lula-Lee work to get to apprentice, be very too sad case. Bawb will go to strikers, give them much good information on Jedi master appearance. Let strikers take care of rest.” She gave a off-handed shrug. It was just as simple as his plan originally dictated, just with a few alterations here and there. She continued to lay out the plan: she would distract and get under the skin of Deelo. Raeth would work with the strikers underground, leaking information as to when the Jedi would next appear.

They would be in luck; this broadcast covered but the first of many scheduled appearances for Master Virak. That much information was, to their benefit, public knowledge. There would be a public forum later that standard week, where the Master would be “relatively” lightly guarded where both sides could voice their grievances. And, like the Jedi, he would be there to mediate, and come up with a good solution.

“Lula-Lee think Jedi have much hard time deflecting blaster bolts when there are a few thousand. Bawb will need to gather few thousand,” and she eyed him carefully, making sure that he understood what she was trying to get at. “Lula-Lee use advantage with apprentice to make sure Master not all there,” and she made a vague gesture around her head, meaning that the Master wouldn’t be fully up to snuff. They’d discussed it before - a variety of poisons to something as simple as a spice overdose. Jedi were used to clean living, but the occasional suggested scandal with Jedi still made the holos from time to time. As much as people claimed to love the Jedi, they also seemed to enjoy watching them fall - or at least entertaining salacious rumors.

“Will be fun,” she added, as an afterthought. It was getting harder for her to concentrate on their conversation. Her mind was already starting to map out how she’d get closer to the apprentice. There would be a mild symposium that night; she could start her attempt there. She would have to look innocuous enough to make it past security; if she started off by knocking them out, it’d raise too many alarms. But, at least to both of their advantages, the Jedi didn’t usually travel with the same security as a politician. There would maybe be, what, one or two local law officials, and even then, those folks would usually hold back and defer to the Jedi. After all, the Jedi were invincible…

“Will pose as widow of striker, too too sad for apprentice to ignore. Hapan male much ego. Think very strong, very superior.” Ah, so she had looked at the documentation he’d given her. Included was a basic psych profile of Hapans. With all of that selected breeding (and the matriarchal society), the males had a strange contradiction of egotistical pride and inferiority, as they were raised to be second-class citizens. And, adding to that, Hapans didn’t traditionally like Jedi. Going from that, it would be easy to assume that the young apprentice was feeling isolated, culture-shocked - but would default to his societal norms if put in a new or trying situation. It would be easy for her to take advantage of his natural deferment to women, but she would have to make it sympathetic. To push past the conditioning and get to his heart…to make him hurt, to make her someone he wanted to serve.

Ah, and who could forget, their attraction to beauty.

No small wonder Raeth’s past partner ended up in bed with him. For all of his flaws, Raeth was attractive, extremely so. And she had considered herself used to attractive beings as well - but he’d still taken her breath away. That Hapan didn’t stand a chance.

A small smile, the first truly genuine expression she’d allowed herself, skipped across her lips before her expression melted back into the doe-eyed vacuity of “Lula-Lee.” She could relate to being drawn to Raeth. She wondered if he was aware of the effect he had on those around him. Probably. It’d be impossible for him not to know; it was one more thing that he could use to his advantage.

She wondered, then, if the Hapan had experienced heartbreak when dealing with Raeth. What his, no, what their final moments together were like. How he would feel to know that Raeth had essentially just moved on, like they’d meant nothing to each other. Well. When she had the chance, she would make sure to do something in the man’s memory. Something. Maybe in the afterlife, there was some sort of comfort he could offer her; some guidance.

A bump in the road startled her out of her thoughts, and she sighed. “Where base of operation be?” They’d have to have some sort of common place, where they could check in, change disguises, unless he had something else figured out. Knowing him, he probably did. She wanted to confirm. She figured that they would approach the city as the truckers, do some business, then after hours, change and go about their separate missions. They’d also have to have some means of communicating with one another, or at least dropping notes.

Or, perhaps maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe he trusted her ability enough to let her slip free unaided. And, the more she thought about it, the more it would make sense for them not to be in contact with each other as they worked. That way, if something were to happen, it’d happen to one of them, and not both of them. Such was the nature of their work - something that still sometimes didn’t sit well with her. Look at her. She’d turned into such a bleeding heart since she left Zeltros. Questioning everything and every aspect about her life. It was’t natural.

She wondered, idly, if Raeth knew that something was a bit off with her - that she was struggling to get back into the nature of killing. It would make sense. The last few days had been very emotional (putting it mildly), and had done a number on her. She’d be okay, she told herself, once she got back to the field. Once she picked up her weapons, slipped into that role, it’d be like putting on a pair of familiar shoes. She knew what she was doing.

Neither Raeth nor Saudaji knew it, but there was an interesting contrast to what they were thinking during their road trip to Xucphra City. Saudaji continued to work through the feelings she had towards Raeth. One second, she wanted to kill him. The next, she acknowledged how attractive he was. She weighed his faults again his values, and unbeknownst to Raeth she had more or less decided that she did not want to work with him after this mission.

Raeth, on the other hand, mainly just thought about how much he wanted to fuck Saudaji with her cowboy boots on. He wondered how her blue body paint affected the taste of her flesh, if at all. Plus he wondered what other types of characters she could pretend to be. Her acting performance as Lula-Lee was admirable, so he wondered what her range was. All of these were positive thoughts.

The two of them drove those last few miles to Xucphra City, each one occupying the other’s thoughts in different ways.


*****

Saudaji asked him where their base of operations was. Raeth’s response:
“We’re gonna pick up our base after we sell the rest of this cargo.” The agent turned to her, and a bright, broad smile stretched out underneath his wide-lensed sunglasses. “For this job, we’re goin’ mobile!”

They moved with a purpose once they got into Xucphra City. First stop: a merchant that Raeth contacted beforehand, who wanted to buy all the erotic goods that “Bawb” had with him, and who was willing to meet the trucker’s half-way on price. Raeth didn’t want to waste time haggling with the woman, so he sold off the Zeltros skin spice, the toys, and one midget-sized sex robot for a only a little above market value. After that, they could concentrate on the mission.

The next place they went to was a speeder dealership, where they used some of the revenues from the cargo sale to buy an airspeeder van. The speeder they went with was bulky, dull gray, and a little ugly. The first thing Raeth thought of when he saw it on the lot was that it reminded him of an old military transport. Raeth bought this vehicles for multiple reasons: it could travel along roads or the skyways of Xucphra City, which would help them travel around without getting impeded by mobs of protestors; the interior had a lot of space, which they would need to convert the van into a mobile base; and when paid a little something extra under the table, the speeder salesman was willing to sell the van without any bureaucracy or information gathering whatsoever. No questions, no data trail.

“I’ll take care of everything,” the salesman said.

“You, sir, are a scholar and a gentleman.” Bawb said. The two men stood up from either side of the salesman’s desk, and shook on the deal. “Nice doin’ business with you!” Raeth and Saudaji thus had their mobile base of operation.

It took a few days to setup. They had to move their gear from the speeder truck trailer to the van. In addition to datapads, some monitors, and a few holographic projectors, they also brought along a small arsenal of weapons, ammo, miscellaneous gadgets, plus the equipment and materials they needed to put on disguises.

Thankfully, Raeth and Saudaji had help with the heavy lifting. Along with the crates that contained their gear, Raeth also packed a crate with a special helper. Marked “Dildos”, the crate actually contained Sebastian v2. Raeth used a knife to pry the crate open, then he brushed away some packing peanuts until he saw the top of Sebastian’s metallic head.

“Wakey wakey, Sebastian,” Raeth said while he rapped his knuckles on the droid’s head three or four times. “Time to earn your pay. Get up!” The agent no longer spoke like a Chandrilan native. The Bawb personal was disguised and tucked away, for now, so he was back to speaking with his urbane-sounding Core World accent.
“Need I remind you that you do not pay me, Master?” Sebastian said, its tone sounding slightly exasperated as usual.

“I pay you with good company and adventure, you ungrateful tub of circuits!” Raeth responded, cheerfully. “Now drag yourself out of that crate, clean up the mess that’ll make, and then help Saudaji and me set up our rape van.” That’s the code name that Raeth gave their mobile base of operation: their rape van. He would insist on calling it that even if he was the only one to do so.


*****

A day or two after Sebastian was removed from its crate, the interior of their mobile base was organized and operational. There were two narrow tables bolted against each side of the van’s interior, which was wide enough to fit the two tables, a couple of chairs, and still have barely enough room for someone to squeeze in and walk along the aisle.

There was a data & surveillance station setup on top of either table. Each station consisted of a datapad, a short row of monitors, a holograph projector, communication equipment, and other equipment. With these goodies, Raeth and Saudaji would be able to access the holonet, conduct surveillance, and communicate with each other while one was out in the field and the other was running ops duties.

Raeth asked Saudaji if she was comfortable doing most of the field work while he did most of the ops work. It made sense, since it was Saudaji’s idea to get close to Master Virak’s apprentice – Deelio Spier – and take him out of the picture her own way. While Saudaji worked her magic, Raeth expected to spend much of his time in the rape van. If Saudaji needed information on the fly, an immediate pickup, or some backup, Raeth would never be more than a quick call away.

This was how Raeth was most comfortable working: his partner was the field operative, while he was the guy behind the screens.

“By the way, Saudaji,” Raeth called out to her from the back of the rape van. He was seated in front of one of the data stations, splitting his attention between the different videos playing on the screen or on the holo projector. On one screen there was continued news coverage of the Bacta Labor Strikes; on another screen there was a wall of text. And the holo projector displayed real-time footage of one of their surveillance targets.

Meanwhile, Saudaji was in the driver’s seat flying them through Xucphra City. Sebastian was in the van, as well, its mechanical legs retracted so that it could sit like a rock in the back without being in the way of the two meat bags.

Raeth got out of his chair to join Saudaji at the front of the van. Through the windows, they could see Xucphra City all around and beneath them. It was not as large, as heavily populated, or as heavily developed as, say, Corcusant, but Xucphra was an impressive city on its own right. Far below them were the streets that lead to the Xucphra Corporation headquarters. There was no protest march scheduled for that day, but there was still a gathering of protestors lining the streets, singing songs, exchanging war stories, and the like.

Once in the passenger’s seat, Raeth lifted the palm-sized box he had in his hand. He slid the box open, revealing one of those surveillance drones he enjoyed using. The drones he used on Zeltros were multi-colored, like the flies that were native to that planet. The drone he showed her was a dark, somewhat shiny emerald in color.

“I told you that I would not use one of these on you again, unless it was necessary, and you gave me permission to do so. However, just because I can’t use these with you doesn’t mean you should avoid them completely. You’ll find that they’re quite handy. And I can teach you how to use them in a matter of minutes.”

He held the box with the insect-shaped spy drone inside. His eyes were on her face, and a boyish smile was on his lips. In some strange ways, this scene shared some similarities with typical Human marriage proposals: the male offers the female something shiny in a box, then he proclaims his intentions. Raeth saw the vague similarities, and was amused.

“What do you say, Saudaji? Will you take my fly?” She was treated to another one of his playful grins.

“No, this best skin spice from Zeltros. No want that price!” “Lula-Lee” went about negotiating as only a agriworlder could; with stubborn insistency and with the right mix of sweetness that her cut-throat nature about the prices could be easily forgiven. And in the larger marketplace of the city, one more person haggling didn’t stand out at all. Never abrasive, but never wavering, “Lula-Lee” had used a combination of charm, salesmanship, and just flat out sweet talk to move the product that they had, with a bit of a mark up (far more than Raeth had originally intended, but hey, let the woman work.). After the sales were done, they’d not only turned quite the profit, but had come away with a few freebies.

There was a slight repeat at the speeder depot; except she’d just turned up the charm and wasn’t as firm as she had been with the merchant. It hadn’t taken long for the dealer to have the gleam of lust in his eyes as he merely went through the motions. The extra credits that Raeth paid were the icing on the cake, paired with her sweet talk and the occasional touch. She’d lightly cooed a promise (that she had no intention of fulfilling) of carnal pleasures beyond anything he’d ever experienced if he would just follow up with her later, with contact information hastily scribbled on a pad. If he’d followed up, he’d end up in the clutches of a very amorous Ithorian. How, and more relevantly, when Saudaji had the time to make the contact was unclear. Something she’d murmured under her breath about “good friends” in passing.

________

Mobile.

That was…good. Actually, better than what she had originally thought of. Rather than having a moving base of operations, she’d thought that they’d go from one burner home to another. Probably not the most efficient way to do things, now that she thought about it. Setting it up had taken a few days, but she didn’t mind the manual work. If anything, it gave her something to focus her attention on. Nothing like some mindless lifting and moving to get the blood flowing and to clear the mind. Though Raeth had run scans on her before, to see her physical strength in action was quite the sight. Considering that she had no mechanical enhancements, her strength was astounding. She’d work in a beat up black tank top, baggy pants, and combat boots, hauling, shoving, hot-wiring. If he was still watching her closely, it’d be hard to ignore the variety of raised lines across her arms, her back. Faint though they were, the scars across her form spoke of a lifetime of hard work.

Standing back on that last day, she’d wipe her brow with the back of her hand, idly watching Raeth and Sebastian bicker. Droids. No thank you.The days had passed by quickly enough, and it was with a small sense of accomplishment that she recognized that the center was completed. Not that she had much to do with the technical side. She’d agreed to doing the fieldwork; there wasn’t a lot of space in this “rape van” (yikes) and she would appreciate being able to move freely. That, and to put further distance between herself and Raeth. It’d be good for her to get out there and work on her own again. And she’d enjoy the quiet. She understood why he had to have the holos going constantly, but after a while it got a little old.

As they were flying (well, she was flying) towards the city, she’d slipped into her next disguise. She’d need to go with something a little more glamorous than the agriworld chic that he’d gotten such a rise out of, but something that suggested that she was downtrodden. A diamond in the rough. Splendor lurking right beneath the surface. She’d spent the better part of the day before just out and about in the city, still as “Lula-Lee”, to do some much needed shopping. And people-watching. She sat back in several cafes and listened, watched. How people spoke. What they wore. What gestures they used. True, she could’ve stayed in the van and gathered all the information she needed - there was enough material shown that it would have been done with ease. There was, however, something to be said about really getting out there and enjoying what people did. Who they were.

With her friendly persona in place, it hadn’t taken her long to make friends, hear some gossip. So she’d gotten her nails done, leaned back in her chair, and listened. Apparently Deelio had gotten more interest as a potential model than as a Jedi apprentice, and she’d giggle and sigh longingly with the best of them as she listened. There were already knifing posters of him - and some very creative photo manipulations of him on the holonet. Approaching him as an awestruck fan (which he’d been proven to deal with poorly) wasn’t the way to go. She needed that air of desperation. That’s what he’d respond to. After her time out, she’d sequestered herself away in the nearly microscopic back of the van, and had prepared herself.

When she emerged again, she’d be a lovely, delicate lavender, reminiscent of the sky at twilight. Another body paint job - Twi’leks came in all colors, and it was something she was able to use to her advantage. Not that her own lovely shade of jade was particularly rare, but she would rather be safe than sorry later. She’d used contacts again, turning her eyes into a very deep blue, so deep they bordered on purple. With a heavy clock thrown over her form, it was hard to tell how she was built under it, or what she even wore. She had been careful to contour her face with make up - making the hollows under her cheekbones stark, giving her face a hint of haughtiness. She’d kept the long lashes of the Lula-Lee persona, thickened them - thinned her brows to aristocratic arches. Everything about her now reeked of “embittered noble”, with the exception of the softness of her eyes. That had been deliberate - the haughtiness was meant to catch Deelio’s attention; the softness under was meant to endear him to her. It’d be easy enough, really.

As Raeth slid into the passenger’s seat, she eyed him with a raised brow and tightened lips, before turning her attention back on the road. In the past few days, his antics had ranged from the obnoxious to the attention-grabbing, and she’d fielded them off with the same passive face. If she kept it up, she figured that he’d get the point that he couldn’t get a rise of her and ease off.

Apparently she thought wrong.

“Track me with them, then,” she said, her voice flat, her native accent gone. In its place was a variation on his Core world accent, just a bit rougher around the edges. This close to her, he could smell the high quality perfume she’d picked just for this role, see the pricey make up she’d used on her eyes, lips, cheeks, the valuable gems that collected at her throat and encircled her forehead. “But be discreet. It simply won’t do to have a fly gadding about my head constantly.” Her fingers tightened on the steering column as she took them around a curve. Her fingers were highlighted by various rings, the stones catching the light and sending it back out in rainbow waves.

Once they landed, she would take the opportunity to distance herself from the van; set herself up for a "chance" meeting between herself and Deelio. She had to catch his eye, make him revert to whatever conditioning he'd had on Hapes. It shouldn't be too hard, she mused. From there, she'd slip him a note and wait. Not that notes would be uncommon for him nowadays, but the mystery, yes, that would catch his attention.

Earlier, when Saudaji took it upon herself to help raise the prices of their Zeltros cargo, Raeth stood back and watched her work. Damn, she was good. She really milked the Lula-Lee character, the outfit and all of the exposed flesh to her advantage. Then she repeated her performance by helping him acquire the Rape Van. Specifically, she played a critical role in convincing the speedster salesman not to take down their information and enter it into his company’s database.

