The Force Always Says Yes [Star Wars]

Nerim looked on with mild concern as Jianno affixed a freshly-refueled flamethrower to her gauntlet.

"For the record," Arwain tapped her foot on the metal floor of the starship, "Utapau is not a member of the Republic, and I have no legal authority there. If you get in trouble, I can't bail you out."

Jianno grunted in acknowledgment.

"That goes for you too, Nerim," His master warned.

He frowned. "Do I seem like the kind of person that gets in trouble?"

She grinned and pat him on the head. "Mhm. We also must keep our nature a secret as best we can. Remember, we're simply wealthy off-worlders with a peculiar taste in oddities deemed illegal by the Republic."

"Lying is against the Code, isn't it?" Nerim sighed, fiddling with his new clothes. They were...nice. It was somewhat disturbing. The silky material felt cool and smooth against his skin.

"Mm, none of that is a lie," Arwain said. "We were given quite a few credits, we're off-worlders, and we are very peculiar."

There were several satisfying clicks and clacks as Jianno finished assembling her weaponry. "Remind me again, how much is that silly little thing you're searching for worth?"

"Priceless," Arwain replied immediately. "To a Force User, at least. Maybe a couple million credits, to a collector. A holocron is a useless oddity to the average person. Interesting insofar as they are rare and made of technology they cannot understand. They so rarely appear on the black market that I can't give you a consistent price. But be assured that the type of people who buy holocrons are those who are wealthy and prefer living outside of the Republic's legal system, and that has a very consistent crossover with Hutt cartels."

The Mandalorian sighed. "I can't believe I have to ask this. What does it do? There has to be some sort of function that makes it priceless."

Arwain smiled and tapped Nerim on the shoulder, prompting him to answer. He uncomfortably shifted in place. "Um, they are...libraries?"

Arwain's smile immediately dropped. "Nerim, I told you to read your books."

"I did! Just...not The Jedi Path. I felt the anthropology books would come in better use!"

She glared at him disapprovingly. "That copy of The Jedi Path has been passed down for two hundred years. It's a very useful book. My master's master's master's master held it in his hands."

He shied away under her gaze. "I'll get to it."

"You better! I swear, if you hand that to your student one day and you've never even read it..."

Nerim immediately felt odd, even considering the proposition that he may have a student himself. It was so patently ridiculous that he couldn't stop himself from exhaling a quick laugh. "Goodness. All I know is that the holocrons were in the 'off-limits' section of the archives, and contain the knowledge of ancient Jedi."

"More than that," Arwain emphasized, "They contain a snapshot of the creator's entire psyche. Everything they knew, every facet of their personality—minus anything they wanted to keep out of it. As if they had downloaded their minds into a holographic computer, even traces of their Force signature can still remain."

Jianno snorted. "Sithspit, why would anyone want to talk to a Jedi?"

"Well, not just anyone can," Arwain said, "It requires use of the Force to activate them. For us, it represents a way to access the tutelage of ancient masters. For the average person, well, it could be valuable for any number of reasons. Rarity, beauty, mystery. Some have been known to collect them as a statement of superiority, similar to lightsaber collectors. Yet another reason not to make it obvious that we are Jedi searching for the thing."

Nerim tapped at the ship's computer, checking over all of the diagnostics for the tenth time. "We only have any inclination to believe it's there because there are rumors someone is looking to buy one, so we assume they have information that someone there is selling. If they're looking to sell, why don't we just come in as envoys of the Republic and offer to pay an outrageous sum? It'd be far more convenient for the seller than vetting whatever shady smugglers drop by."

His Master shook her head. "It's always been an open offer, actually. Anyone who turns in a holocron to the Republic could retire the next day off of the lump sum provided. It's happened more than once that some farm kid stumbles upon the ruins of an old temple and uses the reward to become fabulously wealthy. The holocron trade is seldom done for money alone in this day and age."

He hummed in thought and checked once more on their destination. "Ah, the hyperwind storms seem to be dying down as expected. We'll be able to descend into dock in just a few minutes."

"Utapau's storms are a double-edged sword," Jianno noted. "They could make moving across or off the planet nearly impossible for hours at a time, but the same is true for any quarry we find. If you plan to confront someone, keep the weather in mind. Bring us in, would you?"

Nerim sheepishly shrugged into his seat. "I-I don't know how to fly this thing. I barely passed my vehicular classes as it is."

She sighed and wrapped up her equipment, walking over to the pilot's seat. "Okay, I'll do it. But only once, so watch closely. This is the sublight thruster ignition..."

Arwain rested her chin in her hand and quietly watched with satisfaction as Jianno explained the procedure to her student.


-----------------


Nerim stepped out of the docking office and ran up to the edge of the platform, looking out. He was on a structure hanging off the wall halfway down an absolutely colossal miles-deep sinkhole. There were the normal sounds of city, bustling movement and industrial machines and repulsorlift craft buzzing about, but there was something else entirely. Great gusts of wind blew up and then down the sinkhole, like the world was breathing through it. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

For its part, the world also smelled different than anywhere he had been before. It was salty and earthy, like stone that had been baking in the sun, with hints of grass and even floral scents. Half the shaft was bathed in sunlight, while the other half was in cool, calm afternoon shadows. At the bottom of the sinkhole was a cloudy lake of bluish-green water with red tinges on the edges, some sort of combination of algae responsible.

The structures built into the walls jutted out at irregular angles and in numerous shapes, from disc-like platforms to ovals set into the rock like gems, to outward obelisks and more. Many of them had banners and decorations hanging off the side, like thousands of little ribbons fluttering with the breathing breeze.

Nerim leaned on the railing, and Arwain strode up besides him, laughing softly. "Enjoying the view?"

He blinked. "Are all planets like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like...entire worlds," he said dumbly, knowing how redundant it sounded but unable to word it any other way.

Arwain just took a deep breath and leaned on the railing with him, taking in the sights. "Yeah. It's beautiful, isn't it? Sometimes you'll think you've seen it all, you know. But you'll always be wrong."

They stood there in silence for a while, until Arwain managed to drag herself away—and Nerim, too. Jianno had already slipped away to examine the underworld, which left the two of them to examine high society. The Luxorium.

The Luxorium was a small district owned in its entirety by the Commerce Guild, a trade conglomerate that worked both inside and outside of the Republic. It contained parks, swimming pools, casinos, and more, all to seduce any passing business people as they traded on Utapau.

The casinos in particular of interest to them: Though they knew not who was selling this alleged holocron, they knew who was rumored to be attempting the buy, mostly because of his loose lips and gambling habit. According to the rumors, he was gambling in hopes of doubling his money so he could afford to buy the holocron. His name was Yl'gar, a Bith of ill repute and that certain type of infamy which follows new-money that shows no regard for old-money.

It wasn't far from the docks, and it wasn't hard to find. It wasn't quite as garish as the mid levels of Coruscant were, the neon was restrained and the displays were more cultured than bawdy, but it was most certainly advertising itself all the same. The central plaza was filled with sculptures and greenery from across the Galaxy, well fitting for a clientele that is refined, and thinks that it's even more refined than it is.

Arwain turned to Nerim and crossed her arms. "I'll be entering the casino now, but it would be odd to bring a kid your age into the building. So you're going to have to find a lead on your own."

Nerim blinked. "W-what? Where do I even start?"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, then opened them with that dreaded slight smile and glint in her eyes. "I have a good feeling about this. There's something around here that wants to be found. Trust your instincts."

Before he could think of a way to change her mind, she turned and strode away from him, leaving him staring blankly at her leaving in the middle of the plaza. When she disappeared through the doors to the casino, he let out a rattling sigh and turned around. There was no helping it.

He glanced at the nearby buildings and realized he had absolutely no idea what a wealthy teenager would be interested in. Trying to blend in without being able to follow his Master's lead was a fool's errand. But after the series of experiences he had gone through, he decided to at least attempt to heed her words, and follow his instincts.

So then came the question to ask, where did he want to go right now? A cavalcade of memories and impulses flowed through him, but there was one in particular that stood out. He spun on his heel and began walking in search of a diner. He wanted a bantha burger and fries.

He walked for a while before he found a place he could consider suitable, its walls chromed and sandwiched between larger, more respectable businesses on either side and above. With an uncharacteristic smile, he entered the diner and stepped up to the bar, sitting down and placing his order to the serving droid. The place was small, but most certainly not abandoned. It seemed there were quite a few patrons, most of them youths, enjoying their afternoon along with milkshakes and greasy food. And, of course, there was Jatz playing over the radio.

He was just leaning in for his first bite of the delicious burger when the doors to the diner slammed open with the sound of laughter and chattering, and he felt himself being squeezed on either side as a number of other youths crowded into the establishment. To his left was a particularly weighty Sullustan breathing a little too heavily, and to his right was a wiry Bothan who gave him a quick grin and ordered some sort of acidic yellowish bubbling drink.

Just as he leaned in again and took a bite, he felt a tapping on his shoulder. He turned around, mouth still full, to see a young girl around his age staring at him with her arms crossed. She looked Human, with fair skin and jet black hair worn in double buns on the crown of her head. Her face was expressionless and her eyes were cold, but there was no malice—if anything, just boredom.

She was about to ask him if he could switch seats with her, so he nodded. "Sure," he said, swallowing and picking up his plate. She didn't immediately move out of the way as he shuffled off of his stool. He noticed her eyes immediately changed, an eyebrow raised in interest. Her eyes, just as black as her hair, scanned him up and down.

Her curiosity made him curious, and he took a closer look at the group she came in with. Each of them were carrying swords, each of varying materials and makes, held safely in expensive looking sheathes. He briefly recalled a fencing club he passed on the way here. The strange thing was that none of them were experiencing the aftereffects of exertion—except for the weighty Sullustan. It was his turn to raise an eyebrow at her. "Eating greasy diner food before practice?"

She pursed her lips. "Teacher's involved in a traffic incident, class got canceled. You attend some other school?"

"Sort of," he shrugged, ready to move past her. She still didn't move, staring him directly in the eye. In a Galaxy full of beings of all shapes and sizes, it was rare for him to come across someone who was exactly his height.

"Wanna join us for a spar?" She asked, rather forwardly for Nerim's taste.

"I, uh, don't have a sword."

"Back on Coruscant, right?" She guessed, her expression still mostly blank.

"Is my accent that obvious?"

"Mhm."

They stared at each other for a moment, until Nerim felt the wiry Bothan's hand clap on his shoulder. He spoke in a raspy, but positive tone. "C'mon, Tetha's gut is never wrong about this stuff. It'll be a blast."

"That so?" Nerim asked, intrigued. "You guys often pick up offworlders for your sparring sessions?"

"Oh no," the chubby Sullustan leaned back, "Sometimes it's for ice skating."

"Hah!" The Bothan cackled. "That's how we picked up Tiny here. You should've seen him slide from one end of the rink to the other, nothin' but belly!"

The girl with dark hair, Tetha, blinked. "I'm pretty sure there was a bit of face, too," she said dryly. The Sullustan snorted and returned to leaning on the bar. Nerim was about to ask if he would be similarly humiliated, when she cut him off. "Don't worry, we're not trying to make a fool of you. Actually, I kind of get the feeling you're good at this."

He looked at her, then back down to his plate, then back up to her. "Okay. But can I finish this first?"

"Greasy diner food, right before sparring?" She echoed.

He chuckled. He was starting to believe diners were some sort of magic.

Nerim held the vibroblade in his hand, and it immediately felt so utterly, incredibly wrong. It was certainly not heavy, but it wasn't as light as—well, light. The single-edge was bizarre, but that seemed to be the case for just about all of them. The most edges any of the swords had was two. Imagine that.

He frowned. The handle was straight. The only swords with curved handles were rapiers, which—incredibly—had no edges at all beyond the point. Somehow that felt the most natural to him, and so he placed back the sword he was holding and picked up a rapier.

From context clues, he had surmised these were training vibroblades, which worked on the exact opposite principle as real vibroblades; instead of using sonic generators to vibrate at a frequency that increased cutting potential tenfold, they vibrated themselves to a stop as soon as they touched their target, ensuring no cuts while allowing them to train with blades almost identical to the real thing.

He held the rapier up and waved it from side to side, feeling the blade microscopically bend with the motion. So unbelievably wrong.

Most of the other youths were watching him. The group had grown and shrunk on the way to the training area, most of them breaking off to go do anything else with their free time, until there were about nine of them, and one of him. They were trying to size him up. He was the newcomer, after all.

The wiry Bothan stroked his beard with his claws. "What's the matter, New Boy, not what you're used to?"

Nerim flicked the on switch, and felt the slight hum of the rapier in his hand. "Not even remotely."

"Hah! Core schools trained you poorly for the Outer Rim, then," the Bothan nodded, self-satisfied. "As expected."

Nerim had still yet to catch his name—or for that matter, anyone's name except for Tetha. They seemed to have entirely embraced nicknames. Some Rodian kid was carrying a device of a sort Nerim had never seen and pressed a button, only for music of a sort he had never heard to begin booming out of it. It was similar to Jatz in that there were drums and some sort of bassline, but that was where the similarities ended to his untrained ear. The lyrics were also in Huttese. Still, he kind of liked it.

By that point, they began pairing off onto the two training mats and holding impromptu duels at varying levels of seriousness. Their movements were odd to Nerim's eyes, of a different nature than he was used to. Their form bore some resemblance to Shii-Cho, straightforward and conservative, but also had some elements of Makashi in the footwork, shuffling backwards and forwards to try and trick their opponent as to their range.

The resemblance was tenuous at best, though. Their movements were incredibly sloppy and made at angles a Jedi would scarcely consider worth pursuing. The required power and correct angling required by vibroblades was an extreme disadvantage, he realized.

He turned to the wiry Bothan. "How long have you been training?"

The Bothan shrugged. "Since I was a kit, I suppose. With this group in particular? I dunno, joined the fencing club here maybe...ten standards ago?"

Tiny was still strapping on his kneepads as he huffed. "Tetha and Crybaby dragged me into this a couple months ago."

The wiry Bothan, apparently named Crybaby, grinned toothily. "Smeelya whao toupee upee! For most of us, it was piano lessons or this. And what kid would choose piano lessons over sword fighting?"

Tiny scoffed. "I'm pretty good at piano, I'll have you know."

"You should go up against New Boy!" Crybaby said, punching Tiny in the shoulder to comically little effect. "You'll both be flailing around, it'll be funny."

"Yeah, yeah," Tiny sighed, hefting up his vibroblade and walking over to a training mat. Nerim supposed this was unavoidable, and squared off against him. "So, New Boy, how long have you been training?"

Nerim shrugged. "A while."

"Oh goodie," Tiny chuckled.

Without any referee, they fluidly changed states from talking to fighting, inching forward and threatening with their blades. The weighty Sullustan had a double edged, broader blade which Nerim imagined might be a little difficult to block or parry with his thin, light rapier. In that case, the best defense was a good offense.

He pursed his lips. He did not like how often his Master was right.

Tiny took a conservative slash at him, low commitment and primarily intended to test his defenses. Smart move, but Nerim's reflexes were good enough to take advantage of the minuscule opening and lunge into a stab to the heart. Not that he would, of course. This was a friendly match, and so he simply batted the blade away and responded with his own attempt at stabbing the Sullustan's sword hand.

Surprisingly, Tiny reacted in time, twisting his hand guard to divert the tip of the rapier away. He stepped forward to press the counterattack, so Nerim sidestepped and kicked at his opponent's foot. Tiny toppled to the ground with a rather undignified sloshing motion, and Nerim pointed the rapier down at him. Crybaby began cackling like a broken speeder engine.

"Owww," Tiny groaned, rubbing his leg. "They teach you to kick shins on Coruscant?"

Nerim blinked. "Of course. Sorry, was that against the rules?" He asked, offering a hand to help Tiny back up. Tiny gave a quizzical look and grabbed it. He was a little heavy, but Nerim easily helped him back to his feet.

"Uh, I guess there were no rules against it. But our instructor never taught us anything like that. It's sword fighting, isn't it?"

"Of course, but controlling your opponent's blade is just as important as controlling your own." Nerim smiled. "You're pretty good, for a beginner. Nice job catching my blade with your guard."

"Am I?" He asked. "I get pretty thoroughly trounced by everyone here."

"Well, you surprised me. You must have a good teacher."

Tiny puffed up a little. "Yeah, well, Teach' is good, but honestly I've learned more from Tetha tutoring me."

"That so?" Nerim said, glancing over to the other kids. He made eye contact with Tetha, who was watching him back. He cleared off the mat and two other youths took it, while Tiny sat down on a stone bench.

"Yep!" Crybaby pitched in. "She's the, ooooh, golden girl!" He waggled his claws as he said it. "Teach' says she'll be going to sector-wide competitions before long."

Tetha maintained eye contact with him, and then began walking towards them. Nerim felt that sensation of electricity climbing his spine again. It wasn't slimy or cold like last time, but he knew he was about to get roped into something.

When she got close enough, she spoke up. "You plan on kicking my legs out, too?"

Nerim stared back at her. "You plan on dueling me?"

"Yes," she said, the smallest hint of amusement on her face.

"Then yes," Nerim answered, smiling back. 'Note to self,' he thought, 'Do not try to kick her. She will be expecting it.'

They spent a few minutes waiting for a mat to clear off, silently standing next to one another, Nerim with his arms crossed and Tetha with her hands on her hilt and hip. He was struck with a rather heavy sense of deja vu. He was experiencing that same feeling he had in the Temple, when the Knights and Masters looked down with hooded faces at him, judging him.

Before he could pin it down, the mat was emptied, and Tetha strode up and unsheathed her blade. It was a long single-edged blade, as straight and thin as could be. So thin that he imagined he would have little trouble snapping it. There was murmuring as she did so, semi-sarcastic "oohs" and "aahs" as the youths joked with half-sincerity about how the big guns were coming out. She raised her blade in a quick salute to the standard ready position the other youths had been using for similar blades.

Nerim stood across from her, his rapier held down by his side, his body the picture of relaxation. He always felt too silly taking ready positions. His head was slightly tilted to the side, and his expression was as featureless and pensive as hers was blank and intense. The moment she began moving, he instantly realized what the feeling was.

It was a deep apprehension, and an acceptance of defeat. The same thing he felt during the tournament. But this time he shook it off.

She sprung forward in a lightning fast lunge, and he parried it aside, sidestepping her momentum. She effortlessly danced her feet beneath her, appearing to float along with him as she slashed up diagonally. His nervous system lit up with recognition before the information even made it to his brain, and he stepped backwards to bat it up, before immediately stepping forwards to get inside her range. When he realized what just happened, his breath caught.

She had utilized something startlingly similar to the contentious opportunity, the most basic principle of the Makashi Form, which Arwain had been drilling him in not a few days prior. He responded in the way he had been taught, stepping in as close as possible. While their blades were entangled above their heads, he wrapped his other arm around her in a tight hug and pivoted his body, throwing her over his hip to the ground.