The guy succumbed to Saudaji’s sexy cowgirl act so well that Raeth imagined he could’ve asked for extras, like a new paint job. But he didn’t push his luck. In fact,
“Bawb” took “Lula-Lee” by the arm, gently, and lead her out of the dealership before she enveloped the poor man in more of her feminine charm.

“Easy, girl,” he said to her in a smooth Chandrilan accent. “Save some of that energy for the Hapan.” Raeth grinned at her, but on the inside he was actually bummed out. For whatever reason, she continued to give him the cold soldier, while she flaunted her gifts and flirted with two complete strangers there on Thyferra. He wished she would flirt with him. At the very least, he would have liked it if she laughed at his jokes, or did something other than give him that pointed stare that told him she wanted to be anywhere but near him.

He thought about what he could do to get her to warm up to him again. Ideas of things he could try swirled around his constantly busy mind as they broke in the newly-purchased Rape Van by flying it around Xucphra a couple of times.


*****


For the next few days, Raeth attempted to distract himself from his Saudaji’s cold shoulder by diving headfirst into their work. It turned out Saudji immersed herself in the work as well, but for different reasons. While he assembled and wired the Rape Van’s data and surveillance equipment, Saudaji focused on the physical labor. When Raeth and Sebastian v2 weren’t bickering, Sebastian would work with her to haul this, weld that, or work work on the Rape Van’s engines or repulsors.

During the downtime, Sebastian would fetch them refreshments. Raeth usually intercepted Sebastian before the droid could give Saudaji hers, so that Raeth would be the one to deliver drinks or snacks to her instead. He found any excuse he could to get closer to her, and to try and strike up conversation with her. Unfortunately, his efforts were met with more of her chilly treatment.

Raeth didn’t give up, however. He continued to try and charm her with his antics, or kept trying to goad her into some laughter. Also, he would watch her from a distance, admiring how her body moved, how certain parts of her tightened or coiled while she worked. He savored the sight of her re-colored skin. He watched her work while running through the memories of the times Saudaji touched him and looked at him with something akin to affection.

Eventually, he tried a different approach. Raeth had Sebastian fetch them a Xucphra City swamp grass pie. The name didn’t sound at all appetizing, but it was actually one of the most popular local dishes in Thyferra. “Swamp grass” was the colloquial term for a vegetable that only grew on Thyferra, and the swamp grass pie was essentially a thin, vegetable quiche that you were supposed to eat with your bare hands, rather than with a knife and fork.

It was late in the afternoon, and they were about to wrap up work on the RV that day. Sebastian, who exhibited its customary efficiency and sass, followed Raeth’s order to get them a whole swamp grass pie. Raeth took it, picked up a case of chilled, flavored water, found Saudaji by the van, and presented her with his bounty.

“Swamp grass pie. Have you tried it yet? If not, would you like to split this with me?”

That was out of character for Raeth. He came to her without a joke, without a lewd suggestion, or without his customary cockiness. He simply wanted to sit next to her and share some swamp grass pie with her. He even recommended that they climb on top of the RV and watch the neighborhood around them while they ate.
The real kicker was that if Saudaji accepted his offer of his company and the local treat, he would actual stay pretty quiet throughout the meal. Reluctantly, he acknowledged that Saudaji game him the cold shoulder when he acted as he normally did. Maybe it wasn’t him that pissed her off. Maybe she just valued the quiet? It seemed like a long shot, but Raeth was willing to give it a shot.

If Saudaji accepted, then the two of them would sit on top of the Rape Van, quietly enjoy their pie and flavored water, and observe how Xucphra City behaved towards the end of a day. If Saudaji declined, then Raeth would sit on top of the van and do all these things, alone.


*****


“I suspect you would make anything look good,” Raeth said to her after he saw Saudaji for the first time in her new disguise. Lula-Lee was gone, the country girl replaced by an uptown woman. Raeth thought Saudaji was gorgeous no matter what get-up she wore. He did not say that to her in so many words, but the way he stared at her, the way his gaze took its time traveling from her lekku down to her shoes, then back up again made it clear what he was thinking.

“Comm check. One, two, three,”. He spoke into his headset, making sure that Saudaji could hear him in her ear piece, and that she could hear him clearly.

Raeth took a seat at one of the two data stations within the Rape Van. Sebastian - who, surprisingly, was a competent driver – was behind the wheel. The agent swung open the two back doors of their mobile base, revealing the inside of the multi-level parking structure where they decided they would drop Saudaji off for her operation. The level where they parked was practically empty of other vehicles, and the structure itself was close to the Jedi, Deelio Spier’s, position.

Once Saudaji stepped out of the van, Raeth wheeled his chair to the back of the van to address her one last time for now. “Unless you give me the signal to stop, I’ll have surveillance on you throughout the night. Sebastian has been instructed to keep us within a 2 block radius from your position at all times.

“So remember,” his playful smirk re-emerged after nearly a day of Raeth acting uncharacteristically quiet and professional. “If you feel things are getting critical, just give us the signal, and the Rape Van will come to your rescue.”

The real Raeth couldn’t stay away too long.

With those last words of encouragement, Saudaji made her way to the elevator, Raeth shut the van doors, and the RV took the skies. The first, crucial phase of their first assassination mission was finally under way.

How gentle is the rain
That falls softly on the meadow,
Alderaan nightbirds high up the trees
Serenade the clouds with their melodies…

The radio was perpetually tuned to an Oldies station as Saudaji worked. If Raeth’d listened, or rather, paid attention, he’d probably be surprised that she knew most, if not all, of the songs that came up on rotation. Now, the quaintly foggy sounds of an all girl group poured forth, still audible over the sound of Saudaji moving machinery around. A delightful contradiction; the muscular Twi’lek quietly singing along to the hyper feminine love song. The song itself was in Basic, backed up by a very minimal band. Sounded like at least three girls - two engaged in complex background singing, with the third taking the lead on the vocals. A typical sound of at least 4, maybe 5 decades past.

Oh, you hold me in your arms,
And say once again you love me, min larel
And if your love is true,
Everything will be just as wonderful…

With the occasional old Correllian phrase thrown in, the song wove older harmonic sensibilities with the current ones. A creative mish-mash to be sure.

Whenever Raeth came around, she did the “polite” thing and turned down the radio, but never turned it entirely off. In their brief conversations, the music filtered through, a pop undercurrent to their underlying tension. It was hard for her to accept anything from him without suspecting an ulterior motive - but she’d eaten and drank with him, her attention usually on the music, as low as it was. It was nice to have the distraction - and it somewhat lessened the tension between them.

At least in the sense that it “melted” her a bit. She didn’t fall for his jibes, and barely cracked a smile when he was around. But there was a slight drop in the tenseness of her shoulders, a relaxing of her body language that suggested that she didn’t entirely hate him - but she was treating him with the same professionalism that she would anyone else. He’d proven to her prior that he was not going to be a comrade in arms as she had (naively, on her part, she was willing to admit) assumed he would be.

But still….

There was something childishly sincere in his approaches. For one, he didn’t go away. Like, ever. He didn’t quite hover, but he never was entirely too far from where she was. From a distance, he’d watch her (she could feel his eyes, but preferred to focus on the task at hand, or the music. She could always count on the music to pull her from it), and, just once, she’d caught him ambushing Sebastian, absconding with the droid’s offerings of food and drink, straighten himself out, and then waltz over to her like it’d been his idea the entire time. She fought with herself then, to bite back a smile.

As much as she wanted to continue to mistrust him, it was hard not to at least acknowledge his efforts.

As the ballad wound down, it was neatly replaced with the faster drum beats and percussion of yet another girl group, this song, however, was Twi’leki.

Twi’leki music had always been popular to one degree or the other, but around 4 decades ago, it’d finally made it mainstream, and became a steady fixture in the popular radio shows. This one, with it’s Basic title translated something roughly to, “Primed for Love”, was uptempo, featured a lusher band than the song prior, and killer harmonies. No small wonder that Twi’leks were often seen solely as entertainers. Saudaji paused for a moment, a line deepening in front of her left brow. She watched the radio, as if listening for a deeper message, her normal pensive expression falling to something close to pain. Closing her eyes, she turned away from the radio and back to her work.

They were nearly finished, and she was wedged underneath the RV, making sure that the connections in the undercarriage were up to snuff. The RV wasn’t quite the piece of osik that it looked, but there was a lot of mechanical maintenance that needed to be done. That, well, she knew how to do, and had thrown herself into it with great alacrity. Compared to Raeth, she seemed primitive in her handling of mechanics. She was no droid expert or tinkerer, but a bit of mechanical know-how was needed to simply survive where she was from. Sometimes living another day depended on how quickly she could hot-wire a speeder.

“Wowie wow wow, those Twi’lek girls were somethin’ else! This is Howlin’ Wolf Man Sshrivak, the Shistavanen with the Stylin’ Sass! I’ll be bringin’ more of that Twi’leki sound from the urban centers of Kala’uun all this afternoon! Next up is Mar’thia Rees and the Vandilas with “Love is like the Bright Lands”!”

As Raeth approached, the next song started, introduced by what sounded like hand clapping. His question nearly drowned out by the strong voice of Mar’thia, she crawled from under the RV, smeared with grease, and turned it down.

“What?” Her voice held her familiar accent now; no need to be playing a different persona. The blue paint had begun to rub off, and now she looked as if she was wearing a strange form of camouflage; green, blue, and smears of dark oil covered her bare arms. She had a bit of a gash on one arm that lazily oozed red, and her hands, even with the fingerless gloves she wore, had scores of small scratches. He repeated his question as she wiped the sweat from her face with a disturbingly dirty rag, nearly black from constant use.

“Can’t say that I have,” and she turned to face him, wiping her fingers from filthy to slightly less filthy. She thought the radio was still up too loud - there was no joke, no sarcasm, no unabashed eye-fucking. She raised a brow, looking at him, then the pie, then the water, then back at him. In the few moments before she answered, her stomach rumbled audibly. She shook her head, betrayed. “Sounds good. I’ll be up in a minute.”

A few moments later, she’d climbed to the top of the RV, freshly scrubbed. With it being so late in the day, she figured she’d call it quits for the time being - and if she got the itch again, she could always call down a light and work in the darkness. For the time being, though, she’d indulged in a very quick shower, and came up cleaner, but without her trademark scented oils. No heavy feminine wiles - just the clean efficiency of a warrior. She sat next to him, then eyed the edge of the RV. “Wait a moment,” and she climbed down, quick as a wink. Dashing to the radio, she turned it up so they could hear it on top of the RV. Climbing back up, she scooted to the edge of the RV so that her legs could hang over the edge. Looking behind her, she gestured for him to join her on the edge.

With the tray and glasses between them, they sat together, in the muted twilight of the city, and ate. The Twi’leki girl groups continued to serenade them about the trails of love lost and gained.

_______

With her new disguise up, Saudaji was still attempting to figure out who this woman was. At Raeth’s comment, she shook her head, the diadems shaking and shivered in the light. Although the only part of her outfit that was clearly visible were her shoes, it was clear that she’d taken out considerable time and care in picking them out. They were elegant gold heels, with long thin straps that would wind their way around her calves. The straps across her narrow feet were minutely and tastefully studded with deep amber gems - they looked like they would cost enough to keep a small family fed for at least a week. “Looked” was the prime word - in reality, they were flawless knock-offs. Although money wasn’t an issue on the mission, well, she was frugal at heart. The clock was also of heavy, fine material - a deep violet velvet that flattered her new skin color, and was trimmed in fine Naboo guarlara fur, a silky black.

“Comm check, 1, 2. I hear you clearly,” she answered, her accent settled now. There was still that edge of roughness around the edges - deliberate to suggest a hard childhood and a recent purchase into high class, with all of the elocution lessons that went with it. She stood now, stretching a little, trying out the heels with a simple walk forward. Her gait slowed, she lifted her head, neck, shoulders, into a rigid straight line. In just a few moments, she had the walk of the upper class of Xucphra City nailed.

Neatly, she pulled up the hood of the cloak, somewhat masking her face but for the faint traces of her profile.

Rolling her eyes at his parting comment, she took a deep breath, and stepped from the garage out into the streets.

_________

There’s blending in to be unrecognized, and then there’s blending in to stand out. The violet of Saudaji’s cloak wasn’t an uncommon color planetside, but the way she carried herself had people turning to look, to follow with their eyes. She wound easily through crowds, properly effecting the somewhat mincing walk of the upper class, as if she was afraid to get her shoes dirty from the mere act of walking. The Jedi would be winding down one of the last talks for the day, and as she got closer to the five star hotel that they were staying at (because far be it from the Jedi to enjoy “normal” accommodations), the crowds grew thicker.

She’d stand in among throngs of people, listening, watching. True to what she suspected, Deelio lingered behind, ambushed by women. She pressed closer, curious - she wanted to see how he was reacting. And, as she thought, he reacted accordingly - his cheeks were flushed, and the harder he pressed through to the hotel, the more embarrassed he seemed to become. He was unused to all of the attention, and the raw sexual energy that wafted off of the women in the crowd overwhelmed his senses.

She wound her way through the crowd, following alongside him, waiting. Master Virak was unfazed by the crowd, the very picture of Jedi calm. His hood was down. The security detail on them was scant - trailing in front of the Master to open the hotel doors for them. He seemed exasperated; unused to dealing with a security detail, as light as it was. And, more importantly, he didn’t turn to look to see if Deelio was right behind him. Saudaji watched, her eyes thoughtful. In the earlier broadcast she’d watched, the two stood side by side, and seemed to be on friendly terms. Now the master trailed several paces in front - did something happen? Or was this the true colors of their relationship?

Master Virak entered, waving away the guards. They looked at each other, abashed, before heading in after him. Deelio looked up, and there was the quickest expression of anguish before he picked up the pace, gently pushing through the crowd with polite admonitions.

“Oh, ma’am, that’s flattering, but I can’t…Jedi order…No, sorry, but thank you…I’m sorry….”

He was still unflaggingly polite to the women - and this close, Saudaji already knew that one of her earlier assumptions was wrong. This one wasn’t haughty; probably didn’t come from any of the nobility. What that left her with was the Hapan norm of men as secondary citizens, and she could see the warring emotions on his face.


She watched a few moments longer, before breaking through the thinning crowd. With the Jedi clearly calling it for the night, the crowd (not that it was expressly large to begin with), began to thin out at an alarming rate, leaving just a few beings behind with their guitars and flowers. She had to time this just….right. Deelio paused, using the break to steel himself and center his emotions. As he reached for the door, his hands shook. She broke through the crowd, as if they were holding her back, and ran squarely into the large frame of the Hapan male.

Her attitude was that of flustered annoyance.

“Oh, I am so sorry….” Her voice was muffled, as her head was tilted down. Intentional, of course. She was fumbling through the pockets of her cloak. “It’s been bloody impossible to get in and out of my room with all of these crowds around,” and there was a clear note of frustration in her voice, frustration, slight concern. “They say they shored up the security, but, oh, my, listen to me just prattle on and you’re trying to get to your room!”

“Oh, no, ma’am, it was my mistake, I was standing in front of the door,” his words came through in a rush, stumbling over one another.

“No no no no, you’re fine,” she laughed, lightly, the sound soothing after the frenzied screams of the crowd. At this point she’d look up, the hood of her cloak falling back from her face. Deelio was looking away, up, at his hands, anywhere but at the woman in front of him, before her slight gasp caught his attention.

There was always a moment when Saudaji knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her hook had caught. And watching his eyes widen when she finally made eye contact was all of example she needed. Deelio wouldn’t gawk at her or look at her lewdly - he was too much of a Jedi for that. But he would pause, his breath would quicken, and his flushed face darkened just a bit further. The tips of his pale ears turned a slight shade of pink, and his cornflower blue eyes strayed, stayed, just a little too long on her mouth before looking to the inside of the hotel as he opened the door.

“Oh my, my, I am so sorry I held you here with my rambling, young Master,” and her voice became polite deferment. She wasn’t breathless, wasn’t too eager. That wouldn’t catch him.

“No, ma’am, I was in the way of the door,” he finally stammered out, holding the door open wider for her.

They stood there for a moment, her hand delicately clasped in front of her mouth, holding her key card. With the hood of her cloak down, her lekku showed, wrapped with fine gold vines with paper thin gold leaves. The gold wrap met in the center of her forehead, held in place with a fire amber that seemed to flicker with a warm golden life all its own. In her ears hung long amber drops. A wafting of her sweet floral perfume - simply put, she looked all the world a beautiful model, almost too beautiful to be real.

Before long, she started laughing, covering her mouth with her closed fist that held the key card, her eyes closing. Deelio, startled at first, joined in shortly, still holding the door, still waiting.

“We must look a sight,” Saudaji said, her laughter easing off into sweet cadence - something, ironically, that she had borrowed from those Twi’leki girl groups. She sounded gentle, refined; so feminine that she might just float away on the simple sugar spun nature of her voice, a voice that sounded more suited to song than regular speech. Deelio stared openly now. Looking up at him, a sweet smile on her face and in her eyes, she spoke again. “Do you mind terribly if I enter? I’d like to catch a spot of dinner before it gets too late. The land shrimp here is absolutely delightful.”