Just as fast, she rolled to one knee and let loose a counterattack. As quick as he could, his rapier flashed forward and snicked her blade's hilt. This did nothing to stop the attack, which slashed across his torso with an flash of pain and an odd rumbling sensation, as if a series of blows were punched into his chest.

There was some laughter among the kids who were watching them, and Nerim realized at some point he had broken out into a sweat. Tetha was frozen in front of him, her eyes wide with just as much surprise as his.

"Ahhh keepuna!" Crybaby cackled. "You only just missed her hand!"

Nerim kept his face as expressionless as he possibly could. He hadn't been aiming for her hand; he was attempting the Sun Djem Mark of Contact, to cut your opponent's lightsaber emitter and disarm them without causing any harm. It was just as reflexive as throwing her.

Tetha's stared at her hilt, and then locked in on Nerim's eyes. For the first time, Tetha smiled—although still a tight, reserved smile. "Close match."

Somehow, Nerim found the mood was infectious, and fought a smirk of his own, before letting it burst open into a smile on his face.


---------------


The group continued sparring and fooling around in equal portions until more and more of them had wandered off, leaving just the four of them. Nerim closely studied Tetha whenever she fought. She had a bizarre style of combat, like some sort of cousin of Makashi interbred with traditional swordfighting techniques, as if every match she partook in fell in the uncanny valley to his eyes. Meanwhile, he had restrained himself, and primarily dueled with the other youths, avoiding showing any more of his hand.

Crybaby turned to Nerim. "So, New Boy, what do you do for fun aside from hit people with sticks?"

Nerim thought about it for a second, then shook his head. "No, that's just about it."

"Hah! Even Tetha has hobbies!"

Tetha glowered at him. "What do you mean by that?"

"I've been meaning to ask," Nerim interrupted, "Why does everyone get a nickname but her?"

Tiny took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Same reason he got the name Crybaby."

"Oh give me a break," the Bothan threw his hands up, "I'm not the only one that screamed."

"You were the loudest," Tiny chuckled.

Crybaby sighed. "Her nickname used to be Four Eyes, 'cause she wore these silly glasses at night."

"Watch it," Tetha's eye twitched.

Crybaby continued unabated. "Then she came by one day with those things," he said, gesturing vaguely to Tetha's hair, "And we started calling her 'Buns'."

Tiny shook his head emphatically. "Uh-uh, mm-mm, nope, no, you started calling her Buns."

"Others joined in!"

"Regardless," Tetha crossed her arms, "It was inappropriate."

"I'll say," Crybaby rolled his eyes, "You barely even—" He froze in his tracks as Tetha's glare became significantly more intense. "Uhh, anyways, she was driving the airspeeder at the time, and the rest is history."

Tetha's glare softened and she bore a half-smile. "He wasn't the only one who screamed."

"He was the loudest, though," Tiny said firmly, throwing his sword over his back. "Anyways, I have to go study. Big exam tomorrow."

"Pff, bootlicker!" Crybaby mocked. "You think one night of studying will do you any good? Da stoopa nechaska, time to hang up your goodie two shoes."

"Skocha sleemo!" Tiny responded while walking away, getting a laugh out of Crybaby. "See ya."

"Byebyeee, Tiny!" Crybaby called out, waving. Then he turned to Nerim. "Say, New Boy, how long are you here on Utapau?"

He remembered the rehearsed backstory he was given. "My mother is here for business negotiations, so, who knows? Could be a day, could be a month."

Crybaby tilted his head and leaned forward. "Ehh? She's interrupting your studies for that?"

Nerim shrugged. "No, vacation is at a different time on Coruscant. She is wasting my summer, though."

"Keepunaaah..." The wiry Bothan shook his head. "Parents are the worst, am I right?" Nerim gave him a slightly uncomfortable stare, and then the Bothan yawned. "Anyways, Tiny's got the right idea for once. I gotta get some winks."

Tetha narrowed her eyes slightly. "Sleep? Now? You? It's barely evening."

Crybaby gave her another one of his sharp grins. "Well I can't get sleepy halfway through the night, can I? Gotta party until dawn."

"Mm," Tetha hummed with a disapproving tone, "That's more like you."

"You know it!" Crybaby cackled, walking away.

Now alone at the corner of the Luxorium plaza, Tetha and Nerim's eyes met. After a short, awkward silence, Tetha spoke up. "So, what is your name?"

"Nerim," he properly introduced himself.

"What's Coruscant like?" She asked.

He took a moment to think. "Everything smells a little metallic. On the upper levels, everything is clean and round and cold, and lower down, everything is dirty and sharp and hot. Everyone is too busy to pay any attention to you, and you always have to be careful not to tumble off of some high place."

She carefully considered his words. "And where do you live, in all that?"

He looked out over the railing into the sinkhole, now mostly bathed in shadows. Twinkling lights began springing to life all over the walls, and spotlights even cast symbols and colors across the barren stone. "Big estate, where everything I mentioned is doubled." He glanced over to her. "What about you?"

She put her elbows on the railing and leaned backwards on it next to him. "Couple levels down from here, nice mansion I guess. Also gotta be careful not to fall."

Nerim considered her word choice for a moment, then asked a question of his own. "You're pretty good with a sword. Where'd you learn that?"

She gave him a small, knowing smile, like he was picking up on some old in-joke. "Fencing school, duh. What, you think I learned from action holos?"

"Something like that," Nerim muttered, studying her expression.

Her smile widened a little, revealing sharp canines. "Cool your jets, New Boy."

Somehow Nerim found himself in the passenger seat of Tetha's airspeeder, while she dropped them down at an uncomfortable speed towards the ground. Nerim felt his stomach lifting up his throat, but kept it under control.

His eyes were glued to Tetha, as she spun the control yoke to corkscrew them down. Even now, he could get almost no read on her whatsoever. She lacked almost any facial expression or body language readable by his mundane methods, and as always, the Force was a fickle stream of information to him.

At this point, he figured there was a pretty good chance Tetha was connected to the holocron trade in some way. At the very least, he was near certain she knew he was a Jedi. That left him two options; disengage and defer to his Master, or stick as close to her as he could to ensure she didn't send off any secret messages or warning signals that could cause it to go deeper underground.

Even a moment of hesitation would have rendered the second option tenuous at best. Right now, she would probably believe he's in close contact with his Master and possibly other assets, maybe even being actively monitored, so she would be hesitant to hurt him in any way. If he appeared uncomfortable or like he was mentally calculating, she would know he was really in danger.

So when she asked him to hop in her speeder and come visit her home, he had to instantly answer "Yes" or "No," and, well, his Master taught him to always say yes.

Obviously he had activated his emergency beacon in the moment between her hopping in the vehicle and him entering, when she couldn't see him. That way, Jianno and Arwain would show up and make his bluff a reality as soon as possible.

"You know," Tetha said in a neutral tone, "I'm pretty sure everyone could tell you weren't a high society type."

Nerim sighed. The wind ruffled his hair and messed up anything Arwain had done to it earlier for the sake of fitting in, although Tetha's buns seemed to keep everything in perfect order on her head. "On the contrary, I've been entirely above society my whole life."

She briefly glanced at him while darting between lanes of air traffic. "This your first time off Coruscant? Or out of your estate?"

"Wha—do I really seem that green still?" He asked. "This isn't even the first time I've been to the Outer Rim."

"It's the second," she guessed.

Nerim silently pouted.

Tetha suddenly let loose a giggle. Nerim was struck by the display, the sudden glint in her eyes and scrunch in her nose. "Don't be so discouraged," she said, her voice warm and soft, "I've never even been off Utapau."

"It's not a bad place to be stuck," Nerim offered.

"Guess there's worse," Tetha said tiredly, the emotion fading away from her face almost as fast as it appeared, leaving her just as blank faced as ever.

"If you don't mind my asking," Nerim carefully ventured, "How does your family make its money?"

She exhaled through her nose. "Utterly tactless."

"I prefer the term 'disarmingly direct,'" Nerim said.

"So uncivilized," She sighed with amusement. "My father is a scientist. That's all."

"Archaeologist?"

Nerim was suddenly pushed back into his seat as the airspeeder rapidly gained momentum and dived down yet further into the gusting wind of the sinkhole. This was most certainly a traffic violation, but he had other things on his mind. The rapidly approaching lake took up more and more of his vision, until at the last possible second, Tetha pulled up and skimmed across the water.

The base of the sinkhole was surrounded by mansions built into the rock, just at the waterline. Each of them were unique and in a multitude of different architectural styles, all of significant luxury. He imagined they must have been the most coveted real estate in the hole, open air and access to water, but far away from the titanic windstorms experienced frequently up above.

Nerim fought the urge to vomit, and Tetha gave him an appraising look. "No," she finally answered. "I'm surprised you can't tell, actually. So you're not the bookish type, either. That narrows it down."

"To what?" Nerim asked.

"Yellow, I'm guessing," She said, glancing at him to gauge his reaction.

Nerim laughed aloud, quite aware of the lightsaber hidden in the folds of his tunic. "That's a funny story, actually."

Her eyes narrowed, and then set track on one of the mansions set down at the waterline. He couldn't exactly tell what was going through her head, but he could tell she wasn't getting the reaction she wanted out of him.

Good. Don't let them bully you, Nerim repeated to himself. He was going to get the hang of this sooner or later.

"I expected a Jedi to be less cute and more intelligent," Tetha said. "I'm not sure whether to be disappointed or not."

Nerim's heart rate immediately spiked. They're outright talking about the Jedi now? Unintelligent? Cute?

As his carefully crafted mental pep talk crumbled, he saw a slight smirk cross her face. It didn't last long before the speeder swung and drifted to a stop over a landing pad, a long flat black marble platform not more than an inch out of the water. It was as he had seen from above, with red algae crawling up the walls and swirling blue-green water placidly sitting in place—except for the wake Tetha kicked up, which splashed over the pad.

She fluidly hopped out of the speeder, one hand on the side of the warm metal door. "That's a new technique I learned, it's called 'disarming directness.' Looks like it's very effective on you."

Nerim pursed his lips into a small frown and stepped out of the vehicle, running a hand through his windswept hair. He fought the urge to look around and see if Jianno and Arwain were following him, although he couldn't imagine they lost track of him.

They briefly held a stare until a door slid open and a small creature of some species Nerim didn't recognize waddled out, wearing a suit a little too dignified for it. It was covered in some sort of plumage, and as it spoke, its mouth opened and did not move, almost like a droid. It was as if all the articulation was happening somewhere within its throat.

"Mistress Tetha," it nodded in deference, "Good to have you back. You are earlier than usual!" It then turned to Nerim, and looked him up and down. "Hm. I'm sorry, but I do not recognize—"

"He's a friend," Tetha waved her hand in front of the creature's eyes.

For a second, those eyes glazed over, and then lit up. "Ah! Welcome, friend!"

Now, Nerim thought, he was having that feeling. The cold slime crawling up his viscera, like something bad was going to happen. Only, unlike in the diner on Raxus Secundus, there was no electricity, no immediacy.

The feathered creature ushered them in, bidding them to take their (wet, thanks to Tetha) shoes off. The entire time, Nerim carefully watched Tetha's eyes, trying to discern anything he could. But there was simply nothing there.

"You still haven't told me what you were planning to show me," Nerim reminded her. "Was it just the shoe rack?"

She silently shook her head. He realized the interior of the building was remarkably bright, especially in comparison to the darkening evening outside. While his eyes were adjusting, he saw no such change in the black circles that dotted hers. He couldn't even discern her pupils from her iris.

The feathered creature puffed up again. "You are in time for dinner today! It will be in about ten minutes!"

Tetha sighed. "I should've made a few extra loops on the way down. I won't be attending, Jints, just send it to my room."

"As you wish," the creature slightly bowed and then marched off with stiff legs.

Nerim waited for it to pass through a door, and spoke quietly to Tetha. "A sentient servant? I take it your father doesn't trust droids?"

She shrugged. "Moreso he takes pride in his own work."

Nerim's mind raced for a few moments, and then it clicked. "Ah. He's a geneticist. A cloner?"

She nodded.

"He's the one with the holocron?"

She nodded again.

He closed his eyes for just a moment, placing a hand to his chin and feeling a sudden flow of information and links between thoughts. "He was paid in a holocron for a cloning project. He's looking to trade it now for something else. And...you don't want him to."

He opened his eyes to look at her, and she gave him that very slight smile. "Perhaps you're not so dumb."

"Are your father or mother Force Sensitive?"

Her smile dropped. "On second thought, perhaps you are."

"I don't see any reason to be so rude," Nerim frowned.

As Tetha carefully led him through the complex, keeping a lookout for any other servants or her father, Nerim began to seriously wonder where Arwain and Jianno were. Tetha looked back at him. "I'm a designer lifeform, too."

He blinked. "Nonsense. You can't clone Force Sensitivity. Even its heredity is suspect."

"I don't believe father intended to," she said under her breath, "I imagine whatever quirk that causes normal children to be sensitive to the Force affected me however it normally does."

"And you're certain you're a clone?" He asked, still incredulous.

She stopped suddenly, causing him to nearly walk into her. She turned around with that intense expression again—no different in form from her bored, neutral expression, no visible curve of the lips or twitch of the brow, just somehow more focused. In a scary way. "Yes, he most certainly wasn't lying to me. I correspond to no known species, just like Jints. I have Zelosian and Human genes, among others. Even Miralan. I also have no mother like you dumbly implied earlier."

"Sheesh," Nerim shrugged, unaffected by her aggressive tone, "I don't have a mother or a father and I'm not a clone. I was just asking. Now where are we going?"

She leaned back, slightly taken off guard. "To the holocron. We need to hide it as soon as possible. I don't know when my father will be trading it." She turned and continued leading him.

"What would he be trading it for, exactly?"

"I'm not entirely sure of the specifics," Tetha said, looking down. "To my knowledge, it's called the curiosity trade. Some eccentric types trade in rare artifacts for various purposes. But I believe he plans to receive a preserved Taung corpse in return."

"Taung?" Nerim asked in disbelief. The Taung were the original species of Coruscant, extinct for nearly 4000 years since the end of the Mandalorian Wars. The Taung, in fact, created the Mandalorian culture. "Why that, of all things?"

"Is there any greater achievement for a cloner than to reverse the extinction of a species?" She asked, grabbing his wrist and leading him up a set of stairs just before another small creature rounded the corner. "He also has a weird fascination with Mandalorian history."

"I think your father and my Master would get along disturbingly well," Nerim muttered as she dragged him into a very dim room, its bedroom furniture only lit by a single night light and the blinking of a couple appliances. "Must you really hold my hand?"

She frowned, staring aimlessly into the distance and not letting go. Some small bit of trivia about Zelosian biology clicked in his head.

"Oh, you're night blind," he said as dumbly as she thought he was.

She scowled a little. Her eyes had that intense quality again, like they could cut through steel with enough time. "Not entirely. But I can't see anything I directly look at unless it's well lit."

A lot of her odd mannerisms and expressions suddenly made more sense to him. Especially the shifting of intensity and that feeling that she was staring through him. So did the 'silly glasses' she wore at night. Although, the fact that she stopped wearing them certainly meant she was somehow making progress with this congenital night blindness.

"While we're here, can you explain why you don't want him to make this trade?"

She glared at a spot a foot away from his head. "Isn't it obvious?"

"I didn't ask what the reason was," Nerim said, "I asked for you to explain it."

Tetha took a breath, squeezing his wrist imperceptibly tighter. "I just don't want that thing out in the wild."

He paused. He expected the answer to be that she didn't want to lose access to training in the Force. It was only then that something else occurred to him; teaching a child in the ways of the Force outside of the confines of the Jedi Order was strictly forbidden.

"Sithspit," he cursed, "It's not a Jedi holocron. It's a recording by a heretic of some sort."

"Correct, although as far as my father knows, it's a crystal bonsai tree made by some ancient Jedi." She paused, and then tilted her head. "I sensed no judgment in your voice when you said 'heretic'."

"To be honest, I didn't even know what a holocron was until earlier today," he shrugged. Her jaw dropped half an inch. "Regardless, this makes it even more important we don't let it slip away."

"Excuse me, before we go any farther, I feel the need to ask. Are you actually a Jedi?"

He frowned with some amount of frustration. "I'm sorry, how many Jedi have you met before?"

Tetha slowly shook her head. "It's not that, it's just...You're not at all how the holocron described a Jedi."

"And how did it describe me exactly? Taller?"

She stared next to him for a few seconds, and then sharply exhaled. "It doesn't matter. It's not like it's a reliable teacher, anyways."

"Probably not. Now what's the plan? Did you bring me just to watch you pick up the holocron and abscond with it, or...?"

"Not exactly," she said. "One of the little ironies of this whole situation is that the only way we could think of to remove the holocron from its containment field without setting off an alarm was to use a lightsaber to—"

"Wait," Nerim interrupted, "We?"

"The holocron and I," she mumbled. "Come on, I'll show you when we get there."

"I don't like where this is going," Nerim said, allowing himself to be dragged out of the room and down the hallway. He felt a shiver run up his spine.

"You can sense it?" She asked.

"No, I—" He stopped, staring down the hall to a large sliding door at the end. He felt some sort of rumbling energy manifesting from inside. "Hm. I can. That's...odd."

"How is it odd?"

"Well, unlike you, I'm not really all that sensitive to the Force," Nerim rolled his eyes, continuing to walk alongside her. Tetha's confusion only grew.

The door quietly and smoothly slid open as they approached, revealing a blindingly bright room absolutely full of things, most of which Nerim couldn't identify.

That crawling, sludgy sensation was writhing under his skin. He walked in carefully, eyeing each object, looking for the crystalline polyhedron of a holocron. There were a number of oddities, and for every curiosity of a simple or delightful nature, there was one of a distressingly military persuasion. Suits of ancient Mandalorian armor, vibroblades of doubtless some historical import, half-melted slag from great battleships. "Does he know you're Force Sensitive?"

"Absolutely not, and it needs to stay that way for all of our sakes. I half believe he'd feel compelled to cut me up and study me," she said under her breath, looking from side to side as if to ensure the room was empty. "It's in the back left corner."

He passed by the hull plate of an old pre-Ruusan starfighter when he saw it. A black pyramid, sitting unsatisfied in its glass case, rivulets of the Force almost visible to him as they grew like vines around the podium. It was surrounded by a cube of slightly glowing energy, the containment field.

"That is definitely a holocron," he said. The air was a little too heavy to comfortably breathe. He hadn't felt this close to the Force since he was on Ilum, but this was emphatically not the same feeling.

She rested her hands on her hips. "It is."

"That is definitely not a Jedi holocron," Nerim said firmly.

"I know," Tetha spoke, reaching her hand out towards the holocron. It shifted and crinkled in its case. The outer shell began to peel back, revealing a dark red crystal capstone.