Deelio, startled out of whatever daydream he may have been in, flushed a deeper pink, and let her enter. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m not usually this bad.”

“Think nothing of it,” she said as she slipped past him. “I do hope you have a wonderful evening, young Master,” she called over her shoulder as she strolled in.

He stared after her, dumbstruck.
____________

She’d set up the room prior, had her earlier purchases sent there. She’d insisted on one of the finest suites; something that would befit her station in life. That, and the idea that she’d be “entertainment” for the night. People paid top dollar for well-trained Twi’lek entertainers, something she had an edge over her Zeltron sister. Working alongside Raeth, she’d cultivated a reputation for this persona, drummed up some excitement, some press. And played on the eagerness of Xucphra City’s officials to accommodate the Jedi as much as possible, to placate the citizens as well.

It wasn’t entirely uncommon for beleaguered cities to round up “Good Will Shows” - using banking on the hottest jizz bands and other entertainment to keep the masses content. While Xucphra City was a little late on the uptake for this trend, they’d accepted her offer gratefully. The politics behind it were interesting - each side wanted to outbid the other by the entertainment, their offers to tempt the Jedi to their side. Though it was said that the Jedi couldn’t be swayed, it didn’t keep people from becoming incredibly “creative” in their methods. She was supposedly a neutral party; drawn to the city for the cause for peace, which would automatically put her in the good graces with the Jedi.

It was evident that she wasn’t the only person who’d thought of that angle - as she approached her room, she was nearly inundated with the messages, gifts (from flowers to jewelry) sitting outside of her room. Side-stepping them, she entered her suite. It was beyond luxurious - black marble floored keyed to base the room’s temperature off of the caress of her bare feet, deep sunken tub, gauzy curtains over the massive windows with a perfect view of the city. Room service included, if she so wished, a personal chef that would come to her room and prepare her food in front of her, to spare her the riff-raff of the other hotel goers.

And it just so happened that her suite was on the same floor as the Jedi. This floor was saved for the top guests; considered a well kept secret of the hotel. The floor they were on didn’t even have a button on the lift.

Sliding off her cloak, she stepped into the bathroom, sat down on one of the ornate chairs (the bathroom itself was comprised of two rooms - an entrance/sitting room, and then the shower / tub itself in a separate one that also allowed for a wonderful view of the city), and established contact with Raeth.

“I’m in.”

_____________

Deelio idly drummed his fingers against his leg, staring out at the city. He knew better. He shouldn’t be thinking about the lady he’d met earlier. It had to have been just curiosity. He’d never seen a Twi’lek that color - or really, had seen a Twi’lek woman that wasn’t a Jedi that close before. She didn’t seem any different from another Twi’lek he’d seen, but there was just something about her that captured his idle thoughts. Maybe because she was the first woman he’d seen on the planet who didn’t send off shockwaves of lust? Not at all. She seemed….nice. Like she would listen to him. That she actually respected him being a jedi. She’d called him “Young Master”, not by his name. That was nice.

“Daydreaming again?” Master Virak’s voice cut through, and Deelio turned from his view of the window.

“No, nothing like that. Thinking about dinner; I’m starved,” he offered, forcing a note of friendliness in his voice. Master Virak was a…harsh man. Though he cast the impression of being wise, Deelio knew that beneath it all, Virak had a temper that he sometimes had a hard time controlling. Zabraks were notorious for being war mongers, and the idea of one as a Jedi Master seemed…unnatural. And as Deelio had gotten older, he realized he could actually talk to Virak less and less. Any confidence between the two was turned into endless drills. There was no way he could tell the older man that he was thinking about….women.

“Dinner should be offered within a few hours, if you can wait,” Virak said, after a long pause. If he could sense his apprentice’s unease, he didn’t say anything or react to it.

“That’s good,” Deelio responded, twisting around to face Virak. The Hapan male was built densely, with wheat colored hair and clear blue eyes. “The crowds are very…draining to be around,” he finally offered. He had to figure out some sort of way to get his head clear, and every time he closed his eyes for mediation, he kept thinking about that Twi’lek woman. Who she was. What she was going in the hotel. Maybe she was a dancer? He hadn’t heard good things about Twi’leks outside of the Order, but she didn’t seem anything like that.

“I could sense that,” Virak said, a wry smile on his face. “You certainly seem to be popular with the women here.”

Deelio blushed, looked down.

“I suspected something like this would happen. Do you know the reason why I walked so far ahead of you this evening?”

Deelio looked up, a question in his eyes.

“To test you,” Virak finally supplied as he sat across from his apprentice, folding his hands within the sleeves of his robe. “To see if you could keep focus when dealing with the rawest of emotion.” Virak himself never seemed troubled by lust - though it was extremely rare that he was the object of it.

Deelio felt a flash of resentment that was quickly overpowered by feeling contrite. How could he be mad at his master? Master Virak, no matter how harsh, only had his best interest in mind. He would do well not to forget that.

“And I think that you succeeded, but you need to learn to focus more. As I said, dinner is in a few hours. Until then, mediate. Clear your mind. There will be more of this for you to deal with, and you must learn to master your emotions. You are no longer a Hapan male, but a Jedi in training. All that was taught to you before the Jedi teachings are no more. You must discard them like trash.”

“…Yes, Master.”

The time that Raeth and Saudaji spent together on top of the RV instantly became one of the agent’s fondest memories. At the time, he played it cool. His demeanor made it look as though this experience was just the two of them sitting and eating together, listening to music, and unwinding after another long day of work.

On the inside though, he was going crazy. When Saudaji sat at the edge of the RV’s roof then gestured for him to join her, he exulted. It had been a week of her acting cold towards him, and now she finally accepted his company for more than just a few minutes. If being quiet for a few minutes, holding back his jokes, and taking a break from trying to get a rise out of her lead to more time like this with Saudaji, then he would gladly pay that toll.

For once, when Raeth thought about Saudaji, he did not immediately bring up a mental playback of the times that they fucked. Instead, he thought about sitting next to her on the roof. Her legs dangling over the side. Both of them eating one of the planet’s favorite dishes and cooling off with chilled water. Neither of them saying much, or anything, while Twi’leki music filled the air around them.

This was what the agent was thinking about when Sebastian v2, who was behind the controls of the RV, parked on the roof of a structure barely a block away from Saudaji’s current position. Raeth, who was seated at the data & communication station, had his attention split between multiple things. He watched the images and the information that moved upon the screens and the holograms in front of him. He remembered that meal with Saudaji. And he thought about what he could get for Saudaji and him to eat the next time they sat atop the RV. He was also humming the tune of the song that played while the two of them ate their first slices of swamp grass pie.

Raeth was in the middle of reliving that pleasant memory for perhaps the hundredth time when Sebastian chimed in.

“Master, if you can take a moment to stop humming, you’ll notice that we’re in position.”

“Mute your voicebox, Sebastian, or I’ll mute it for you, permanently!” Raeth snapped. The sudden, irritated response not only surprised the droid, but it surprised Raeth a bit, too. He made himself calm down, and reminded himself that Sebastian was only following instructions.

“I know where we are, Sebastian. And I have eyes on Saudaji.” The equipment organized in front of him supplied him with a wealth of information, all of it intended to help guide him to another successful mission. Raeth currently had two insect-like spy drones following Saudaji from the skies. He programmed two to follow her so he could see her and her surroundings from multiple angles. Besides, he could send one of the drones after a different target in an instant without worrying about losing all surveillance on the Twi’lek.

Having his tiny, robot insects following Saudaji through a busy city was simple enough, for the city provided plenty of vantage points and hiding spots. On top of that, Raeth had redundant surveillance systems in place, each of which Saudaji was informed of. One of her earrings had a diminutive camera hidden within it. Raeth also supplied her with purses that contained camera of their own. In terms of audio, Raeth could either listen in on what was going on through the sound-capturing equipment installed in the spy drones, or he could listen in on what her ear piece picked up.

Saudaji was covered from multiple angles. Provided Saudaji did not deactivate all of the surveillance equipment herself, or an electromagnetic bomb went off in the city, the agent was not at all likely to lose track of the Twi’lek.

Raeth made himself comfortable and watched Saudaji work. What he saw truly impressed him. There was a subtlety, attention to detail, and forward thinking in her plan vs. the Jedi apprentice that caused a smile to linger upon Raeth lips the whole time he watched.

“The poor fellow doesn’t know what he’s in for,” he chuckled to himself as he watched Saudaji initiate contact with Deelio Spiers. Raeth got himself some popcorn and continued watching the show.


*****


“I’m in.” Raeth heard Saudaji check in, and immediately he responded. His voice, his Core World accent, and the boyish giddiness he felt when he was on the job all
came through clearly in Saudaji’s comm.

“Fine, fine work so far, Saudaji. But don’t get cocky,” he joked. She could hear the smile in his voice. It was funny that he, of all people, jokingly warned her not to let her ego get the better of her.

“I’ve been re-watching the way you introduced yourself to Handsome Hap.” ‘Handsome Hap’ was the nickname he gave to Deelio. “I’ve pinpointed the exact instant in which he became so captivated by you that he questioned his decision to join the Jedi Order and give up the pursuit of life’s finer things.” He was exaggerating, of course, but he was serious when he complimented her work thus far.

“I can send the replay to your pad, if you like.” If Saudaji said ‘yes’, all she had to do was take out her pad, and she would see that Raeth already sent the spy drone-recorded video to her. He even did some basic edits of the footage; namely zooming close on faces, and clearing up some of the background artifacts.

“Who taught you how to honeypot this well?” Raeth asked her. Was that the sound of genuine interest she heard on the comm? “More to the point, who taught you how to honeypot a Jedi? I hate to admit it, but even I never seriously considered the merits of getting under a Jedi’s skin by first getting into their pants.
Regardless of how Saudaji reacted to Raeth’s questions, the next thing they would talk about would be Saudaji’s latest fake identity – rising star and Twi’lek enchantress, Dian’La Rosilson. With Saudaji in her spacious suite, and Raeth working out of the less-than-spacious RV, they went over Saudji’s role as Dian’La and the things that Raeth had done to support her.

“Take a look at this: this is the ad I plan on sending to Virak’s protocol droid, as well as the VP of Public Relations at Xucphra. Tell me what you think.” The ad that Raeth talked about appeared on Saudaji’s inbox, which she could open with her datapad. The ad was a holographic poster. It was tasteful, appropriately glitzy, and overall looked damned good, especially considering the performer that Saudaji pretended to be did not exist a week ago.

The ad show a fabricated picture of Dian’La wearing a sparkling , ankle-length dress, and striking a classic ‘I’m in heaven when I sing!’ pose: her face and one outstretched arm were pointed at the sky, and she had a look on her face that spoke of a pleasure that can only be felt through the passion of performing arts. Earlier that week, Raeth asked her to make that pose and hold it while he took a bunch of pictures. There were several other instances of Raeth asking Saudaji to sing this, pose like that, or to do something else while he took pictures of recorded video, and Saudaji did not need to ask to know all these things were being used to create her new persona.

How did Raeth put all this shit together in such a short amount of time?
Instead of sleeping the past several nights, Raeth stayed up creating evidence of Dian’La Rosilson’s existence, with a focus on her recent, meteoric rise in the night club scene. He created reviews that raved about Dian’La’s debut performance at the Glitterdust, a posh, Hutt-owned night club located on the resort planet of Meeyamee. He put together a video package that, along with bribery and other creative coercion, made Dian’La Rosilson secured her a gig right there in Xucphra City.

“Look at this,” he said, sounding gleeful, before emailing her another file. This file was a still image, in which Dian’La Rosilson was posing for a picture with Fengil the Hutt, a renowned real estate mogul and owner of some of the hottest casinos and night clubs within the Mid Rim. In the picture, Saudaji / Dian’La were beaming at the camera, and Fengil the Hutt had one of his slimy, spongy hands on her hip.
“Oh! And take a look at this.” A tiny chime from Saudaji’s datapad indicated that Raeth had just sent her something else. This time, he sent her a hyperlink that, when tapped, would open the holonet site (netsite) he wanted to show her. The netsite that appeared was the popular social media site, Blabber. Specifically, the link brought up the Blabber page for Dian’La Rosilson, completely with several weeks’ worth of blabs. The most recent Dian’La blabs were about the current struggles in Thyferra.

“Stay strong, Thyferrans!” One of her fake tweets read. “Why can’t the galaxy’s disputes be solved through music? I’m here to try.” There was a long list of appropriately sappy tweets like this, along with the obligatory food posts and memes that Dian’La liked.

If Saudaji asked him how he could have created a Blabber profile for a character that wasn’t real, complete with blabs that dated back months ago and a few thousand followers, Raeth would smile and show off his know-how.

“Most blabs are predictable and hollow. After all, you can’t really say anything deep when you’re limited to 140 characters.

I studied the blabs from some of the galaxy’s most popular celebrities, and with that data I wrote an algorithm that can write an infinite number of blabs. I then installed that program into Sebastian, and let him go crazy morning, noon, and night. I might have to create other Blabber accounts for Sebastian to run, after we complete this mission.

“That covers the hard part. The rest, like changing the blab time stamps and buying you a few thousand followers, was child’s play.”

From her singing gig to her online presence, Raeth and Saudaji went over the current status of this disguise. The most important thing they discussed was the fact that Saudaji would be performing at a high-class event that Master Virak and his apprentice, Deelio, were expected to attended. Everything was in place to for Dian’La to meet the Jedi face-to-face so that she could work her magic on them.

Her reflection in the mirror was calm, composed. Elegant, even. She turned this way and that as she listened to Raeth, a bit more focused on studying herself than what he was saying. The face in the mirror was vaguely recognizable as herself. Without the long scar, she found herself vaguely lost, as if trying to come to terms with the elegant shadow her reflection showed her. Her fingertips grazed the side of her face, trailed down across her lips, feather light, taking care not to muss her makeup.

Most of Raeth’s chatter could be ignored. It sounded like he was back up to his usual tricks. “I don’t need to see the footage,” she said, rolling her eyes. With that expression, she could at least recognize herself, through the patina of makeup and contacts. Really, a playback of her earlier encounter with Deelio truly wasn’t needed. She had memorized it, savored in how his gaze had trailed to her mouth, had paused there. Truthfully, there was something charming in the fact that Deelio’s eyes had ended up there. He wouldn’t have dreamed of trying to make out the lines of her body under her cloak - but a kiss? Yes, that was well within his range of imagination…It was cute. Something that never really got old. She’d worked this way before, but there was that “quaint” nature to Jedi that always made them a fun mark. Knowing better than to be flattered, she took it for face-value; it meant that she was already successful in what would be a long-term job. Any woman could get a man to make a sexual pass at her. It took real skill to make him long without so much as a touch.

She snorted at his honey-pot question - and that would suffice for his answer. He didn’t give away his trade secrets, and she wasn’t about to do to the same. Really, it was a very simple answer - Jedi tended to focus on negative emotions as the source of the Dark Side and to guard against. Not to get angry. With most Jedi considering themselves warriors, it would make sense to constantly be on guard for the excesses of rage. Not to get depressed. Not to let their minds wander. Lust, love, sex - those usually never crossed the mind of Jedi Masters. It was a fairly obvious, and critical, chink in their armor. If a woman (or, really, man) wanted to take down a Jedi by using their body alone, they’d be in for failure. No, the key was winding their way into emotions. Becoming whatever that Jedi might find “loveable” - usually, it was a one-sided facade. An image of purity. An island in the stormy harbor of war and training and meditation. The promise of the meeting of the mind and the body; a “chosen” way to explore much repressed physical desires.

The vague answer of “attachment” usually was interpreted as not to start a family outside of the Jedi - which, in its own way, was contradictory. The Jedi Order was a collection, a close knit group, of people who trained, slept, ate, lived together. Relationships formed. Anything outside of the Order was considered bad. It reeked of elitism, and was simply unrealistic.

Her datapad (which she’d brought in, under her cloak) chimed at her. She’d brought it in the bathroom with her, figuring that she’d do some light “reading” between her appointments and vocal practices. If she was going to sell the “Dian’La Rosilson” persona, she knew there would be more legwork in it for her. Namely, a lot of elbow rubbing with the other guests and entertainers as they came into the hotel and began to set up. There was rehearsal, a group dinner, the list went on.

“It looks excellent,” she said. “I’m glad that the photos came out better than I originally suspected that they would.” She hated. Absolutely hated. Posing for anything. Holos of her were exceedingly rare - and there was something foolish about the very nature of modeling for anything. She’d suffer through the “shoot” (and the inevitable teasing from Raeth), trying gamely to turn her grimace into a smile. When he wasn’t looking, she’d use her down-time to practice her performances; gestures, expressions, the timbre of her voice. “Go ahead and send it out to the protocol droid.”