"What the hell are you doing?" Nerim asked, stepping back.

The capstone glowed brighter, and a beam of light extended from the top, exiting the display case. The beam split in two and widened, drawing a humanoid form, until there was a larger-than-life hologram floating above them, standing atop the case. The figure wore dark robes, the limbs and waist tied to keep it from fluttering or catching on things. Similar to an old Jedi combat uniform, Nerim realized.

Underneath the hood was a set of cold eyes, which quickly flicked between the two of them. His face was unremarkable beyond the sharpness of his features, but it carried some sort of malice, seemingly more out of habit than conscious intent. His species was either Human or some form of Near-Human, but the hologram was colorless and enough of his body was covered that it was impossible to tell the exact lineage.

The crawling sensation gained an aspect of electricity. More urgently this time, Nerim repeated. "Tetha, what the hell are you doing?"

She briefly glanced to the hologram, but kept her attention on Nerim. "I've brought another Force Sensitive as we agreed."

The holocron, did not respond—did not even look at Tetha, continuing to examine Nerim with its icy glare. He felt some sort of violation, along with a sense of indignation—like someone was far too deep in his personal space. He wondered if that was the Force, or just the animal instinct of knowing you've been backed into a corner.

"Oh, for the love of—" Nerim drew his lightsaber and ignited it, "And just when I was beginning to think this wasn't a hostage situation."

Tetha's expression was as blank as ever as she slowly drew her vibroblade, and turned it on. The sound it made was different this time; shrill, intense. Not the buffeting noise he heard earlier. It most certainly was not set to a training mode. "Sorry for the misdirection, Nerim. I don't plan to hurt you in any way. Please let me explain myself."

Nerim nervously readied his lightsaber. "It would be a lot more comforting if you didn't have a sword out when you said that."

"You drew first," she said dispassionately. "Regardless, it's not my intention to use it, so calm down."

Looking between the holocron and the girl across from him, a bead of sweat dripped down Nerim's brow. "Holocron, what is she doing?"

The hologram spoke, its voice menacing and yet surprisingly smooth and subdued—again, as if it was only malicious out of habit. "Good question. Tetha, what are you doing?"

Tetha stepped back slightly, raising her blade. "I have been studying under the holocron of Darth Machina for three years, now. Believe me, I know Sith are not to be trusted." Her eyes moved from Nerim to the hologram in a smooth, slicing motion. "And he knows I am not all that enthusiastic about carrying on the legacy of the Sith."

Nerim's heart raced. The Sith? The Sith Order had been entirely wiped out nearly a thousand years ago. He had not been the most avid reader of the history of the Jedi Order, but if there were a single thing he knew, it was that the Sith were the greatest threat the Galaxy had ever faced, and it was the duty of the Order to obliterate them anywhere they cropped up. If so, this holocron was an object of immeasurable importance. It represented a possibility, a vector for the Sith disease to spread, and to possibly form a new Order.

He clenched his teeth. "What have you two been doing the past three years?"

She moved her eyes back to him. While his insides were crawling, she seemed to be the picture of stillness. "He's been teaching me. On certain conditions. He makes me complete...requests, inbetween lessons."

"Requests?"

Tetha blinked slowly. "Ones he presumes will convert me, I think. At first it was primarily just meditations. Then he began demanding I use my powers. For instance, he taught me the basics of Makashi, and refused to teach me further until I won a competition using it. He taught me to mask my presence, and then stonewalled me until I used it to steal something of value. He taught me to influence people's minds, and didn't go any further until I used it on someone."

Tetha's eyes briefly lowered, her tone becoming more contemplative as she continued. "The tasks are always remarkably open-ended, actually. Right now, I'm six months into the latest task. To enter some sort of conflict with another Force Sensitive, and test myself against them."

Nerim's mind raced as he listened. He was nowhere near well-trained enough to know what he was supposed to be doing right now. "And you're just doing everything he says? Why?"

Her eyes raised back up to his, her tone strengthened again. "What's the risk? I can just receive tutoring in techniques from him and then not put any of his philosophical lessons into practice. I'm capable of thinking for myself."

The holocron spoke again, the room seeming to darken every time it emitted sound. "Confirmed, you are one stubborn little brat."

Nerim grimaced. "Why would he possibly teach you if he doesn't think you'll turn? The Sith would never do anything that doesn't directly benefit themselves."

Machina's hologram stared down at him with some amount of visible displeasure. "The teachings of the Sith are the natural conclusion to mastery of the Force. The foolishness of the Sith Order in my time was its insistence on teaching the doctrine of the Sith, thus creating weak and confused apprentices, easily swayed and slaughtered, when simply teaching them the power of the Force would have lead to a stronger and more unified Order. This is, in fact, why the Jedi Order deliberately holds its students back, teaches them to handicap themselves at every opportunity. It's why I doubt you are any significant challenge to Tetha at all."

"See?" Tetha said, the barest hint of a smirk. "Overconfident. Zealous. Foolish."

"You two can't be serious," Nerim's shoulders dropped in exasperation, "This is such a pointless endeavor!"

"For you, perhaps, but this is as of yet my only chance to learn the Force," Tetha countered. "Someday I'll have the autonomy to venture off and try learning from some Ithorian Shamans or Baran Do Sages, but until then I need to make all the progress I can, and this is what I've got."

"Why?!" Nerim shouted. "You could just not! You could just hang out with Tiny and Crybaby, have fun fencing, eat greasy diner food—Why do you need to use the Force?!"

The pointed question hung in the air, as Tetha's eyes widened in surprise and the apparition of the Sith glared down at him. "This is an odd one," Machina finally said.

"The oddest I've ever met," Tetha muttered. "What do you mean why do I need to use the Force?"

Nerim gestured to the room around him. "You're surrounded by two dozen other priceless artifacts! You could have just as easily fixated on any one of them!"

"How could you compare scrap metal to the Force?" She asked, her brow tightening in confusion.

"It's all the Force!"

"Silence," Machina held up a hand with a sense of finality. Nerim felt as though a wave of pressure came over him, as if his ears were about to pop. "I tire of dialectics with Jedi remarkably easy, and I sense no significant power within him. Kill him."

Tetha pursed her lips. "That wasn't the deal. You said conflict, not killing."

"And if I alter the deal?"

Her eyes gained that steely, intense quality again, glaring with deep foreboding energy. "A box more concerned with lying than teaching? I have no use for that. I'd sooner help Nerim slice you in half."

Machina's hologram cracked into a cruel smile. "Good, very good, my student. I'd settle for you just defeating him, then."

Tetha looked back at Nerim, and flipped her vibroblade's switch. The noise changed from that shrill, sharp noise to the buffeting low thunder of the training mode.

Nerim raised his blade. "I could just cut that thing in half."

"Not likely," Tetha said, "It's cortosis-weave. The type Mandalorians used against Jedi during the great war. My father got it for aesthetic reasons, he never could have known it'd come so in handy."

He heaved a great sigh, and switched his lightsaber to training mode as well. "Perfect. Listen, we don't have to fight at all. You were right, the holocron is infinitely more concerned with its religion than your training. We can dispose of it now and advance your understanding of the Force later. Literally any set of teachings is better than this one. This is not a mere heresy, this is no alternative interpretation of the Force or even the mad ramblings of a Dark Jedi, this is a Sith."

"Hmm," she gave him that disapproving hum of hers, "I didn't think you were the zealous type. I thought you might understand my position."

"Oh, I do, trust me," he said, "I know what it's like to feel utterly rudderless in the Force, to have nobody around who is interested in teaching you, and to this day I still do not feel beholden to any doctrine or dogma. But there is no reason to talk to a Sith, except to mislead it and destroy it."

Tetha's eyes softened at his empathy, but at the latter sentence, Machina's cruel smile widened. "I couldn't have said it better myself," he chuckled.

"Oh for the love of—" Nerim took a breath and centered himself. "And what do you plan to do with me if you win? I still have to destroy the holocron."

Tetha gave him that very slight smile. "It would be foolish of me to tell you. But suffice to say, you'll be fine, if a bit disoriented."

"That sounds like you're planning to run away," Nerim said, "Which is something I can't allow. Okay. You've convinced me. We'll solve this with sabers, then."

Tetha wordlessly saluted with her blade, entering her hybrid Makashi stance, one foot slightly forward with nearly no weight on it, blade held forward in a relaxed wrist.

Machina placed a hand to his chin. "I've gathered that the Jedi have lacked foes in the Force for many centuries, and have grown soft in the ways of dueling. Meanwhile, I have relentlessly drilled Tetha in the Rings of Defense and each of the maneuvers of Makashi, its hundreds of stances and strikes, and endless permutations through the Force. From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I could think of a thousand strategies that will inevitably result in your defeat. What has your Master taught you?"

Nerim took a deep breath and entered the stance of Juyo, the Ferocity Form. It was almost audacious in its aggression, the lightsaber held horizontal to the plane of battle as if to emphasize its size, the body twisted and ready to explode into motion. "When encountering another Force User," he recounted Arwain's words, "Run up and hit 'em with your sword."

With all the ferocity of a coiled up animal, Nerim exploded into motion, lunging forward. Tetha was caught off-guard; she was certain from all her previous observations that his style of fighting was primarily defensive. He rushed forward with inhuman speed and slashed in her direction, and she parried it to the side.

His momentum carried her directly to her side, and when she tried to slash backwards at him, his free arm shot out and grabbed her elbow, strangling her range of motion. He swung at her back, and she jumped above the slice, flipping backwards to land in front of him again. She took the opportunity to seize the initiative and thrust with her blade towards his center mass, which he batted up and away with a wide swing, and then kicked her hand as hard as he could.