Studying her nails, she then glanced to the chrono on the bathroom wall. Shabla. 1300 already. Nearly cutting him off during his explanation of the Blabber account, she butted in, “I’ve got to get going. Dian’La has rehearsal at 1330. Dian’La out.” She cut the communication there, and leaned back. With a long sigh, she began rummaging through drawers. Might as well freshen up.
_________

Drifting through the great expanse of space, he was always taken aback by how utterly silent everything was. Sparkling lights of the cities gave way to the rainbow smoke of nebulas, all arching around him, molding him in their infinite light. A deep breath, and he inhaled diaphanous trails of stardust, exhaling his inner light into the bosom of a supernova. Continuing to swim through the expanse of space, held closely within the heart of the universe, the various moons collected around his wrists, his ankles, glowing goblets of wavering light, trembling, before pouring that light onto him, through him. And through the unending wall of light, he stood, letting it all wash over him, and then…

Within the midst of the worlds, all of space and time, deep blue eyes called to him…

Deelio snapped out of his meditation, the afterimage of the Twi’lek woman he’d seen earlier that day burned into the backs of his eyelids. He blinked, once, twice, three times, and each time the shining glow of her form faded. He rubbed at his closed eyes with the back of his hand, bleary. How long had he spent in meditation?

“Ah, Deelio. You have good timing. We have,” there was a wry smile on Master Virak’s face, “been invited to a very exclusive dinner in our honor here at the hotel.” Master Virak stood above the young Hapan male, that perpetually slightly bemused expression etched into the leather of his face. He sat down on a divan not far from the seated Deelio, and folded his arms within the sleeves of his robe. Deelio couldn’t recall a time where Master Virak hadn’t sat like that.

“I suppose that was to be expected?” He wasn’t sure if Master Virak was goading him or looking for a particular answer. Did the Master know that he kept thinking about that woman? Who was she, anyway? What was the Force trying to tell him about her? She’d showed up in his meditation, but there wasn’t the same kick in the gut feeling, none of that queasiness when he was facing an enemy or something was wrong. No, this was soothing; wonderfully so….as if he’d been searching for a long time and was getting closer to his goal.

“It is,” Master Virak answered. “Beware of those looking to court us for favors. I applaud the City for holding this - it seems that it will be a part of a movement to keep the people’s spirits up,” and he allowed himself a thin smile. “But, I think for this evening, we should enjoy the food and the company.” Quiet as it was kept, Master Virak, despite all appearances, was a bit of a gourmand. Sensing this, Deelio gave his master a lopsided smile. “I assume that you are looking forward to the food?”

“Why else? I don’t listen to much music, but it seems that they will have several big acts. And it is always pleasing to have music with good food,” Master Virak added, his smile growing just a bit. In that raw moment, Deelio felt the urge to tell his master about the Twi’lek woman he’d seen; how the Force seemed to curl in around her.

“Master Virak…”

They were interrupted by the protocol droid walking in, in that slightly-off balance, arms out gait that all protocol droids used.

“Masters, I come with an invitation,” started the droid, holding out a datapad.

“Excellent!” Master Virak exclaimed. “We were just speaking of this.”

Deelio sat back, his moment of truth past.

____________

The afternoon rapidly turned into the evening. As the sun began to dip on the horizon, the hotel became alive, bustling with the well-to-do and the curious. Security had been bumped up considerably - from the two officers following the Jedi, the number had been increased to four. A massive ball room was cordoned off for the event, and outside of the closed doors, both the hotel staff and some of the “lesser” guests clustered about, hoping for a look. More than once, the head of security had to chase them away. The ballroom itself nearly took up an entire floor of the hotel, with yellow marble floors and pillars. The ceiling was painted to mimic the night sky, crystalline chandeliers made to look like constellations. The walls were the same pale yellow as the floor, highlighted with murals depicting the forests and greenery of the planet, done in sea gems and fine veins of gold.

Taking up at least a third of the floor, the stage was the focal point of the room, a large tan outcropping of smooth stone, made to faintly recall a mountain range. Rather than having a pit for the band, the back half of the stage was devoted to the seating orchestra, already starting to warm up. The orchestra itself was of a fairly impressive size - at least 90 different instruments could be accounted for. There was sufficient space in front of the stage for those who wished to dance - the dance floor was a gold-trimmed square, with tables on three of the four sides. Each table flickered with warm candlelight, sending butter yellow light across goldenrod table clothes, pristine white china and flawless silverware.

Master Virak and Deelio were escorted in through the side door - discreet enough to avoid overt attention, but once in the ball room, it was clear that they were meant as the guests of honor. Both had opted to keep their Jedi robes, as opposed to changing into something more casual, and they had hidden their lightsabers. They were almost hilariously out of place, compared to the glamour of the other guests, but were treated with a far greater sense of respect. An awestruck usher showed them to their table, a large curved affair in the direct line of the stage, separated only by the dance floor. As the chronos inched towards 1800, the orchestra’s music went from aimless turning towards an instrumental medley of some of the more popular hits, “My Spacelane Lover,” “Nights on Tatoonie,” and “Nightlily, Nightlily,” were just a few. Even some of the more vacuous songs of the day were given a sly element of class as the orchestra played on. The room was filling up now, beings inching towards their tables, chairs, ordering quietly as the overhead lights dimmed, and the center spot on the stage became brighter.

“Weeelllll, hellllloooo, all of your fine sentiennnnttssssssss,” a Togorian rasped seductively as she paced around the giant piano, making a slow, slide of an entrance.The natural rough timbre of her voice lent her Basic a purring quality, playful and seductive at the same time. The Togorian, however, was anything but - she was at least the size of a juvenile Wookie, covered in lush black fur with vivid gold eyes. Her large fingers gripped her microphone as delicately as she would a newborn kit. “I am the immesssurrrrable, the fantasssstical, the phenomenal Errrkitt, and it will be my pleasureeeeee to perfffforrrrmmm for you all,” her whiskers glinted silvery under the spotlight. Despite her size, she looked positively svelte in a clinging silver gown that sent sparks of light across the stage. Across the room, a table gave a particularly loud whistle, followed by a long cry of “EEEEERRRRRKKITTTTT! YEAH,” and she responded with a rumbling chuckle, tweaking her whiskers in a trademark gesture of amusement.

“Wellll, it would sssseeem that sssssome of you have gotten into the drinksssss rather sssssoooon,” and a gentle chuckle ran through the audience. “I’m verrrry pleassssed to be here today, to help all of you fine people to forget your worrrrrriesss.” She slunk across the front of the piano, before effortlessly sliding her bulk atop of it. “We’ll ssstttarrt off with one of my old favorites…”

The piano player, a somewhat diminutive (and made all the smaller compared to her size) Sallustian struck a note, before launching into the opening notes of that old torch classic, “I’ve Forgotten His Face,” earning a few rounds of applause from the audience. At the table with the Jedi, Master Virak had started on a first round of appetizers, barely acknowledging the tune. Deelio, slightly more socially aware, clapped awkwardly while trying to place his order at the same time.

Leaning over the piano, Errrkitt began to sing. True to her speaking voice, there was a growling purr to every note that, rather than sounding threatening, sounded as soothing as whispered words from a favorite courtesan. Backstage, “Dian’La” stood at the very edge of the corner, mesmerized by Errrkitt’s performance.

“Wow, can you believe it? I mean, THE Errrkitt!” she exclaimed, her polished accent slipping way to reveal an inner city Lessuan accent beneath it.

“That’s right, little lady,” purred a male Theelin, his spotted skin nearly luminescent under the faint backstage lights. He was a part of a quartet of Theelin and human males, The Vrelt Pack - notable for taking jizz sounds and blending them with slower sensibilities. He ambled closer, a Corellian martini in his left three-fingered hand. “She’s incredible, isn’t she?”

“Gosh, yeah, I mean, I grew up listening to her,” she gushed, finally turning to give him a good look. Part of her gushing wasn’t all that much of an act; the moment she saw Errrkitt’s name on the billing, she had gotten a little excited. The Togorian must’ve been past 60 standard cycles, but she still sounded and moved like she was 40 cycles younger. It truly was impressive. "I sure am glad I ain't goin' on after her, y'know?” At this point, the polished “Core” accent was dropped for the full “gutter snipe” accent of urban Lessu.

“You shouldn’t be off to too bad of a start, you got here, and you’re definitely a part of the New Twi’leki Heat Wave,” he said with a slight laugh, swirling his drink in its glass. He was amiable enough, with vivid blue eyes and soft crimson skin. The traditional “spots” that marked him as a Theelin were of a deep maroon, mottling the skin around his mouth.

The “New Twi’leki Heat Wave” he’d referred to was the outpouring of music and culture that had become mainstream years before - an offshoot of the oldies station that her and Raeth were listening to mere days ago. True, Twi’leki music had it’s genres and sub-genres, but any musician worth his salt could tell who was part of what. The “New Twi’leki Heat Wave” drew its inspiration from singers and groups of decades past, bringing a little more class and style to a music that had often gone the very sexually explicit. It was still fairly new on the music scene, but quickly gaining popularity, with its blend of nostalgia, playful elegance, and focus on pure vocal acrobatics.

She blushed a little. “My accent’s that bad, huh?”

“That Core World stuff works around most folks, but you don’t need it back here. Be yourself, kiddo,” he offered with a slight wink. His own Corellian working class accent was strong, and he was, quite frankly, unashamed of it. “I happen to like you working-class Twi’lek girls. Got a good head on your shoulders. Make the best of a bum deal, y’knno?”

Wild applause from the audience caused them both to stop, peek outside of the curtain. “It looks like we’re up,” and the Theelin gave a shrill whistle, his other act members dashing to the front. “Break a leg, doll-face. Ya at least got the support of the Vrelt Pack,” and he handed her his glass, before loosening his tie and strolling out to the stage as Errkitt was exiting.

Saudaji looked at the glass in her hand, and grinned a little, watching as the men made their way onto stage, each looking like he’d spent a late night out, their tuxedos ruffled, ties undone, hair slightly mused. One had the audacity to bring a hookah onto the stage. As the hookah bearing one took a long drag, the Theelin she was speaking with launched into his monologue. The act consisted of the men essentially harassing each other good-naturedly, interwoven with the occasional big jizz band sound, duets, singing contests. True showmen. Saudaji leaned back, enjoying the show from the wings. Assassin or not, there were some definite perks to the job.

__________

Her entrance wasn’t as openly planned as those of the Vrelt Pack - or as sensual as Errkitt’s. Dian’La was classy, and had to be seen as such. She’d dash onto a darkened stage, the curtain momentarily down. A barely audible count, then the start of the drum beats. She’d start clapping her hands shortly after, as the curtain rose. Once the curtain was up, the spotlight was on her, and it was go-time.

Her dress was of a pale pink satin, cut modestly - which did nothing to hide her sex appeal. She looked as if she’d been sewn into it (she had), and a long split to her mid thigh on the left side allowed her mobility. It was sleeveless, baring her arms. She wore mid-height pink heels, and her dress was studded with translucent sequins. Her lekku were pulled behind her, wrapped round with diadems, meeting in the center of her forehead with a large pink crystal. Her make up was light, making her look like a fresh-faced natural beauty - winged eyeliner, sheer lipstick. Elbow-length pink gloves, with a series of white crystal bangles on each arm completed the look.

Still clapping behind her microphone, she gave the audience a radiant smile. “Good evening, everyone,” and it was that breathless imitation of the “proper” Core World accent. Breathless from excitement, from the sheer femininity that she projected. She could just float off on a candy colored pink cloud. “I’m Dian’La Roslison, and I am absolutely thrilled to be here. I can’t believe I’ve made it this far,” and she flushed, looking down for a brief moment. She’d stopped clapping now, gently swaying her hips from side to side with the drums, as if warming up before she started singing. “But you’re not here to hear me talk, you’re here to hear me sing!” she added, with a slight laugh. A ripple of soft laughter echoed through the audience. “I’ll start with one I loved as a little girl, growing up in Lassu,” and without much further ado, she launched into “I Heard the Jizz Band,” a poppy little tune about hearing music when close to her loved one. The song was pure cheese, trite to all hell, but her rendition of it gave it a hint of new life, of childish excitement. She didn’t dance much - she relied on the old Twi’leki girl group method of emotive hand gestures, combined with the occasional flick of the lekku, to get her meaning across. All while still swaying her hips, undulating in an invisible current.

Although Master Virak was half-way through the fourth course (and just three acts in) of an infinite course meal, Deelio had picked his way through his appetizers, and now, as she took the stage, stopped eating entirely. Whatever spell she’d cast on him before, well, it had certainly caught. It didn’t hurt her cause that the subsequent gestures she made seemed to be right at him, beckoning him to ease her worries, her broken heart, to love her and make her brand new. And as the orchestra went from one song to another, she’d finally break away from her mike stand, taking the microphone with her as she walked from one end of the stage from the other, playfully kicking the cord out of the way as she added a little shimmy here, a shoulder shake there. All still in the absolute epitome of taste; though she may have come from the slums, she showed that flowers could indeed grow in the mud. And when she finally took her bow, her chest heaving, it was to a standing ovation, Deelio among them, clapping until his palms were red and sore.
___________

Everyone performed far into the night, and Dian’La was flattered beyond all believe to be called back onto the stage for not one, but two, encores. She gave each additional performance her very all, nearly bursting into tears from the sheer emotion she was getting from the crowd - which served to endear her all the more. The little Twi’lek girl from the wrong side of the tracks had finally found her audience, and she loved them for it.

The lights were still dimmed, and various couples made slow circles round the dance floor when she could finally pull herself away. Slipping from the backstage (after getting a round of applause from the performers, an autograph from Errrkitt herself -she just about died-, and a hearty round of backslaps and handshakes from the Vrelt Pack), she made her way to the bar, padding there in bare feet, her heels clutched in one hand. Seating herself at the bar, she signaled for a glass of cool flavored water.

“Miss Dian’La? I mean, Miss Roslison?”

“Yes?” She turned in her seat, and her hand went to her mouth. “Young master! I didn’t know you’d be in the audience tonight!”

Deelio flushed, looking as if he wanted to vanish within his robes. Master Virak was taking a break between courses, and had allowed Deelio to walk around, to “mingle”, noticing that his charge had gotten a little fidgety. In other circumstances, Master Virak would have been suspect, but the Chadrian caviar with fresh slices of moon glow fruit held his attention.

“Yeah, it’s kind of in our honor,” and he rubbed the back of his neck, looking instantly contrite that he’d said something like that. “I mean, I don’t mean to sound like everything revolves around us, but us being here is really important, and gosh, I mean, I don’t mean it like that -“

She laughed; stopped him by putting a slender hand on his forearm. It wasn’t an intimate touch; just a steeling one. By the time he’d registered what she’d done, the moment was long past.

“Young Master flatters me!”

“Well, I, um…” He paused, his face turning a deeper red. Why couldn’t he just say it?!

“Here, try this,” and before he could protest, she held her glass to his lips - directly where her own had touched the rim of the glass moments before. He flushed, but rather than cause a scene by spilling the drink, he took a quick drink, before pushing the glass, gently, back to her.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” she said, spinning round on her stool for a bit.

“Yeah, um….” he licked his lips idly, catching the flavor of the water, the slight floral taste of her lipstick. “Yeah…it is….” He looked at her openly now, his eyes studying her face, the lines of her lekku, the slope of her shoulders. “I, um….Maybe I could…” What was he doing? He didn’t know what he was doing. Just that the touch of her hand made his pulse react, and he felt it tingle down in his toes.

“Maybe I’ll see you around the hotel sometime,” she supplied, with an open smile. Nothing sinister there; just a friendly conversation ender. After all, he was a Jedi - what could he want with someone like her? was the image that she put off, and put it off flawlessly. “I’m here for a few more days. We’ve got a few more shows like this around town, but nothing this big. I’d really like it if you came out to my show tomorrow,” and, reaching across the bar, grabbed a napkin and a pen, and scribbled down a time and location. “It’s not too far from here, and will be a little smaller, but all press is good press. And I want to make sure that my music can bring people together. Playing to places like this is nice, but I need to be out there with the real people.” Her voice held a note of firm conviction. “Here, I’m a pretty bird in a very pretty cage. But I need to be out in the wild,” and she gave him another open smile, a “I’m sure you can relate” twist of the lips.

Finishing her water, she patted his hand, lightly. “It was nice to see you again, Young Master!” She couldn’t linger; couldn’t give him enough time to process what had happened or to ask her questions. It’d start to chip away at what she’d begun to craft. She needed to keep moving, seem like she was impossible to pin down. And as she floated away, putting her heels back on and mingling with the rest of the crowd, shaking hands, thanking them, being surprised by impromptu flowers, all Deelio could do was hold onto the napkin as if his life depended on it.

At the time that Saudaji cut him off, Raeth was seated at the surveillance hub he set up inside of the Rape Van. He was in the middle of explaining to her, once again, how brilliant he was, when she blurted out something about rehearsal then dropped off comms. A look of exaggerated offense appeared on his face.

“Shuh! OH…NO…SHE…DID…NOT!” The voice, like his expression, was a mockery of the stereotypical Human teenage girl. He wasn’t truly offended. They were on a job of great importance, one in which sudden interruptions were tolerated, if not expected. Still, he went off on a tirade while he attended to his own part of the mission. This tirade continued as he studied the various videos and data feeds that played around him.

“Ugh, I literally can’t believe this right now. I go out of my way to set up her online presence, make her look legitimate, make her look GOOD, and this is how she treats me? Cuts me off like I’m her secretary or something? Fuh. That is SO like her. And it’s SO unfair.”

Sebastian v2, who was once again behind the controls of the currently idle RV, turned around in its seat to see why its creator was causing such a ruckus. What it saw was Raeth talking with his hands as much as his mouth. His body language was an uncanny replica of a teen throwing a tantrum, which he saw earlier today when he went to a shopping center to buy himself deodorant and some shaved ice.
The shaved ice, by the way, was on the counter beside one of his datapads, slowly melting.

“I even postponed my date with Justin to help her! I LITERALLY can’t even right now…” Raeth was greatly amused by his one-man act, but Sebastian thought its master was descending further into madness.

“What are you going on about, Master?” The droid asked.

Instantly, Raeth snapped out of his act to return his normal speaking voice. “Nothing at all, Sebastian my good man,” he said with his customary Coruscant accent, grinning towards the bulky figure at the front of the van.

Looking at the back of Sebastian’s neck-less head reminded Raeth of something he needed to do now that Saudaji was off comms. The Imperial agent had a veritable swarm of his insect drones spying on different subjects throughout Xucphra City; he had to assign two of those drones to follow a protocol droid of particular importance. Raeth assigned his drones to their new target, and several minutes later live video of the droid appeared on screen.

The droid wasn’t doing anything interesting, and Raeth knew that during this phase of a mission, it could be many hours, if not days, before something truly interesting happened. Raeth picked up his nearly forgotten cup of shaved ice, leaned back in his chair, and prepared for a possibly hours-long stakeout.

“Get comfortable, Sebastian. We’re in it for the long haul.” The droid in the driver’s seat made a curt noise of acknowledgement before entering power-saving mode. Raeth quietly observed the various digital images displayed on the surveillance hub’s many screens. Each of these live videos, data streams, and assorted images related to a different subject he was spying on. But it was his latest target – this protocol droid – that was of particular importance during this phase of his mission.


*****

Near the heart of Xucphra City was a bar called Hive 51. Hive 51 was one of Xucphra’s most popular bars, thanks to its proximity to an immense collection of alazhi processing plants. Each night after work hours, swarms of Vratix alazhi harvesters and bacta blenders visited establishments like Hive 51 to socialize while partaking of the viscous chemical that gave the Vratix a sense of euphoria and relaxation without impairing their senses. Tonight, however, there was no drinking, and the socializing was not for recreational purposes.

Close to fifty members of the Thyferran Blenders Union – the union that represented all the harvesters, blenders, and other blue collar workers associated with the manufacture of bacta – packed the interior of Hive 51. Most were Vratix, the insectoid race that were native to Thyferra and absolutely crucial to the production of bacta. But members of other races were there as well, including a few Humans, Calamari, Ithorians, and Bith.

There was even an Ubese there, seated at a small table towards the back of the bar. The masked Ubese out-of-place. Although little was known about the Ubese species, it was common knowledge that they were nomadic and that they had a penchant for work as mercenaries or bounty hunters. Whoever this Ubese was, he certainly was not part of the Thyferran Blenders Union. However, no one paid the Ubese much mind. The slow-boiling tensions between the TBU and the Xucphra Corporation had begun to attract well-armed visitors to Thyferra, and it was easy to assume the Ubese was one such visitor who happened to be at the bar during a union meeting.

The final attendee-of-interest was X-3VO, the protocol droid of Master Yent Virak. During these diplomatic mission, the Jedi Master often sent his protocol droid to meeting such as this so it could observe, record, and gather data. A member of the Jedi Order attracted attention where ever they went, whereas a droid could go practically anywhere and be ignored, like a vending machine or a lamp post. Master Virak and his apprentice, Deelio, were both attending a dinner show that evening, which meant X-3VO had the night free to observe another meeting for its master.

The main speaker at tonight’s meeting was Seeqov Klak’t. Seeqov Klak’t was a member of the Seeqov hive-clan, as well as one of the leaders of the Thyferran Blenders Union. Taller than the average Human by at least half a meter, and pale green in color, Seeqov Klak’t stood before those gathered at Hive 51. He was in the middle of an argument with another Vratix in the crowd. Both of them appeared agitated.

“I cannot stress this enough,” Seeqov Klak’t said, his mandibles vibrating imperceptibly as a sign of exasperation he fought to contain. “We CANNOT resort to violence against Xucphra. From the very beginning, the leadership of the TBU has advocated non-violent protest. We can get the changes we demand without violence.” Several of the seated Vratix chittered and nodded in agreement, while the others clicked and shook their heads in anger. It was as though the opinion of the crowd was split cleanly in half. Whatever sounds the non-Vratix of the room made were drowned out by the giant insect-like attendees.

The Vratix that was standing up and speaking directly to Seeqov Klak’t was Qlaern Roqiti, a female-leaning member of the Qlaern hive-clan. She raised one of her smallest, clawed limbs to silence crowd before she spoke. “You have been repeating the same thing over and over, Seeqov Klak’t. For weeks we have done as you said. We’ve used only our message, our resolve, and our numbers and have not used any weapons.

“But we are not getting anywhere. Do you not see?” Again, the bar was split in the middle, with one half clicking and nodding in agreement with Qlaern Roqiti, and the other half clicking and shaking their heads. “The Xucphra Corporation has proven they will not respond to peaceful protests. They do not budge.”

“We must be patient, Qlaern Roqiti. Each day that we do not work, Xucphra loses millions upon millions of credits. THAT is the most harm we can do to them: harm to their bank accounts.” Seeqov Klak’t raised one of his hook-clawed forearms and pumped it into the air to add emphasis to his statement. It worked in garnering more support from the crowd. But that support was short-lived, for Qlaern Roqiti piped in again.

“What we do is not hurting their revenues as much as we would like. We have just received reports that Xucphra has made an arrangement with Zaltin and several other corporations. They are getting their alazhi and kazam from other sources! They are hiring off-worlders to blend inferior bacta! They can raise the price of bacta and someone, somewhere, will still buy it. What choice does the galaxy have when this is the only place where bacta can be made?”

At least a tiny portion of the pro-Seeqov, pro-peace side of the room seemed to really take what Qlaern Roqiti said to heart. Seeqov Klak’t attempted to rally his supporters again, but Qlaern Roqiti cut him off.

“I’m not suggesting we resort to terrorism. Far from it! But Xucphra’s resolve has not faltered, and they’ve found ways to minimize the damage to their revenues. What we’re doing is not working, so we need to prove we are willing to escalate matters.” Qlaern Roqiti slowly rotated on her feet as she spoke in order to address all sides of the room. Between the clearness of her voice, the fervor of her insectoid body movements, and the strength of her message, it was clear that Qlaern Roqiti was a gifted speaker.

“Their executives speak behind rows of armored police and private military. Their minions do not hesitate to spray us in the eyes or fire canisters of gas in our midst when our march gets too close to Xucphra’s front doors. Why must we continue to face such adversity with only signs and loud voices?

“I guarantee that if we show up with gas canisters and weapons of our own, they will notice right away. I do not want us to start a war. I do not want to see each side seriously hurt the other. But what we are doing is not working, so we need to try something new. If we don’t, they will win, and we’ll return to being little more than Xucphra’s slave labor.”

The room erupted into a full-blown argument soon after that. The Vratix and off-worlders who supported Seeqov Klak’t message of peace stood up to argue against those that supported Qlaern Roqiti’s message of escalated protest.

“We aren’t soldiers!” Seeqov Klak’t called out. “We don’t know the first thing about gas canisters or guns! We should stick with what we know, especially since it won’t get anyone hurt.”

“We are hurt each day that we do nothing but the same thing and getting no results!” Someone yelled in response.

“I don’t want our city to turn into a warzone!” Someone else exclaimed.

“Won’t someone PLEASE think of the larvae!?”

The argument came to an abrupt halt, however, when a blaring horn was sounded from the back of the bar.

The helmet-hidden Ubese seated alone at a table held up a silver, pen-shaped recording device from which he had played the horn sound at max volume. The noise pause the argument and got everyone else in the room looking his way. Once he got the bar’s attention, the Ubese tucked the recording device into a pocket somewhere within his voluminous robes, and he addressed the crowd.

“I’m not big on public speaking. So I won’t take up much of your time.” The Ubese did not speak with his own voice. Instead, his words were synthesized by his helmet. His electronic speech was at a high volume so that he could be heard clearly by anyone inside.

“It takes less than one look at me to realize I’m not one of you. I don’t know who you gaggle are. I don’t know exactly what it is you’re protesting. To be frank, I don’t give 10% of a kark about any of that.

“What I do know, what I do give a kark about, is getting people’s attention. Exhibit A.” The Ubese gestured around the room, indicating how easy it was for him to get them all to shut up and pay attention to him. It also helped that no one in their right mind would try and interrupt an Ubese in the middle of a presentation.

The masked stranger turned his attention towards Qlaern Roqiti, who was still standing while the Vratix around her reclaimed their seats. “You talked about escalating matters? It just so happens I’m an expert at escalating matters.”

The Ubese walked towards Qlaern Roqiti, the crowd of Vratix and other sentients parting in front of him. Once he was close enough, he handed the Vratix protest leader a tiny communication chip. “Here are my digits. Give me a call when you get bored of the peaceful approach.” If the Ubese was smiling, there would be no way to tell because of the heavy helmet he wore.

The stranger exited the bar. While the crowd watched him go, Qlaern Roqiti regarded the communication chip in her hand for a moment, before she tucked it away. Soon after the stranger was gone, Seeqov Klak’t regained control of the meeting, calmed everyone down, and got them to discuss what was left on the meeting’s agenda.

Later that night, the Ubese stood in the middle of a parking lot, waiting for his ride. He was smoking; periodically, he inserted an electronic cigarette into a diminutive hole built into his helmet, then inhaled deeply. When he exhaled, white smoke poured out from his helmet’s exhaust tube.

The Ubese heard what sounded like a small group of Vratix approaching him. Deactivating the e-cig, he turned around, and sure enough there was Qlaern Roqiti and a few of her hive-clan mates walking towards him. He remained relaxed, for he knew that the Vratix were harvesters and bacta blenders, not warriors like his people. Besides, he knew they were unarmed, for that was the reason why they sought him out.

“Couldn’t wait to use that comm chip, huh? Had to see me right away?” The Ubese’s digital voice emanated from a module right beside his hole through which he had smoked.

“No, ah…What we do is urgent, and it could not wait.” The Vratix spoke very good Basic, for an insect, the Ubese thought. Qlaern Roqiti looked to her left and right, at her hive-clan mates who were there for moral support. Having found the support she needed, she turned back to the Ubese. “Please let me cut to the chase. As you heard from the meeting, we don’t know the first thing about acquiring weapons. You made it clear that this is your area of expertise, and we wish to avail ourselves of your expertise.”

“Good! Avail away.” If the Ubese was truly excited or not was difficult to tell, since his features were hidden and his voice was digital.

Behind his mask, the Ubese smiled. His sales pitch was as effective as he knew it would be. Right when he thought to himself that he was about to become the Qlaern hive-clan’s new best friend, his ride arrived: a large, bulky, clunky-looking air speeder van dropped down from a sky lane and landed in the parking lot. Despite its clunky appearance, the van handled smoothly, and it made very little noise as its driver pulled up right beside the Ubese.

“Come closer,” he waved Qlaern Roqiti and her group over. “I don’t bite paying customers.” While the Vratix paused to discuss something with each other, telepathically, the Ubese opened the back of the van and hauled out a large, wheeled crate. He rolled the crate on the ground, placed it between him and the Vratix, then opened it up.
An assortment of weapons and other items was contained within. It was the sort of gear riot police would use. The Ubese knelt beside the crate and performed a quick inventory for his soon-to-be customers, picking up each item as he listed them off.

“Riot guns. Tear gas. Sonic disruptors. Pepper spray. Pretty much all the basics you need to show people you’re serious and you’re committed to your cause, but without the threat of death or serious injury. Here, take a look at this.” The Ubese picked up one of the riot guns and held it up for the Vratix to see.

“This is the Q-22 riot gun. It does not have a kill setting. You can set it to stun for it to fire stun blasts, or you can set it to shoot an incapacitating chemical at short-to-medium range. You can also set it to single-target or spread. It often only takes one look at this beauty to get the opposition to stand down. You can get your point across without firing a single shot.”

Qlaern Roqiti and the other Vratix nodded enthusiastically, but silently. The Ubese guessed they were talking amongst themselves, telepathically.

“Yes, that is exactly what we are looking for, Mr…?” Qlaern Roqiti said when she realized that she and her group hadn’t said anything to the gun dealer in some time.

The Ubese held up a hand, palm towards them. “No ‘Mr.’ Just call me Dealer.”
The tall, female-leaning Vratix raised her head inquisitively. If she had the ability to blink, she would have. “Very well, ah….Dealer.”

The dealer dug to the bottom of the crate, searching for something. “In addition to all of these non-lethal solutions, I’ve included a little extra here at the bottom.” When he pulled his hand back, he held a thermal detonator. The Vratix made a variety of clicking noises, and one of the group actually turned around and started to run away. Qlaern Roqiti had to stop him and bring him back.

Electronic laughter emanated from the dealer’s helmet. He tucked the thermal detonator back inside the crate, all the way to the bottom. The Vratix calmed down a bit, but they were still clearly agitated that a weapon of such destructive potential was hidden inside a crate filled with non-lethal weapons.

“Relax, relax,” the Ubese cooed. “I only included a couple of those things. Just in case, you know?”

“I’m sorry, Dealer, we can’t possibly take them. Please, we only need the riot things.”

“Trust me, if things go according to your plan, you won’t even have to take them out of the crate. It’s better to keep them in there and not need them, rather than take them out only to find you needed them after all. Am I right?”

The Ubese, for whatever reasons, insisted that they take the thermal detonators. The Vratix didn’t put up much of an argument, likely because they didn’t like the idea of arguing with an arms dealer.

“Now I must warn you up front, we do not have much money,” Qlaern Roqiti said, cautiously, after her group settled down following the thermal detonator surprise.

“As I’m sure you can understand, the strike has been a drain on all of our resources. What little we have we need to sustain ourselves, sustain our families, while we…”

Again, the Ubese raised a hand, palm out, this time to interrupt her. “Don’t say anymore. This isn’t the first time I’ve made a sale to protestors, so I’m familiar with your limitations.

“Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous. More importantly, I got all of this equipment at a sizable discount myself. This puts me in a position to, as the saying goes, ‘pass the savings on to you.’ “

The Ubese and the group of Thyferran Blenders Union protestors discussed prices. Much to the Vratix’s surprise, the amount that the Ubese asked for for the entire crate was reasonable, even with the thermal detonators included. On top of that, he was amenable to the idea of receiving half of credits right then and there, and the second half in a month. He didn’t bother to make any threats regarding late payments, since most people knew better not to cross an Ubesian.

The payment was made, the equipment was purchased, and the Vratix had the crate, ready to roll. The dealer and the leader of the Vratix stood in front of each other for a few parting words.

“You’ll find the instructions for everything you just bought in a data chip attached to the inside of the lid. You might not even need it; there are tutorial videos for all that stuff on the Holonet. With a few days of practice, you and your group will become certifiable badasses.” This was the last thing the dealer said to the Vratix before they left. It was clear they didn’t want to linger any longer than they had to, which was fine; he didn’t feel like talking to them, anyway.

The dealer waved a friendly goodbye to the now well-armed Vratix. When they disappeared around a corner, he turned to his van, hauled himself inside, and shut the door behind him. The air speeder lifted into the air and joined the traffic in the sky lane.

“I take it everything went according to plan, Master?” Sebastian v2 asked from the driver’s seat.

“Yes it did,” the arms dealer said before placing his hands on either side of his helmet. He twisted the helmet to the left, then to the right to unhook it. Air hissed out as he lifted it off of his head, revealing the youthful face of a Human rather than an Ubesian.

“Whew. Much better,” Raeth said, hearing his own voice for the first time tonight. His brown hair was matted against his scalp with sweat, so he ran his gloved fingers over it to straighten it out some.

“Is Saudaji still at the performance?” Raeth asked his personal assistant / protocol droid / battle droid / driver.

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian replied. “A band is playing right now. After the band, Mistress Saudaji performs.”

“Splendid! I haven’t missed anything.” Raeth was genuinely excited to watch Saudaji’s performance as Dian’La. As he continued to strip off his Ubesian disguise, he walked, hunched over, around the back of the RV. He checked on the surveillance hubs’ monitors. One of them confirmed what Sebastian said; the audience at the hotel dinner show were watching a Theelin jazz band. A different monitor showed Saudaji’s position as being backstage, just behind the curtain. It wouldn’t be long before she sang.

Raeth removed the large cloak he was wearing, tossed it aside, then took his seat at the surveillance hub. Now nice and comfortable, he turned his attention to a metallic figure slumped beside him. It was X-3VO, the Jedi Virak’s protocol droid. Raeth performed a quick inspection of the protocol droid, first to see if it was truly deactivated, and then to see if it had sustained any damage.

“Good work getting the target, Sebastian,” Raeth said after he ensured no obvious damage was sustained by X-3V0. For this plan to work, there could be no sign at all of any tampering.

“Hmph,” Sebastian said as he flew the RV back towards the hotel in which Master Virak and his apprentice were about to watch Saudaji perform. “You’re in a good mood night, Master. I should consider myself lucky.”