Intense pain shot through her as her blade escaped her clutches, flying upward into the air. In a panic, she thrust her hand out, and Nerim felt the pressure around him increase exponentially. Before he knew it, he was thrown off his feet and landed on his back, sliding several feet on the smooth linoleum floor. The vibroblade flew back into her hands as he jumped to his feet.

"I really wish I could do that," Nerim grumbled, his lightsaber humming.

She took a deep breath as she focused on the pain in her hand, aligning herself to it and drawing strength from the sensation. He charged towards her again, their blades clashing four times in rapid succession, sparks flying from the cortosis-weaved blade and fluctuations racking the plasma of the lightsaber as it contacted the exotic material.

He swung quickly and with his whole body, employing his strength, but more importantly employing a constant forward movement that threatened to overwhelm Tetha. She would take a step back, and he would take two forward; she would take another back, he would lunge. At some point, she figured, he had to stop, if for no other reason than that he would be too close to even use his lightsaber. Then he ran directly into her, tackling her to the ground.

They rolled on the floor, each grabbing the other's sword arm and struggling. Tetha placed both her feet into his stomach and pushed as hard as she could, drawing a grunt out of Nerim and separating them. They clattered to the floor and both quickly stood up. Tetha felt a sense of mounting frustration at the incessant madness of his swordsmanship.

Before she could catch her breath, Nerim rushed forwards and chopped from overhead. She blocked it and reared back to do a counterattack, only for him to chop overhead again, and for her to block again. He chopped again. And then again.

Finally she exploded. "Are you out of your damn mind?!" She screamed, desperately thrusting for a counterattack. It connected, and a wave of pain shot out from Nerim's torso as the attack, though dulled, still felt like a heavy right hook directly into his gut. Then he chopped again, his lightsaber slamming into her shoulder with a sizzle and drawing a yelp as she recoiled.

They both stumbled back, Nerim cradling his bruised stomach and Tetha grabbing the top of her burnt shoulder, a slight smell of burning cloth surrounding her. If he had been two inches to the left, he would have slammed directly into the top of her head.

"...Very interesting," the holocron mused, "He's using a Sith style. It's meant to overwhelm you and induce panic. I dismantled many impetuous upstarts who used these exact techniques. Remember the Contentious Opportunity; you cannot allow him to rule the initiative. Aim for his vitals."

She panted and raised her blade again. "A Sith style?"

Nerim was breathing just as heavily, his blade deactivated, hands on his knees and doubled over. "So this 'Darth Machina' must have died at least a thousand years ago, then? Prior to Juyo being canonized in the Jedi Order. According to my Master, it is made up of controversial borrowed techniques from Sith warriors."

"It's not what I expected of a Jedi," Tetha said, regaining her stamina and steadying her breathing.

"You really gotta stop making assumptions," Nerim warned, before activating his lightsaber and charging at her again.

Just before they met, Nerim reared back and began a massive swing. Tetha took the bait and dashed back and poked out with her vibroblade, aiming to catch his arms while safely outside of his range. She realized a moment too late that he had let his feet drop out from under him, his momentum carrying him sliding on the ground.

The swing of his arms pivoted him to the side, and his legs were perfectly angled to kick at hers. She deftly jumped over his attempted trip, but in the time it took her to turn around he had already reached his free hand into his tunic. Her eyes were wide as dinner plates as he pulled out a blaster and fired a stun ring at her.

With nothing but the most brief moment to react with, she instinctively positioned her blade inbetween the stun ring and herself. It crashed against the cortosis-weaved vibroblade, and electricity visibly arced from it in every direction, traveling down and through her hand. She screamed in pain and attempted to drop the blade, but all of the muscles in her right arm had involuntarily clenched from the shock.

He seized the moment and rolled up, slashing at her while she danced backwards. He missed with his lightsaber, and fired again with his blaster, watching her body twist with supernatural swiftness as she leaned out of the way of the shot.

Her expression changed entirely. Her teeth bared, face reddened, and the veins in her face bulged. She held out a hand and clenched it into a fist, and Nerim felt the blaster in his hand rumble in his grip, and then jump out of his fingers entirely. She swung her fist to the side, and the weapon was thrown across the room into some corner.

"Oh, I hate this," Nerim said with dull surprise as he watched it clatter.

This time she charged up to him, thrusting forward. He blocked it by pushing it upwards with his lightsaber, and she performed a sawing motion with her vibroblade. Nerim could feel the plasma field of his lightsaber getting physically tangled with the strands of cortosis in her sword, and it tugged his lightsaber forwards, warping them into a bind.

They each pushed, pulled, swung, and resisted wildly, their entangled blades swinging back and forth together. Nerim launched a swift kick into Tetha's side, slamming into her kidney with slightly off-kilter force. She gasped in pain and pulled his blade forward, enough that she could elbow him in the nose. He was pretty sure it wasn't broken, but it was definitely bleeding. He responded with another attempted kick, and she raised her leg to intercept it.

As they struggled in the bind, they both felt a bolt of electricity shoot up their spines. Machina's apparition suddenly raised a hand. "Cease, you fools!" He commanded, and his hologram swiftly disappeared, the holocron re-sheathing itself back to its normal state.

Without quite understanding why, Nerim deactivated his lightsaber and shoved it back into the folds of his tunic. Tetha stumbled backwards and just as quickly slid her blade back into its sheath, turning the sonic generator off. They were just in time to watch the door slide open.

A middle-aged Zelosian man entered the room, wearing a white cloak on top of a cool blue brocaded jacket and silk pants. Everything about him screamed "meticulous" and "wealthy", even to Nerim's naive eyes. His platinum-white hair and vibrant green eyes briefly scanned the room before settling on the two youths at the far end.

"Tetha, what in the name of—" He began, walking closer, before suddenly stopping and examining Nerim. "...You brought one of your friends in here?"

Tetha lightly bowed, her face having reverted entirely to the bored, implacably neutral expression she usually wore. "I'm sorry, Father. I know it's against the rules, but..."

"This is more than just against the rules, Tetha," He said sternly, "This is expressly forbidden. How did you even get in here? The room is locked—Son," he suddenly stopped, looking closer at Nerim's face. "You're bleeding."

Tetha jumped with feigned surprise, quickly pulling out a handkerchief and pressing it to Nerim's nose. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Nerim. It's still stop and go..." She turned to her father, "The teacher was absent today during practice, and there were a few minor injuries."

Her father began to say something, but then shook his head. "We'll talk about that later, don't try to change the subject. I am very lenient with you, Tetha, and you still manage to break what few rules I have. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Nerim could see Tetha's mind racing. It was lucky her shirt was already black, so the burn on her shoulder wasn't noticeable. "It's just—Nerim is a very good friend of mine, and he's a student of Mandalorian history, so I..."

"He is?" The father asked with curiosity, looking him up and down.

Nerim stared uncomfortably back at him, before looking to the side. "T-that's...exactly right. This is all my fault, sir, I pushed her to show me this. I've been lucky enough to be acquainted with a friendly Mandalorian, and she's been tutoring me on their culture. I've grown a bit of a fascination ever since—Pffth!" He got a mouthful of silk as Tetha placed a hand to his cheek to hold his head still while she helped stop the bleeding. He felt his face flush as she did so.

The father stared at him carefully. Nerim was for once glad that he looked incredibly un-intimidating, especially after having just been dressed in rich boy clothes by his Master for the first time and having his face half-covered with Tetha's hand. He was pretty sure he looked dopey enough to be pitiable. The man turned to Tetha and frowned deeply again. "You are definitely grounded, Tetha. I thought it was entirely beneath you to use this room to impress young—"

"Father!" Tetha objected, showing some small amount of distress on her face. Nerim was surprised to notice she was visibly blushing. "This is embarrassing!"

He considered for a moment, and then sighed. "Very well, we can save it for later," he said, crossing his arms. He turned to Nerim. "I don't want you to think of me as an ungracious host, young man, so I insist you join us for dinner."

Tetha turned to look at Nerim, and as her head turned to where her father couldn't see, her expression turned icy. He felt her beaming daggers at him and he gulped. "Uhmm—of course, sir. Thank you."

As if in a dream, Nerim was escorted out of the room and to a rather large trapezoidal dining table, where he sat down and had a number of objects he assumed were food placed down in front of him. He was sat directly across from the father, and Tetha sat down next to him.

As utensils were placed down, Nerim began to reach for one, only for Tetha to lightly jab him in the stomach—which caused an immense jolt of pain in his body, given the bruising. He simply froze and waited.

"So," the father—whose name Nerim distressingly still didn't know—spoke, "You are studying Mandalorian history? Are you attending a school for it, or is it just a hobby?"

"Oh," Nerim said, nervously glancing to the side, "It's, erm, a hobby. My...mother wants me to study to take over her business."

"I see." He said, picking up his utensils. "And her business is...?"

Tetha began quietly eating and stepped on Nerim's foot, and he quickly picked up his own utensils. "Um, she's an arbitrator, for negotiations between other corporations. Sir."

"Interesting. It takes quite the reputation to serve as an arbitrator," he noted, taking a small, refined bite of blue something.

"Y-yes," Nerim awkwardly agreed. "She also wants me to pursue professional fencing in my off time. But occasionally I get to study Mandalorian culture, too."

"Mm, and is that how you met Tetha?"

"F-fencing? Yeah—er, yes that is," Nerim stuttered, beginning to break into a nervous sweat. He could almost feel the weight of disappointment radiating off of Tetha, that this was so much more nerve wracking to him than a sword fight.

"Well, at least you call each other by your names..." the father sighed. "That fencing club is considerably less cultured than it was when I was a boy."

"I think it's fine," Nerim said quietly. "And everyone calls Tetha by her name, there. They all really respect her."

Tetha's head almost imperceptibly lowered as she knit her brow, but she remained silent. Her father smiled. "Ah, little mercies. I was rather distressed when I picked her up one day and heard them calling her Four Eyes—"

"Father!" She jumped in her seat, glaring at him. Nerim wasn't sure if she was really embarrassed or not.

The man seemed relatively unconcerned either way, perhaps embarrassing her on purpose as punishment. "Where are you from, Nerim?"

"Coruscant, sir," he answered. "This is the second time my mother has taken me to the Outer Rim. We went to Raxus Secundus a few months ago for the Cathar-Trade Federation negotiations."

"Oh, fascinating," her father said with genuine interest, "I read about those. Big business. Big...complications. I saw it reported that there was a terror attack thwarted by two Jedi Knights."

Nerim was quite shocked to hear that anyone at all had been considering his mishaps, but needed to respond quickly to keep up the illusion. "Oh, yeah. I was just wandering around looking for a place to get a bite to eat when it happened. It was all a block away from me, though."

"You'll have to forgive me, I'm not intimately familiar with the concept of a 'block'," He chuckled. "Tell me, did you ever happen to see the Jedi Knights?"

"Yes sir. They were in the same room as us."

"What were they like?"

Nerim glanced over to Tetha, and then back to her father. "Really tall." Tetha stomped on his foot again, and he clenched his muscles to keep from physically reacting. "Honestly there's not much to tell. They mostly kept to themselves."

"Truly fascinating," the man said happily, taking another bite of his food things. He seemed somewhat pleased with Nerim, which was a huge relief. Nerim took an experimental mouthful of one of the things on his plate, and found to his pleasant surprise that it was actually quite tasty. Whatever it was.

The light conversation continued, minus any input from Tetha, until the end of the meal. As the dishes were being taken away, her father—Nerim was still internally panicking over the lack of a name—stood up.

"Well, it was pleasant getting to meet you, Nerim," he said with noticeable sincerity. "It's a relief that not all of my daughter's friends are derelicts. I won't keep you any longer, though."

Nerim stood up and lightly bowed his head. "Thank you, sir, it was good to meet you, too."

Tetha also backed up her chair and stood up, putting a hand on Nerim's shoulder and leading him towards the exit. "Come on, let's—"

"Where do you think you're going?" Her father rhetorically questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Tethan spun around on her heel and clenched her hands into fists. "Father, he rode with me here! I told him I would fly him back to the hotel!"

"Aren't you grounded?" He asked.

She turned beet red, her eyes darting between Nerim and her father. "P-please, dad, I can't just make him call a taxi..."

The man stared at his daughter just as dispassionately as she usually stared at Nerim. After a moment, the illusion broke, and he took a deep breath. "Fine, just this once. Be back in twenty minutes."

She wordlessly grabbed Nerim's arm and dragged him out of the room, and then out of the building onto the landing pad.

Nerim whistled. "You're a better actor than I am."

Tetha glanced at him and then back to her airspeeder, still red. She didn't say anything.

Nerim couldn't prevent a broad grin breaking out over his face. "I can't believe the little Sith Lord in training is grounded."

"Shut up," she mumbled, pushing him into the passenger seat and then rounding over to the driver's.

"What's your plan now?" Nerim laughed from the stomach. "Gonna do a spin and throw me out of my seat into the lake?"

"Shut. Up." She glowered, starting up the airspeeder and taking off.

Before he even knew what he was saying, Nerim spoke as his bout of giggles came to an end. "I've got a good feeling about you, y'know."

Her lips tightened. "What do you mean by that?"

"I sense good in you," he said. There was some sort of dove-white, glowing warmth in his chest. A fluttering feeling that compelled him to smile despite the pain from his wounds. "I still think it's foolish to try and study under a Sith, but you're too fun to be evil."

She made a confused, anxious expression. She still didn't say anything. He noticed her eyes were completely unfocused and moving only in accordance with her internal thoughts, as she instinctively piloted them through the darkness, upwards towards the Luxorium.

"Your father has a soft spot for you," Nerim remarked. "Although I think he's under the impression that we—"

"He's a monster," she interrupted. "Don't let his civility fool you. I'm the only clone he treats remotely like a person. All of the others are just meat droids in his eyes," she spoke sadly. "And also, yes, he is under that impression. Now I have to deal with that. Thanks."

Nerim took a moment to breathe and recenter his thoughts. "This makes both of our jobs considerably more difficult."

"Without a doubt."

"So what, you're just dropping me off where you found me?" Nerim asked, craning his head to watch a police airspeeder rush past them.

She thought for a moment. "Yes. And if you try to get back in my house, I'm going to call the police."

Another airspeeder for the security forces rushed by. And then another. "I think they might all be busy," Nerim idly commented. He suddenly wondered where his Master was.

One of the airspeeders rushed by, and then slowed, swung around, and began following the two youths. Tetha grit her teeth and hissed. "I'm going to lose it."

"Calm down, it's probably—"

The police airspeeder flashed its lights. Tetha growled.

Nerim pulled out his communicator and turned it on, now that he was no longer undercover and was fairly certain Tetha wouldn't kill him for it. "Uh, Master, are you there?"

The response was almost immediate. "Oh, thank the Force!" Arwain's voice had a noticeable tone of relief. "I was worried about you, Padawan."

"So was I. Where have you been? Are you still in the casino?"

"Oh, I never even spoke to Yl'gar," Arwain sighed with audible fatigue. "I caught sight of him, but by that time security was already trying to arrest me and—look, I don't have time to explain, we need to get that holocron and get off-planet quickly. Jianno, can you pick up the boy?"

Jianno's gruff voice answered a moment later. "Not a chance. I have unfinished business with a chakaar on this planet who's been grave robbing my people. I've pinpointed his mansion. Gotta lose the cops first."

"Um, ummm," Nerim's tone became significantly more worried, "He wouldn't happen to be named...Sithspit! A little help, here?!" He glanced to Tetha.

Tetha's eyes widened. "Tosh-Ran?"

"That's the bastard," Jianno hissed. Then confusion. "Wait, how did you know? Who is with you?"

"Uh, that mansion also has the holocron!" Nerim spit the words out as fast as he could. "Also it's not a Jedi holocron, it's a Sith holocron, made by Darth Machina!"

"What?!" Jianno shouted, her voice static-y as if going through a tunnel.

"Haaah!" Arwain's elated voice carried over the comms unit. "Amazing! I'll handle it, you focus on getting into orbit! Great work, Padawa—" The rest was drowned out by blaster fire.

Tetha's jaw hung slightly open. "That's...My entire life is...E chu ta," she cursed with finality. "My father's mansion is about to be stormed by who knows what. They're going to find a Sith holocron, and it'll all be over. Not even Utapau's neutrality can stop the Republic from barging in over that."

Nerim sheepishly shrunk in his seat. "Um, s-sorry?" He apologized, unsure what else to do. The police airspeeder behind them inched closer, and its siren briefly whooped.

Tetha closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Seconds passed by one after the other, slowly drifting through the air. Her breath didn't escape, but her eyes opened and looked in Nerim's direction. She was obviously holding back tears. He reached an arm out to her. Just before his fingertips touched her shoulder, the police airspeeder whooped its siren again.

"Oh, to hell with this!" Tetha let her breath out, pulled a lever on the control, panel and slammed the pedal down. Nerim felt himself rocket back into his seat as the airspeeder took off at full power, the internal repulsorlift squealing loudly.

"What are you doing?!" Nerim clung to his seat for dear life.

"Getting off this trash heap planet!" She shouted as the police speeder ramped up its siren to full volume behind them. She turned to Nerim, tears dripping down her cheeks and eyes full of panic, desperately glancing around, but not directly at him. "Nerim, I need help. Please."

"That's..." Nerim glanced behind them to their pursuer, and then back to Tetha. He felt that fluttering feeling in his chest strengthen. "...What I'm here for."

Nerim felt somewhat thankful that his default response to terror was to lock up, rather than to scream. Screaming would be undignified at this point, and he was most certainly terrified. Their airspeeder screamed across the sinkhole and weaved inbetween buildings and standing structures poking out from the walls, close enough that he could have reached out and touched them—and lost his hand in the process.

Either way, he kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to give Crybaby any competition.

The security forces behind them kept up as best they could, but slowed at several crucial maneuvers, losing time in one pitch and turn after another, until Tetha yanked the yoke backwards and shot straight up between two support wires holding a bridge in place. The speeder's frame shuddered as she pivoted and threw it into a sideways death spiral between two neon-covered buildings towards the platform they were standing on, and the repulsorlift screeched in protest when she pulled up at the last moment.

Nerim could swear he heard durasteel scraping against pavement as they barely avoided crashing headfirst into it. He turned around and saw it confirmed by the trail of sparks they left, already fading from view as they shot upwards again.

He turned to Tetha. "I should have called a taxi!"

Somehow between her tears and grit teeth, a giggle escaped her. It was just as soft and beautiful as her first laugh, and her nose scrunched up the same way. "Get ready to jump, Jedi Boy!"

Nerim donned an expression of indignation. "I really wish strange girls would stop calling me that!"