“Yes! Yes you should, Sebastian. Enjoy my good mood for as long as you can, because there’s no telling how long it will last.”

Raeth took out some tools and began to work on Master Virak’s protocol droid. It wasn’t long after that Saudaji got up on stage back at the hotel. With half of his attention on the monitor that played Saudaji’s live performance, and the other half on the droid he had opened up in front of him, Raeth did his part to advance their plan to assassinate a Jedi diplomat.

“I’m gonna rap on your door,
Tap on your window pane
I wanna tell ya, baby, the changes I’ve been going through
Missin’ you, listen’ you,
Till you come back to me,
THAT’S WHAT I’M GONNA DO!”

Her pink gloves were off. One shoe was in her hand, the other, she’d lost track of hours ago. Her make up had run, leaving long streaks of black under her eyes - not from tears, but from uncontrollable laughter. The diadems around her lekku sagged under the weight of the evening. Her dress, though, remained pristine, and her lipstick was none the worse for too much wear. She leaned heavily against the piano, waving her arms overhead, her shoe held proudly up.

Franke, the “lead” of the Vrelt Pack, had her gloves about his neck in a make-shift tie around his slicked back hair, banging out the Twileki tune on the piano.The last line, the entire room had joined in, nearly drowning out “Dian’La” as she continued through the well-known verses. It’d been a cross-over hit for that ultimate Diva, Areth Fra’lin. Her sound was grittier, earthier, than the soft sounds of the original Twi’leki Heat Wave, and while Dian’La was something of a songstress, it was clear that she didn’t have the same “gut” sound, though not for lack of trying.

Franke’s normally sure hands stumbled clumsily over the keys as he leaned across the front of it, trying to play and reach for his drink at the same time. As the evening had gone on, his piano-playing had gotten progressively worse, as did his state of attire. In a call-back to his earlier act, his neat suit shirt was untucked, unbuttoned, showing a somewhat battered white undershirt. His tie hung limply under his collar, and the sharp crease in his suit pants had long faded into ripples of loose cloth. His eyes were slightly pink, heavily hooded - he’d only increased his consumption of Corellian martinis as the night went on. As his fumbling lost the tune, there came several complaints across the room, and Dian’La paused, her hands playfully on her hips.

“Why ya gotta be like that, Franke? Party foul!” She took a breath, called out louder, “PARTY FOUL!” The chant picked up across the room, and Franke lifted his hands in defeat, taking a long swig of his drink. He lifted his glass for a refill, and a server droid promptly topped it off with the clear beverage. Taking a small sip of his refreshened drink, he tapped a few keys, experimentally, then deliberately slow. His lips twisted and his brows knit in clear concentration as he struggled to make his fingers respond to the music he knew so well in his head. It took a few false starts, but before long he was on the tune again, and Dian’La picked it up, leaning over the piano as she sang. Her voice had lost the soft, womanly quality of before, and ran the risk of running ragged at the end of each belted note - singing for the show, then talking, then conversation upon conversation, then more singing well outside of their range were starting to take a toll on her voice.

After the last act in the hotel ballroom, Franke had announced he and his cohorts would, of course, be hosting an afterparty for all of the talent. He’d stopped to extend a personal invite to the Twi’leki performer he’d taken such a shine to, and here they all were, in the wee hours of the night in another exclusive suite in the hotel. This one was on the roof of the hotel - another one of those secret little passageways that the hotel extended to very special guests. Since they were on the roof, there were no risks of noise complaints, though several of the hotel residents would have loved to have been a part of the impromptu jam session that had marked the night. Errkitt had been the first to leave, citing an early morning flight out, and really, no one could blame her. The party had started off, believe it or not, subtle enough, with just drinking and conversation. A real classy sort of deal. Though the Vrelt Pack had a reputation for being womanizers, they’d left their usual adoring female entourage behind. They, too, were going to be leaving off planet shortly.

Really, the bigger names had only been there for the one night, therefore increasing the marketability of the show immensely. The next few “concerts” that Dian’La had were at much smaller, more intimate places, with the occasional headliner. Just her being there, that night, was enough to set her star on the rise. That, and the clever marketing of Raeth. That had really been the most impressive thing. Selling it, she knew, wouldn’t be that hard. But getting to the point where those doors were open, and in such a short amount of time, that was something else entirely. Almost a shame that this was going to be their first -and last-mission together. He was certainly clever enough to allow her a plethora of covers - but he would never be a brother in arms.

Those days ago, sitting on top of the van, things may have been different. They’d enjoyed the silence together. But that day seemed like a fluke; after it, things were back to normal. That had taken her aback; she had, somewhere, hoped that they were going to get closer. That he would open up to her. Tell her about his partner, unprovoked. But he stayed the same, never serious, Raeth. Who was to tell that he wasn’t manipulating the Mandalorian reputation for loyalty in arms? In that sense, she was a very old school Mandalorian. Downright rare these days. And for all of his history, he hadn’t recognized that.

On missions, she didn’t do anything that allowed her to lose sight of her target. But Franke had smiled that lady-killer smile and drawled to her in that working class Corellian accent and she couldn’t say no. Well, of course she could have, but Dian’La couldn’t. And so she found herself at the top of the hotel, looking out at the sparkling diamonds of the city lights, across the illuminated aquamarine pool (where some of the performers had taken last minute swims, tuxedos and all), singing Twi’leki songs and indulging in dirty jokes that left her with tears in her eyes from laughing so hard. All in all, legitimately it wasn’t a bad night.

In the cabana, two of the Vrelt pack had passed out - DeEn and Sami: the latter was a wiry dark-skinned human, the former the other another Theelin. Between them, a hookah slowly burned, filling the air with traces of sweet narcotics. The last member, Pet’r, a Galacian, was telling bawdy stories to a few wide-eyed hotel maids. He’d take a drag of his cigarette, blow smoke rings, grab the maids closer to him and juggle his drink all at the same time. His pale blue skin was perfectly offset under the moonlight, and it was clear he was playing that for all it was worth. Franke’d squinted over at Pet’r, and mock-whispered to Dian’La: “I betcha 5 credits one’a them girls can’t find her panties in th’ mornin’.”

“Ya on,” she said with a sloppy grin, before stifling a yawn. Really, the party had thinned out to just the Vrelt Pack and those maids, and it was clear that everyone was a little worse for wear. Finally pushing away from the piano, Franke stood up, with a very distinctive wobble. Dian’La moved to steady him, her hands firm on his back.

“I thought you boys held your booze better’n this,” she said, lightly elbowing him.

“Droid spiked it,” he offered with a rakish raise of his eyebrow. “Ya gonna be a lady an’ make sure I get back to my room safe ’n sound?”

“Why, Franke, you think I’d take advantage of an innocent lil’ boy?”

“I know you Twi’leki girls,” and he ran a hand, surprisingly gently, down the disarrayed diadems on her lekku. “Ya act all slutty but ya got a heart ‘o gold.” His tone was startling sincere, clear from the liquor and hookah smoke, lost in a tangle of memories. “Hadda good girl like you once,” he continued, then stopped, realizing what he was saying. He straightened up in her arms, putting some distance between the two of them. “I been meaning to ask ya,” his tone was jovial again, slurred around the ends of each sentence, “What th’ hell happened to your shoe?”

____________

It wasn’t too much longer that she was helping Franke back to his room. The maids had gone off with Pet’r, and DeEn and Sammi were shaken away by Dian’La on her way out. They’d taken one look at the clearly drunk Franke and the sober-ish Dian’La with raised eyebrows and conspiratorial grins before leaving the pair to stagger back through the lift and down to their room. Franke’s room, was, coincidentally enough, on the same floor as hers - apparently the whole hotel reserved the uppermost levels for the best guests. There was simply so much space between each door and everyone kept such odd hours or used “secret” passages to get back and forth that it wasn’t uncommon for multiple guests to stay on one of these floors and never see who else they might be sharing the floor with.

She was learning these things as she went, after all. It was the wee hours of the night, right before the dawn, where there was a surreal stillness over everything. There were no sounds now, save for their breathing - even the lift moved with less sound than usual.

She half-carried him, half-walked with him through the hall now, her shoes (the other one had finally been found under one of the cabana chairs, though she had no idea how it’d gotten then) helpfully carried by an equally silent serving droid on a burnished platter in front of him. The sheer importance of how that little droid carried itself, bearing her battered shoes on that platter, had sent both her and Franke in paroxysms of laughter. Every time they looked at it, they just laughed harder - and it had taken them nearly twenty minutes to compose themselves enough to stagger into the lift.

The silence between them was comfortable, despite the unreal nature of the quiet around them. It felt almost forbidden to make a sound breathing, but yet, here they were, and her, yes, even daring to hum a few bars of a song under her breath, more of a comfort to herself, the sweet caress of her show voice was back, none the worse for wear, the earlier acrobatics giving it that sweet husky note of overuse. Beneath the notes of her humming, his smooth baritone catching up to hers, bolstering the sound, joining lyrics to her musical hum.

“One day I’ll fly away
Leave your love to yesterday
What more can your love do for me
When will love be through with me….?”

Her humming stopped, melted, eased, into the lyrics as well, and she finished the verse.

“Why live life from dream to dream
And dread the day that dreaming ends…”

Their voices joined on the last line, a strange harmony, not perfect, not entirely ill-fitted to one another. The airy quality of hers lacked the sheer emotional impact of his. They stopped now, in front of his door, and she grunted as she shifted him further up into a standing position.

“Why live life from dream to dream…” He stroked the side of her face, not unkindly, and kissed her forehead. “You’re a good girl, Dian’La. Thanks for helpin’ this Corellian get home all right.”

She leaned forward; grabbed her gloves tied around his head to pull him closer. Standing on her tiptoes (as the Theelin was a head taller than her), she gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You sleep well, and travel safely, Gutter Trash,” she said, using an old Twi’leki method of nicknames. Of course, she didn’t think of him as “gutter trash”, but there were many in the galaxy that would, be it his species or his working class background. His grin widened, and he gave her another kiss on the forehead. “You too, Fast Ass,” he returned, just as kindly. He gave her lekku another friendly -though somewhat teasing- pet, and closed the door.

And if she’d played that right, she’d get her answer shortly.

_____________

To anyone else, it would have looked like she was leaving Franke’s room; not escorting him to it. After all, she was in the same clothes as she was the night before, her make up was smudged, her gloves were in her hands and she was barefoot.

And indeed, that’s how it looked when Deelio left his room. Their singing had been soft, but not soft enough. Intrigued by the sound, he’d gone to the door quickly, wanting to catch the authors of such a haunting, sad melody. He hadn’t been fast enough to see the two of them singing, but he had caught the tail end of their good-nights.

Saudaji, on her own, had figured on the young Jedi getting up extra early; taking advantage of the strange quiet in those early hours of not quite morning, not quite night, to mediate, to work through the chaos of the day before. He was young, insecure; would want to spend some time away from his Master and test his own skills. Much like when she was a young Mandalorian and wanted time away from her family - just something that was her own. And so she’d carved out her own space in those early weeping hours of the morning, either to train or do as her own title had suggested - cry.

So, she would act the mildish of surprised when he came out of his room and stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, gaping at the scene in front of him. He’d come out just as she was closing Franke’s door softly behind him, pressing her body against it to make sure it shut soundlessly. Near her waited the droid with her shoes. As she began to (exaggerated, of course) to “tip-toe” away from Franke’s room, Deelio closed his door loud enough to catch her attention, and she gave a light start.

“Oh, Young Master! I’m surprised to see you up so late….or early, as it was,” and she gave a self-conscious giggle, endearing in its embarrassment.

“…I thought that the night air might help clear my head.” The expression on his fair face was unreadable; he couldn’t process all that was going through his head. She was still beautiful, maybe moreso for her disheveled state, she didn’t appear drunk, nor did her aura have the sated contentedness of a recent sexual encounter. Still, she glowed, with something that was beyond his grasp, and in the depths of his stomach, he felt a small knot, a small bunching. Emotions coiling in on themselves, turning into something that he thought he had the word for.

“It’s a strange quiet, this early,” she said, softer than she needed to. She kept her eyes downcast, as if she were ashamed of being caught.

“Strange? Why would you say that?” He wrestled with the feeling now, the intrigue of her words helping to subdue it.

“Because nothing is moving. It makes me near afraid to breathe, let alone speak.”

“But you’re speaking with me.”

“Young Master has a soothing way about him.” She’d look up now with a shy smile, as if she was afraid to truly share the expression with him. “But I should let you get to your…exercises?” She looked at him quizzically, wanting to make sure that she had indeed chosen the right word. Why else would anyone else be up this early?

He couldn’t answer. Licking his lips, he took a breath, looked down and away. She gave him a small bow, and headed in the opposite direction of the hallway, towards her room. Taking care to walk slowly, she added a long swing of her hips, an extra sway to her lekku as she walked down the hallway. Not enough to call a sexually explicit nature to her pace, but enough to suggest the smooth gait of a dancer commingled with the sedate regality of a queen.

“Miss Rosilson?”

She stopped now, her shoulders perking a bit. She wouldn’t turn to face him, not yet.

“Yes?”

“Would you…I mean, it’s still early…Breakfast?” He stammered it all out, a string of barely coherent words, fumbling for meaning through one another. Although that coil in his stomach tightened, he had to know. He had to talk to her more. Trust in his senses, that’s what the Master would say. And he could sense none of that heavy sweetness, that lingering earthy smell of sex, raw, primal…No. She was better than that. But her closeness to that man, that strange man, surely they didn’t know each other before the night. He hadn’t seen them together at the show, not even after everyone had performed. He’d know. He’d watched her all night, as light as the bubbles in his champagne, as she moved around the room, sparkling, fluid, vivid. And now, here, as that odd hour of not morning and not night rolled under the golden belly of the dawn, as the sky lightened at the corners of the horizon, she was a different being, humble, timid, so small, so vulnerable, so beautiful.

She’d turn to face him now, a gentle smile on her face. “I can meet you up on the roof in about thirty minutes, if that works for you? I would like to hit the refresher and change.”

He looked at her, his gaze steady. And, slowly, he’d smile back at her. “Sure.”

____________

She had to hand it to the droid - it had smoothly navigated into her room, neatly stopped when she asked it to, and set about cleaning her shoes. Once it was done (which thankfully didn’t take long), she escorted it back out of her room. Again, walking to the bathroom, she collapsed onto the plush chair in the dressing room. Her data pad was still there - if anyone had been careless enough to try and swipe through it, all they’d find were articles on the latest fashion trend and natural remedies for throat soreness, make up tips and tutorials, and various other “silly” things. It was as she’d left it, though, and she had no reason to believe that it had been disturbed. Turning on the sink, she cupped her hands under the water and splashed her face a few times. Wiping it dry, she stifled a yawn before tapping a few buttons on the pad.

“Anything to report to me? And I've got to keep it quick - Dian'La was just invited to a quiet breakfast with Deelio." The last was said with a bit of smugness - she couldn't help provoking the agent as he'd provoked her.

Saudaji’s performance as Dian’La enchanted more than just a naïve Jedi apprentice. Whether she did it intentionally or not, she got under the skin of the man in a van watching her performance from afar.

Raeth’s fascination with Saudaji started off purely physical. Her body – which he had ample time to examine when she lay unconscious in the Patient Pylat’s medical bay, or during the times they were intimate and all over each other – was a captivating blend of athletic, strong, and feminine. Her skin was a shade of green that he favored immensely, and he very much enjoyed studying the way her muscles moved underneath its smooth, jade surface. He was also fond of her lekku, and resolved to figure out how precisely how to touch them in ways that Saudaji enjoyed.

Plus there was the fact that Saudaji had some of the biggest, nicest tits he had ever seen.

The physical aspects of the Twi’lek huntress came together in a way that immediately clicked with him. Raeth was hooked from the start.

Now, however, after spending more time with her, and after watching her perform during their mission, his fascination with her went beyond physical attraction. She surprised him with how wily she was, which she demonstrated by wrapping a Jedi around her finger with apparent ease. She impressed him with her talent for acting and the attention to detail of her disguises; when she played the roles of Lula-Lee or Dian’La, she practically became those characters. She also impressed him with her versatility. He knew she could kill, but what he didn’t know was that she could sing, too.

With each of his previous partners, Raeth was clearly calling the shots, and they were clearly following. Often, he felt as though he was guiding them by the hand, like a parent would guide a child down a crowded street. But with Saudaji, all he had to do was give her the outline of a plan, and she immediately took off on her own with little guidance. The manipulation of Deelio was entirely her idea.

Saudaji’s physical attractiveness combined with her effectiveness as an operative made her quite alluring. It was that allure that caused Raeth to spend the entire night watching her through the lenses of a spy drone that watched, hidden, in the room where she partied.

It was that time of morning when a city, even one as large and crowded as Xucphra City, was almost quiet. Traffic on the ground and in the sky lanes was light. The sun was just beginning to rise, the low light giving the Thyferran scenery a sort of greenish hue. The RV was parked on the uppermost level of a parking structure down the street from Saudaji’s hotel, its Human and droid occupants were both seated motionless within.

Raeth’s stimulus-greedy mind usually demanded that he spread his attention across multiple things. Whenever he was seated in front of a collection of monitors and holograms, like he was in the RV, he could keep track of what was playing on multiple sources, effortlessly. That morning, however, his attention was focused on the one monitor where Saudaji was displayed. He had been that focused since he finished tinkering with X-3VO, the protocol droid that Sebastian v2 disabled and droid-napped earlier.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet back there, Master.” Sebastian broke the long minutes of silence from its place at the RV’s driver seat. “You didn’t die back there, did you?”

For once, Raeth didn’t have a witty comeback or an insult locked and loaded for Sebastian. Without taking his eyes off of the monitor – or more importantly without taking his eyes off of Saudaji – he sort of mumbled his response. “I’m watching Saudaji work.”

“Ah,” the droid said, flatly. “Is she in danger?”

“Far from it. She’s surrounded by lounge singers. The most dangerous thing she has to worry about is alcohol poisoning.”

“If Mistress Saudaji is not in danger, why are you watching her so intently?”

Sebastian’s bulky body made moving around in the driver seat difficult, so its head swiveled around 180 degrees in order for it to look back at its owner.

Raeth finally lifted his gaze from the monitor. He stared at his heavily-armed droid in silence for a few moments before turning back to the screen. “Perhaps I simply enjoy listening to her sing.”

Sebastian stared blankly at its master, processing the information it was just given. It then swiveled its head back around to the front. “I recommend you get some sleep, Master. You know how unpredictable sleep schedules can be during these missions.”

“Later, Sebastian,” Raeth mumbled quietly. The inside of the RV became quiet again, except for the faint sound of singing, drinking, and laughter coming from the monitor Raeth’s attention was fixated on. As he continued to watch Saudaji play her part so convincingly, he thought to himself how nice it would be if he could get her to sing for him.

*****

Later that morning, Saudaji checked in with Raeth. Raeth was a little surprised that his heart rate picked up when she made the call, and his hand instinctively shot out to press the button that would switch on the comm. But the tiny hint of smugness in her voice when she announced she was going to breakfast with the Jedi caused him to pause, his finger mere centimeters away from the button.
She was purposely trying to get under his skin. Smirking, he chose not to let that go unanswered.

The agent turned on video communication, and a window popped up on her data pad. Instead of Raeth’s face, the head of X-3V0 appeared on screen. Raeth controlled the disabled protocol droid like a puppeteer, making it bob its head from side to side as it “talked”.

“Good morning, Mistress Saudaji!” Raeth mimicked the chipper tone and almost effeminate voice of most protocol droids, flawlessly. “You’re going to breakfast, you say? How delightful! I highly recommend you order the seafood omelet. According to my records, over the past 6 months 1,445 guests at the hotel gave the seafood omelet at least 4 out of 5 stars.

“But when you order, do make sure they do not make it with Calamari! He he he!”

Before Saudaji had a chance to say something or to switch off the comm, the droid’s face was replaced by that of Raeth. Since he showed her he had X-3V0 in his possession, he didn’t need to tell her that part of his mission was accomplished. Saudaji knew that the next step was for the droid to be released so that it could return to its master’s room. The droid would have a believable excuse as to why it had been gone so long, plus it would have a few modifications its Jedi owner would not think to look for.

“Enjoy breakfast, Saudaji. And drink something with lemon if they have it. You’ve been singing all night, and I wouldn’t want that pretty voice of yours to get strained.” Surprisingly, Raeth said this to her without any sign of irreverence. He was being sincere in his concern for her well being.

After Saudaji signed off, Raeth would stare at the now blank screen, his lips twisted in thought. He snapped out of it a few moments later, and turned his attention to the protocol droid. A couple of X-3V0’s panels were open, exposing some of its inner switches, circuits, and ports. Raeth switched the droid back on before closing the panels. As it booted back up, he gave it a thorough inspection to ensure nothing appeared to be amiss.

X-3V0 raised its head, and the lights behind its eyes came to life. It focused its gaze on Raeth, looked around with a few jerky head movements, then focused back on Raeth.

“Our time is up, my shiny metal friend,” the agent told the droid. “Do you know what you have to do?”

“Yes,” the droid replied as it lifted itself up off of the floor.

“And when you’re asked where you’ve been all night, what will you tell them?”

“The meeting of the Blenders Union continued late into the night,” X-3V0 recited, cheerfully. “After it was over, I’m afraid I chose the wrong monorail in my attempt to return to the hotel. I was on the other side of the city before I realized my mistake.

“The transit system of this city is dreadfully confusing.”

“That’s pretty damn convincing,” Raeth said with a smile. “Whoever said protocol droids never lie clearly didn’t know enough about artificial intelligence.”

The agent opened the side door of the RV, and then scooted to the side so that X-3V0 had plenty of room to exit. Once it was outside, Raeth reached for the door handle, but paused to say one last thing to the droid.

“And don’t forget the most important thing of all: you never saw me.”

Raeth slid the door to the RV shut while a tiny portion of X-3V0’s memory was formatted in response to the command phrase that the agent just spoke. As far as it was concerned, it really had been at a Vratix union meeting that ran late, it really did get lost in the city, and it was now in a hurry to get back to Master Virak in the hotel.

The protocol droid waddled away from the RV, no longer aware of the new purpose that was programmed into it last night.

Raeth returned to his seat in front of the surveillance hub. “Get us up, Sebastian, if you would please. I’m sending you our next destination.” With a few quick keystrokes, Raeth sent Sebastian a new set of coordinates, wirelessly.

“Understood, Master. We’re on our way.” Within moments, the RV was revved up and lifting away from the parking structure.

As they made their way to their next destination, Raeth watched the monitor that showed Saudaji eating breakfast with Deelio. He split his attention between preparing his next disguise, watching a couple of the other monitors, and keeping an eye on her.

And absolutely none of what he said was actually helpful.

There was no way that she could have given him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d annoyed her, yet again, because she had a sneaking suspicious (well, “suspicious” no longer; it’d been more or less confirmed. Several times.) that he did these things just to get a reaction out of her. And like she’d handle a particularly rough and tumble child, she’d have to give him the same treatment. So prepared was she to let all emotion slip from her face until he mentioned lemon in water. The surprise on her face was noticeable - only for a moment, but it was there - and then it seemed as if she couldn’t decide what expression she wanted to wear after that. Should she take what he said at face value? Was he actually being concerned about her well being?

Or was he just worried that she’d blow the plan because she wasn’t taking care of herself? Honestly, it was too much to think about - even if she had the time, it was a statement that would have her wondering for days. If she let it. But she had a shower to take and a Jedi to destroy. “I’ll make note of that,” she said, and ended the communication.

___________


Time passed more slowly in the world of water. Standing with her forehead pressed against the wall of the shower, the hot water pounded across her back, down her lekku. Long streaks of lavender paint mingled with the clarity of the water, forming spirals of violet around her feet. She’d have to retouch after she got out, but she was past the point of caring. She hadn’t set a time to meet with the young Jedi, but she wasn’t worried about it. He’d show up when he’d show up.

No, now, in this haven of water, she could let her thoughts wander. How to plan her next move. What to do. Say. Wear. Although it appeared that she could easily throw everything together, every move she made was calculated. That should have been a given. It was easy to forget under the allure of glamour. The pressure of having to mask her thoughts, to keep herself a blank slate, no, to keep herself Dian’La was weighing heavily on her. Last night had been different - last night was starlight breaking through a gap in storm clouds. As she’d sang around the piano, it was easy to forget everything else.

In those moments, she’d felt real again.

Slowly reaching down to turn the water off, she kept her forehead pressed to the wall of the shower for long moments. Drew a deep breath. And pushed away.
_________________

Don't put your head on my shoulder
Sink me in a river of tears
This could be the best place yet
But you must overcome your fears

Somehow, regardless of who she was at any given time, she could be found close to music.

She sat at a table on the rooftop - the same place that she’d nearly sung herself hoarse the night before-, a small radio playing the still somewhat new Electro-Wave music that had taken the Core by storm. Though it was largely hit or miss for her, she had to admit, there were some songs that she really enjoyed. This was one of them. The singer was a particularly effete Falleen (which was a first for most of the galaxy, but seemed to be part of the music’s image) with multi-colored hair and who kept his skin an ashen pale green as opposed to the deep emerald hue that most Falleen sported. She had to stop herself from smirking as the song went on. It seemed strangely appropriate for what was about to take place.

The morning was still in its infancy; the dawn had come and gone, and the sky had the high clear color of early morning. There wasn’t much of a breeze, but the noise and air of the city hadn’t grown stifling enough to make her want to retreat indoors. Dressed in breezy loose white pants and a billowing top, she looked all the world for a holo-starlet on her day off. All part of the image and allure.

It didn’t hurt that white was generally associated with purity.

She’d waved away the serving droid for a third time before she heard him approach. She kept her head down, coyly buried in the menu and drumming her fingers on the table top along to the song’s slow beat. He was rushing - he was being careless with his footsteps. She could almost feel his weight thudding against the fine polished tile (because the hotel was so swank that even where permacrete would be, fine stone was used). Her senses were not nearly on par with that of a Jedi, so beyond the sound of his approach, she could pick up nothing else. When he flopped down in the chair opposite her, his face flushed, she put down the menu with a coquettish smile.

“So nice to see you, Young Master!” She still wore a jeweled headband - the stones this morning were of a milky translucence, with deep flecks of red in their core. Gold rimmed sunshades were perched on the top of it. Her face was perfectly made up, even as early as it was. Dark eyeliner and vibrant blue lips brought it all together. He was still in his robes (did Jedi ever wear anything else?), and his dark gold hair was still damp from a brief run in the refresher. As it dawned on him that she had been there for some time (partially given away by the half full glass of juice next to her arms), his flush grew darker. Without a word, her smile grew bigger, gentler, and she reached across the table. Golden bangles caught the light, musically ran into each other as she placed her hand over his. Brief, brief, as always - enough to make it linger. Enough to dance in the imagination. When he looked up at her, understanding filled his eyes and for the first time he’d been around her, he visibly relaxed, his body language changing drastically.

He smelled of sweat, the strange bitter tang of nervousness, a light misting of cologne that the hotel had provided. He was trying.

___________

Breakfast was nice.

Uneventful, but nice.

They made conversation about everything - a little about his homeworld, a little about hers. About music -apparently he had no talent for it-, and his training. His life as a Jedi. She’d purposely steered the conversation to the banal - she didn’t want to know more about him as a person. She needed to keep him square in the camp of Jedi. He couldn’t be human. He wasn’t human. He’d given that up the minute he put those robes on. And so, while she listened, that million watt smile on her face, laughter bubbling from her, she said the things he wanted to hear flawlessly. They’d agreed to meet later that night - she’d invited him to another one of her shows. She was glad that the Young Master was shaping out to be a new fan; it still was interesting to her to know that even Jedi listened to music! He flushed prettily pink at that, looked as if he wanted to say something more, but the words were caught between his teeth. She’d laughed off his nervousness, assured him that, without directly saying it, she wasn’t interested in THAT aspect of him. After all, every conversation they’d had, she kept her tone light, bantering, but never flirting. Never that. Never acknowledge him as an actual man.

It wasn’t until she was back in her room that she was able to let out a long sigh.

Leaning against the closed door, she tilted her head back. Closing her eyes, she kept her head back as she slowly sank down the length of the door until she was sitting on the floor. Once she was seated on the ground, she leaned forward, burying her face in the crooks of her arms. Engaging with a Jedi like that was taxing - not because of the conversation, but because of the immense amount of control she had to have over her emotions. She was no longer that rash, impetuous woman who would bawl out a battle cry to any Jedi that crossed her path, but it was difficult for her to contain her disdain at times.

____________

“Sing for me, my little green bird.”

He was smiling, showing off missing and broken teeth. One of his eyes was missing, leaving puckered and raw flesh behind. Her mother, her real mother, was half-way slumped over her divan, her body, almost perfectly created, carved, molded, was bare under a sheer red robe. Her eyes were heavily lidded, and the mouth piece of the hookah was precariously balanced in her long fingers. Her nails and lips dark red, her lipstick smeared halfway across her cheek. Her legs were brazenly spread, her deep green pubic hair damp.

He was a mountain of an Echani - heavy bulk and corded muscles and scars. His ash white skin made him look like a puff of charcoal against the deep jeweled hues of her mother’s room. He sat beside her naked mother, the grotesque length between his legs spend and flaccid. He was in a jovial mood now - cheered by his recent rutting and a hit of Slick. Her mother was lost in that other world, wherever the Purple Lotus took her.

“Kaia’wae, tell your little one to sing for me. I know she can,” and he gestured to the young Twi’lek. Her mother lay there, her eyes carefully studying the light fixture and the ceiling beyond it. Enraged by her lack of response, the man snatched at her mother’s robe, yanking her bodily upwards. The only sound her mother made was a small cry of dismay as the hookah pipe fell from her fingers. She was limp under the man’s massive white fist, her eyes struggling to focus.

“Make your little bastard sing! I know she can! Everyone here knows she can!” His voice, warm moments ago, had risen to an enraged roar, terrible in the quiet of the room.

Saudaji stayed hidden, folding her arms in anger across her chest. Mother had just made her sing not an hour ago. She was tired. And she didn’t like this man. She didn’t like it when he used her nickname. Who had told him that?

His one working eye trembled in impotent rage, and he drew his fist back, her mother still firmly in his grasp. Before his fist impacted, she could see her mother looking at his hand, as if it were a million miles away.

Saudaji jerked away, her body chill. In a panic, she scrambled to her feet, struggling to remember where she was. She was no longer in that old brothel. She was no longer a child, singing for the patrons, extra money. No longer going through the drills to make her into the perfect courtesan, to aspire to the heights her mother couldn’t reach.

If Raeth was monitoring her, he would have seen the clear signs of her distress. Elevated heart rate - the only time she’d shown one; despite their many trysts in the bedroom. The dilated pupils, beads of sweat on her forehead. Then again…nightmares were nothing new to her. Almost as quickly as her panic had registered, she had tucked it carefully away, ran a hand over her face, smearing her make up. Hand clasped over her mouth, she exhaled, her breath whistling through her fingers. Long breaths now, held, then let go. The time. What time was it?

Kicking off her flat gold sandals, she paced over to the bed, resisting the urge to collapse into it and sleep for a million cycles. It was mid-afternoon; she hadn’t slept all that long. There was still time enough to get the second part of their plan underway. But first, she’d have to check in with Raeth. The next stage would require precise planning, where they needed to be - and most of all, how to successfully the Master - as well as Dian’La. Giving the bed one last longing look, she padded into the bathroom, where she’d left her data pad. Picking it up, she snuck a quick look at herself in the mirror, before letting her face slip into a wry smile. She looked like hell, but considering the night she had, it was excusable.

Ruffled layers of bedding called to her out of the corner of her vision, and she sighed. So much for staying in the bathroom. And she might as well make herself comfortable. Tucking the pad under her arm, she took a running dive into the bed, bouncing lightly before settling back into the piles of blankets. Throwing herself back dramatically into the bedding, she thumbed in his code, ready to talk.

Unlike Saudaji, Raeth did not attend a party last night. He also did not get to sleep on the floor of an expensive suite. He managed to get about an hour of REM in the back of the RV, which Sebastian v2 had parked in one of Xucphra's countless parking structures.

Since their last check-in, Raeth did no partying, nor did he do any work directly related to their mission. Instead, he some fun online. He made Saudaji's alter ego - Dian'La - his new pet project. The night before, he created a Holonet site for Dian'La Rosilson. He created a profile for her on the three most popular social media sites. Today, he took the audio he had recorded from her performance last night, cleaned it up a little bit, and uploaded it to the Holonet's top music sites.

Raeth even fabricated a bunch of fans for her. Once, for a past mission, he wrote a program that could create an endless supply of dummy accounts online. Through the program, these dummy accounts could log onto popular Holonet sites - particularly social media sites - and post short, supportive messages onto forums, bulletin boards, Blabber feeds, you name it. The agent only had to make minor modifications to the program in order to give Dian'La an online following. Her virtual fanbase was small for the time being, but Raeth could increase it to the size of a horde if needed.

Raeth was checking a Dian'La forum, making sure his program was creating convincing-looking online banter, when Saudaji gave him a call. He smiled; genuinely excited, he wanted to show her all the fine work he had done in such a short amount of time. The agent did not realize that he wanted to show off to her like a young boy showing off to the girl in class he likes.

When the screen in Saudaji's hand came to life, Raeth's smiling face appeared upon it.

"There you are! I thought you'd sleep the entire day away. That must've been one hell of an omelette you ate.

"Hey, I want to show you something." Eager to gain her approval, he did not give her much of a chance to say anything before he showed her what he had been up to. On her data pad, the image of Raeth's face shrunk until it occupied half of the screen. On the other half, the Holonet appeared, and the Dian'La holosite was loaded up.

"Give it a look," Raeth said, that insufferable smile of his stretching from ear to ear. The smile wasn't anything new, but there was an anxiousness in his eyes that Saudaji had not seen before. It wasn't like the eagerness he had shown when they gave in to their base, carnal needs. It was something else.

If Saudaji perused the website Raeth had created on her behalf, she would see all the basics that a music artist's holonet site needed: home page, biography, calendar of upcoming performances, the option to subscribe to a newsletter. Almost all of the information was bullshit, of course, but it sure looked real.

The only thing that was real was the music on her one album: "Dian'La Rosilson - Live in Xucphara." There were links that would take her to the sites from which she could download her own performance from the hotel.

If Saudaji navigated to her own album, Raeth would laugh; on his screen, he could watch where she navigated. "Not bad, huh? I uploaded your album this morning, and already it's been downloaded over 10,000 times. It helped that I bumped your rating so that you'd appear near the top of the 'New and Noteworthy' section of the music store.

"Oh, and don't worry about the extra credits. They're yours." The next time Saudaji checked the account that she had provided to the Sith, she'd see that there were several thousand credits added to it. The credits from album purchases were sent directly into that account.

"Be sure to buy yourself something nice. Something silky, or a new set of knives, or something."

Raeth continued to talk, which meant talking over her if she attempted to get a word in. He was a naturally fast talker, but he was so excited this afternoon that he was speaking even faster than normal.

"I bet you'd be interested in knowing that your music caught one particular person's interest." On her screen, she could see Raeth tapping away on his console. The video of him was replaced by the feed from a different camera. Saudaji saw what appeared to be the inside of an expensive hotel room not unlike her own.

Whoever was operating the camera was walking down a hallway to the suite's large living area. There, Saudaji saw their target, Master Yent Virak, seated at a table looking over a data pad of his own.

It became clear that the footage she was watching was being captured by X-3V0, Virak's protocol droid. Saudaji knew that Raeth and Sebastian v2 captured X-3V0 the night before, that he tampered with its programming, and that he installed a camera into its ocular sockets. She also knew that the camera wasn't the only thing that Raeth installed in the droid.

"Would you care for me to make you some tea, Master?" X-3V0 asked. The Jedi Master, clearly absorbed by something important, waved the droid away without looking up. X-3V0 nodded, then waddled away towards one of the bedrooms.

The doors to the bedroom, which were not locked, slid open automatically when the droid approached them. Inside, X-3V0 saw- and by extension Saudaji and Raeth also saw - Deelio Spier sitting cross-legged upon the floor. Virak's padawan was mediating. His robes were folded, neatly, upon the bed, which left him in a white undershirt and light tan pants. Throughout the room, music set to a low volume was playing. Saudaji may or may not have been surprised by the fact that he was listening to her album, which did not exist until this morning.

"You've made quite an impression," Raeth's voice emanated from the data pad. She could practically hear him smiling. Like Raeth, she knew that a Jedi listening to music during meditation was highly unorthodox.

"He's known you for only a few days and already he's doing things that might get him a scolding. I've got to say, Saudaji, when you get your claws into someone, you get them in deep."

Raeth shut off the feed to Deelio's room, and his face re-appeared on Saudaji's data pad. His smile shrunk a little bit, and his expression became more serious. It was time to talk shop.

"We're pretty much ready. The droid is set. The Vratix are armed. And I've just confirmed that in three days, Master Virak is organizing another meeting between the Blenders Union and Xucphra's higher-ups." Saudaji was a professional, and so Raeth didn't bother explaining that this meeting was when they were going to strike.

After all of this planning, after all of these false identities, and after everything that's happened since the two of them first met, they were finally going to kill someone.

"You've got to keep the padawan occupied during the meeting. Ideally, make him disappear the night before." Raeth and Saudaji had discussed this part of the plan in great detail before: she was to occupy Deelio however she saw fit. When time came to pull the trigger, the padawn had to be nowhere near his master. Without his apprentice watching his back, Virak would be more vulnerable.

"What do you think? Are we all set? Are there any new risks you want to bring to my attention?" The agent gave Saudaji an opportunity to provide input, rather than steamroll his way through the conversation like he usually did.

After Saudaji said her peace, Raeth asked, "So, how are you going to do it?" She saw him grin on her screen. "Don't spare any of the illicit details."

Nestled within the deep confines of her bed, she appeared every inch a queen in the lap of luxury. Running a hand over her smooth lekku, she didn’t offer Raeth so much as an eye roll. It was clear she’d had a bit of a rough night - singing and fun at the party not withstanding. Her eyes lazily drifted from the small display of his face to the social media accounts. Though she wasn’t quite a dinosaur, she only had the faintest idea of what he was showing her. There wasn’t much time for social media in her world, and part of her, she was reluctant to admit, was intrigued by the prospect of it. It seemed as if anyone who had access to the Holonet could suddenly have a voice. Both a frightening and interesting prospect.

And navigate she did. Through the photos, the tour schedule - a wry smirk at her biography. At least Raeth had paid attention to the working class accent she’d given herself. “My measurements are wrong,” she said, with a slight chuckle. Not that she kept track of such things - but the measurements suggested someone much more slimmer, more of a waif than what she actually was. “Some new fans might be horrified and assume I’ve taken up company with a Hutt.” Her rich brown eyes flickered to and fro across the screen, the light reflecting in them.

“….So, is it all fake?”

Though she looked at the screen with heavily lidded eyes, there was a glimmer of interest there. Something in the comments, perhaps. But she seemed…oddly moved by what she was seeing. “Or is some of this real?” Her tone would suggest that she didn’t care either way, but her face - that face. Something had stuck with her.

“Wasn’t much of an album to upload,” she mused, nearly to herself. She hadn’t sung that many songs last night - certainly not enough, she felt, to warrant an entire album. “How did you make this?” She was genuinely curious. How he gathered enough samples of her voice to string together something like this? Not for the first time, she found herself impressed with his inventiveness. When he mentioned the money, she blinked languidly. That was something she hadn’t expected. And she wasn’t going to turn her nose up at it. “Feels strange, earning money almost legitimately.” Thoughtfully said - and she scrolled through more. “Could get used to this lifestyle, though,” and she gave him a sly smile, turning her full attention to him. “No dodging blaster bolts, no hearing someone pleading for their lives, adoring fans, quiet….”

He’d mention Deelio, and the warmth in her eyes vanished. She’d watched the footage of him meditating to her music, and she had to swallow her disgust. Simple, sad little man - intrigued by a fiction. But then again, most men were. He’d bought her act, hook, line, and sinker, and never once doubted a thing of what she said. And, in another time, she would have perhaps thought it quaint - a charming show of affection. No, not another time - another life. Foolish, foolish boy.

“I know,” and she flopped down harder into her pillow, her form nearly lost within its thick folds. “We’re set. I’ll send a message via the droid asking Deelio to accompany me on some silly errand or the other, preparation for some benefit, and keep him out.” It was fairly simple; she hadn’t considered that Deelio would tell her no. “The issue is getting Master Virak to allow him to go. Something tells me that he’s not as easily swayed. Can you think of something? Have that droid do something? I don’t know.” She waved a hand from the side of the screen, her scarlet nails shining in the dull light. She had the blinds drawn tight, and only the smallest slivers of the high noon slipped through, puddling on the floor before the bed. “I know the man’s a gourmand. Wasn’t too hard to see that as I was making my way around the room last night. Maybe set up an invitation for some sort of tasting. Jedi can keep firm holds on their students. I’m sure I could appeal to Deelio to get him to run off, but something will need to take Virak’s attention away from him in order for me to do so. And,” she stifled a large yawn, “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunity to film whatever I do to Deelio to keep him away.”

Raeth scoffed when Saudaji commented on the inaccuracy of her measurements. Whether she knew it or not, he not only had her biometrics stored on file, he had her measurements memorized.

"Of course they're wrong. You've got a body built for power - power, and so many other things." Despite his upperclass, Core Worlds accent, the agent was able to inject so much nastiness into that sentence. The grin that appeared on her screen practically oozed with sin.

"The most popular singers aren't built like you. Eating disorders are the name of the game in those circles, and you clearly don't play that game. I had to make some adjustments to your measurements. You'll notice I even doctored your images." After all, in their line of work it wouldn't do to have accurate images of them floating around on the Net.

Saudaji then asked if it was all fake. Raeth opened his mouth and was about to say, 'Yes,' but at the last moment he noticed her expression. She seemed intrigued, which was one of the responses he had wanted to see. He closed his mouth, smiled, then logged onto the Dian'La message boards while he still had Saudaji on the comms. His fingers were a flurry as he created a new post and type a short, sweet message:

"I could listen to her sing all night." - from EyeInTheSky

That single line was posted and thus immortalized on the Holonet, the one true message amidst an array of computer-generated threads, all of which appeared on the website of a Twi'lek singer that didn't really exist. Not as she was advertised, at least.

"I just posted something that isn't fake. It's up to you to figure out what I wrote." He challenged her playfully.

It was then that Saudaji made a comment about how how strange it was to earn money through art & performance rather than through bloodshed. He laughed, quietly, but any further laughter was silenced by Saudaji's smile. She did not smile at him, often. After enduring her coldness, her intentionally callous behavior towards him whenever they weren't naked, seeing her smile caused his normally steady heart rate to flutter.

"Does that really sound appealing to you?" He asked after she spoke of a life without blaster bolts and danger, not realizing that he was almost whispering for some reason. "A quiet life? After being raised the way you were, after seeing all that you've seen, could you see yourself spending the rest of your days like that..." On her screen, she saw him gesture in her direction, indicating the fat, plush pillows she was surrounded by and the cloud-like mattress that threatened to swallow her whole. "...Bouncing from suite to suite, living comfortably off of the online sales of your music? Wearing gossamer dressed instead of armor? A mic in your hand every night instead of a knife? Wouldn't you grow restless?"

Raeth sat forward. Even though they were separated by several miles, leaning closer to the screen somehow felt like he was leaning a little closer to her. Playfully, he asked, "Would there be room in that suite for me?" He studied her face, her eyes, on the monitor.

After a moment or two of uncomfortable silence - something that was particularly rare whenever Raeth was involved - he leaned back in his seat and raised his voice.

"About Deelio..." he announced. Back to business.

"You needn't worry about his master keeping him late after school," the agent stated, confidently. "Since yesterday, Virak's been sequestered in his room, doing nothing but talking to Xucphra or the Blenders Union reps on comms, or burying his nose in trade documentation. Trust me, Deelio's the furthest thing from his mind." Considering Raeth had been spying on the Jedi diplomat thorugh the eyes of a protocol droid for the past several hours, it was easier to believe he knew what he was talking about.

"That's why the two of you were able to sneak away so easily for breakfast this morning.

"Whatever you have in mind for Deelio, just roll with it." Once again, his grin looked more than a little nasty. "And you bet your sweet ass I'll be filming. When we're done and flying our victory lap, we can watch the footage together...if you're into that sort of thing."

Unless Saudaji had much more to say, their conversation ended soon afterwards. Raeth told her to 'Have fun,' before he punched off the comms.

"Sebastian," he called out, swiveling in his chair at the back of the RV. The droid was seated in the driver's chair, as usual, interfacing wirelessly with the Holonet. Raeth didn't mention this to Saudaji, but he programmed Sebastian v2 to handle Dian'La Rosilson's social media accounts, which was what he was doing at that time. Raeth suspected that when he told her that Sebastian was her own, personal social media manager, she wouldn't find it nearly as amusing as he did, if she found it amusing at all.

The droid paused what it was doing to turn around. "Yes, Master?"

"Take us to Xucphra headquarters. Time for final prep!" Raeth was visibly and audibly excited. Finally, they were going to do what they were paid to do. He actually clapped a couple of times after the words 'final prep!', and he grinned like a little boy about to open his birthday presents.

If Sebastian v2 could roll its eyes, it would have. Instead, it turned back around and followed its master's orders. "We're on our way, Master," it announced, flatly.
The RV's engine revved up, and moments later it was in the skylanes above Xucphra City, on its way to the spot where great violence would soon erupt.

“ ‘Power.’ Right…” She was musing now, her eyes growing distant. It hadn’t always been like this. She wasn’t about to tell him that, though. Once upon a time, before everything, this was the sort of lifestyle she was supposed to have. What her biological mother had brought her up to do. This gig, in turns, was nostalgic, bittersweet. A sampling of some normalcy, insofar as she could potentially hope for. And, without her fully conscious of it, a note of sad longing had crept into her voice. If it was from remembering, or contemplating what could potentially be would be up to him to determine.

“Actually,” and she twisted in the mounds of pillows to lay on her side, “A lot of the Twi’lek singers I listened to as a little girl weren’t so small. So maybe, in theory, it wouldn’t be that jarring. Hard to tell with people. Dian’La isn’t really meant to be a sex symbol like that. If she was, she wouldn’t be able to hold the interest of a Padawan. Not beyond a few heated dreams, I can tell you that much.”

For a few moments, her expression was neutral - of course none of it was true. Funny how it’d stung, just a little. More than she had expected it to. Instant love for someone who didn’t exist. Well….not in a literal sense. Dian’La was part of who she was; in a sense. She’d drawn back into a corner of herself that she’d nearly forgotten, or, rather, had tried to force herself to forget. Who had time to sing in the middle of a battle? Mandalorians, though not entirely devoid of culture, didn’t put much stock into the arts. And she’d been old enough when the raid happened to remember what her life had been. To remember how she hated it, but had accepted it. Had thought, in the middle of the beatings after the Mandalorians came, that this would be better than to end up like her mother. Anything would have been better than that.

And one glittering night on stage was enough to cause the tight tapestry of her life to begin to unravel at the edges.

Contemplative, the middle of that full lower lip slightly caught between her teeth, she scanned the threads again, looking for whatever seemed…real. Not like it would be easy to tell. So many voices, overwhelmingly good, but the occasional nay-sayer to keep it accurate. Knowing Raeth’s sense of humor, she didn’t put it past him to have authored some of those comments himself.

“It does,” she said, finally, resting a hand upon her outstretched arm. The new angle caused her breasts to bulge, soft curves of pale violet flesh pressing against the edge of her white top. “There’s something to be said for stability,” and she flashed him a rare, sentimental smile. “Believe it or not, I didn’t always think killing people was going to be my life. It’s been that way for so long that somewhere along the line I forgot I had a choice. Being here helped me remember that, for better or for worse. Good food, good company, music, people that love me….what’s not to like?” In the reflection of the holoscreen, her eyes looked a bit dreamy, still dogged by that deep sorrow.

At his comment about room in the suite, she just chuckled, shook her head. “I don’t think this lifestyle would agree with you. You’d run me crazier than you do now.”

She shifted again, balling the pillow under her head as if she was settling in for the night. The festivities upstairs, the meeting, the dream - it had taken its toll on her, and her eyes were rapidly becoming heavy lidded. “I’d wondered about that. What sort of master lets his student run off with a songstress? Didn’t think about it long enough to consider it a problem. Worked out in my favor, anyway. I’ll send him a message thanking him for joining me for breakfast, and if he wouldn’t mind joining me for a dinner in a few nights. Private concert and all. That should work, and be chaste enough for him to agree to it. Hey,” and she shifted again, laying on her stomach, folding her arms under her head, turning her head to face the screen, “Do me a favor? Get Dian’La set up with some sort of small show this evening and tomorrow - stop gaps to pass the time, to make me seem busy. If you do something like one show a night, it gives the impression of a valuable commodity.”

Barely hiding a large yawn behind her hand, she nodded absent-mindedly at his farewell. She could leave everything else in his hands for the time being. For now, she was going to catch up on her sleep.

____________

Raeth was a man of his word.

The next few days passed in not quite a whirlwind pace, but quickly enough. Between each nightly show, she’d taken the opportunity to relax as only a the daughter of a courtesan could - fine dining, bathing; she’d visited several salons (not for any particular reason other than to go because she could), indulged in hours long full body massages, shopping sprees where she bought out an entire department of a store and turned around and took it to the poorest sections of town to give away. Though it was perfect publicity, it was something she actually didn’t have to fake. Impressed by the money she’d made as “Dian’La”, to her, the most natural thing to do was to give it back, some way, some how.

She did, of course, buy a few things for herself. Out one day, she’d passed up a wine red dress, elegantly pinned onto the store mannequin in the window. She’d paused, standing on the permacrete, just staring at it. Rough around the edges as she was, she knew quality when she saw it. And, surprising from the hardened assassin, she’d timidly enter the store and ask to try it on. And when the cool fabric slid over head, it felt like it’d been made specifically for her. The fact that it cost enough to feed a family of 4 didn’t deter her.

True to her word, though, between the decent living (which she did do lavishly. The girl could relax), she had sent word to Deelio if he wouldn’t mind joining her for a dinner and a show? She’d heard of a new play in town that she wanted to see, and thought he might be interested in joining her. And, also, well, she wanted to give him a little something as a going away present, since she’d heard he’d be leaving soon. In her breathless voice, it was clear that her present wasn’t going to be anything physical - nothing that set off alarms to the hapless young man. In fact, far from being able to hold a secret, she flat out told him that she’d wanted to sing for him; she’d been writing a few new songs and needed someone unbiased to try them out on. Fans would automatically love anything she did, but she wanted to make sure that her new songs really moved people. And so, dressed in a mini dress of a beautiful deep teal with feather-light stenciling of gold circles, she waited atop the hotel. She made sure that the hotel staff would keep everyone off the roof; she’d reserved it for a “private party.”

She waited for him now as twilight gathered round the edges of the city, and ran her fingers across the white keys of the piano, the very same that Fran’ke had sat at days before.