The airspeeder slid to a stop over some collection of buildings Nerim had yet to identify, about a dozen feet above a rooftop. Tetha stood up and readied herself to jump, so Nerim followed her lead and hopped out. In the split second before falling away, he saw her slam down the thrust, jump and then reach out with her arm. The airspeeder rushed away, and the yoke tugged downwards, causing it to pull into an upwards trajectory.

It shot full-speed towards the top of the sinkhole, and by the time Nerim had rolled to a landing on the rooftop, a handful of police speeders raced after it. Nerim breathed a big sigh of relief. "I think you lost them."

Tetha stood up and wiped the tears off her face. "We need a starship. You have one?"

Nerim moved low and knelt on the edge of the rooftop, trying to get his bearings. They were, in fact, in the docks. There were a number of landing pads with ships of all designs and specifications littered haphazardly, refueling and unloading. He searched his memory for a moment and then looked to dock 314D, where the diplomatic vessel he had flown in on was stationed.

"Bad news," Nerim sighed. It was already surrounded and boarded by security. "I presume my Master must have been identified."

Tetha's had returned to her blank expression. "Okay. Then we steal one."

"Uh," Nerim began to object, "Hold on." He fished out his communicator and spoke into it. "Master, our ship has been locked down."

After a few moments, Arwain responded. "Oh, we're not getting that back. Steal a light freighter!"

"Chakaar," Nerim grumbled under his breath, and put his communicator away. "Okay fine," he took a deep breath, "So which do we go for?"

Tetha crouched next to him, looked out over the docks, and frowned. "Nerim," she said quietly, "You're going to have to describe them for me. I can't really see well."

"Okay," he said, taking inventory of the docks. He didn't know most of the makes or models on display, but as he described them one after another, Tetha was able to identify (and subsequently rule out) most of them.

Utapau was a fairly warm world, but at night on a rooftop with the constantly rushing wind, there was a definite chill. Nerim had felt quite used to nippy winds, but he noticed Tetha shiver and place a hand to her burnt shoulder. "Sorry," he said reflexively.

She slightly smiled at him. "Sorry about your nose. It's bleeding a little again, by the way."

He touched his upper lip and his finger came away with a spot of blood. Tetha pulled out her handkerchief again and began wiping at it. "Um," he froze, not sure what to say.

"It's somewhat frustrating both of our duels ended the way they did," she remarked, placing a steadying hand on the back of his head. "You're good."

He stayed still, feeling her fingers trace his face through the cloth. "My swordsmanship is sloppy compared to yours. Compared to every Jedi, too."

"But you're a good duelist," She emphasized, shaking the handkerchief out and folding it back into her pocket. "I'd...like to spar with you again sometime."

He flushed at the praise, internally happy that she couldn't see it. He pointed out at the dock. "U-um, semi-circular design, central cockpit, visor canopy. Asymmetrical, there's a cut out on the left side of the cockpit."

She rolled her eyes. "That could be any design from the last four thousand years. People have been copying the Dynamic since the Mandalorian Wars. Any more details?"

He tilted his head, squinting to get a better look. It was side-on relative to him, giving him a partial look at both the front and back. "I think there are...sixteen sublight thrusters? They're square. It has six landing legs, big Corellian Engineering Corporation logo on the top."

"Hm..." Tetha closed her eyes. "JT class freighter. They're decent."

"There's a bunch of empty pallets around it. Looks like it's either already unloaded, or freshly loaded."

"Either way, probably means it's fueled," she noted. "Sounds like a winner. Let's get closer."

The two of them began climbing down vents and pipes on the outside of the building, and then scampered down alleyways and between parked loading vehicles. The few dockworkers they did see either didn't see them, or didn't visibly care. Eventually, they made it to the freighter, and Nerim could make out the name emblazoned on the side, in the Huttese script. He did his best to pronounce it phonetically. "Bu...Gusha Wermo?" He asked. He wasn't quite sure what that meant, but it sounded like an insult.

"The Lucky Worm," she translated. "Come on, we're gonna have to climb on top and enter through the service hatch."

"If you don't mind my asking, how are you so confident?" Nerim raised an eyebrow. "You said you've never been offworld."

She smirked. "No, but I may have stolen a training program my father used on the clones that were supposed to be pilots."

He looked at her quizzically. "Pilot clones? How big are your father's operations, exactly?"

She grabbed a cable from the ground, and tossed it up as a makeshift grappling hook onto a sharp outcropping of the ship. "Not big in scale, but wide in reach. He makes personalized beings on commission," she explained, climbing up the rope. Nerim watched her climb, and followed swiftly behind her.

They plodded along the top of the starship until they found the hatch, and she placed her hands against it and closed her eyes. A few moments later, with a series of clicks and groans of metal, the hatch opened. Doors that were simply barred from the inside were among the hardest for ordinary thieves to break into, but the easiest for a trained Force User.

Except Nerim, of course, who still didn't have a handle on telekinesis. He pouted in jealousy and followed as she quietly dropped into the ship. Even the minute noises they made echoed through the hull, and the air assaulted Nerim's nose with the scent of spices and grease, both of the food and engine variety.

An unspoken understanding was reached between them, and they split, each circling the ship in opposite directions to make sure it was empty. The search came to an unsatisfying conclusion when, upon entering the quarters of the ship, Nerim found himself staring at the sleeping form of a strange alien with massive arms almost twice its height and scrawny long-toed legs, hanging half off the bed. He was pretty sure it was called a 'Dug', and he was very sure it was drunk.

Tetha entered behind him, and joined him in blankly staring at the sleeping alien. They stood there for a few moments, and then met each other's eyes.

Tetha was considering taking him hostage. Nerim shrugged, as if to say "We're already breaking the law." She nodded and then they both drew their weapons and Tetha kicked the Dug in the arm.

"Waugh!" The Dug shouted, falling entirely off the bed and scrambling. Its head looked up at them, both eyes slightly unfocused in different directions and nose twitching wildly. Its eyes focused on the lightsaber. "No bata tu tu!"

"Achuta," Tetha said calmly, "Moova dee boonkee ree slagwa."

The alien raised its...legs, above its head and shuffled around on its arms until it was facing the corner of the room. Nerim pulled out his communicator. "We've acquired a ship, Master. Dock 345D."

"Great!" Arwain's response again came startlingly quick. "I have the holocron in my sights, just give me, oh, twelve minutes."

Tetha took a deep breath. "You keep an eye on the Dug, I'll get the pre-flight started."


-------------------


Nerim sat in the main room of the ship, a small area with a booth and a dirty kitchenette covered in a layer of spices in between piles of food things. The Dug sat across from him, twiddling its big toes together nervously.

At exactly 12 minutes on the dot, Arwain slid in through the cargo hatch and entered the main room carrying the Sith holocron in one arm like it was a bag of groceries. "Padawan!" She cried, a wide smile on her face—and a few scorch marks. "My hero!"

Nerim raised an eyebrow. "You didn't just destroy the thing?"

"Oh, no, of course not," Arwain said, wiping her brow. "Also, lower the cargo ramp, Jianno's incoming with a whole cart."

Nerim leaned back and shouted down the hall that lead to the cockpit. "Lower the—!"

"I heard her!" Tetha's reply came back. The ship shuddered slightly and a pneumatic hiss could be heard.

Arwain huffed, catching her breath, and pointed to the Dug. "Sorry, citizen, under Code 46A2J65, we are temporarily commandeering your vessel and detaining you. Don't worry, you will be compensated."

"Whauh—" The Dug's head shot between Nerim and Arwain, and back again, and back yet again. "Me no sitta-sen of repooblic!"

Arwain placed a hand on the seat an inch behind the Dug's head and leaned in, the pupils of her muddy green eyes shrinking. "Do you want to be a non-citizen right now?"

The Dug shuddered. "Me sitta-sen. Geeb mi wa chimpa?" he swallowed.

"Alright!" Jianno shouted from the cargo bay, "Let's get moving now!"

The cargo bay closed, and they immediately felt the lurch of the ship raising into the air. Arwain raised an eyebrow. "Who's the pilot?"

"A friend," Nerim said, "Her name is Tetha."

Arwain turned her head in the direction of the cockpit. "...I sense—Ah. That's what you've been up to this whole time."

Jianno limped into the main room, her armor scratched by what appeared to be...claws. He also noticed tufts of fur caught inbetween some of the armor plates. "Mar'e! Thought that damn zoo was going to be the death of me, hahahah!" She laughed heartily, taking off her helmet and leaning on the counter.

Nerim couldn't help but smile. "I've never seen you in such a good mood."

She grabbed a skewer with something on it and took a bite. "Rare that you get to live so hard and appease the dead at the same time," she remarked with her mouth full. "How's the weather?"

"The what?" Nerim asked, confused.

"Weather?" Arwain echoed, just as lost. Then a piercing silence descended upon the room.

"...Oh you morons," Jianno's grin immediately turned into a scowl, and she tapped at a console on the wall next to the kitchenette. "Shame on me for assuming you'd remember on your own."

"I can make it!" Tetha called down the hallway. "Hold on to something!"

Jianno's eyes widened as she saw the readout on the console. "There's a hyperwind storm!"

"I can make it!" Tetha repeated. Then the ship swung wildly to the side.

Every loose item was thrown into the wall, and Nerim was tossed into the table of the booth he was sitting at—which speared directly into the bruise on his stomach, of course. He nearly blacked out from the sudden excruciating pain, and felt the edges of his vision grow hazy. The Dug was outright tossed into the wall with a splat, although everyone could tell it was still conscious from its hysterical screaming.

Jianno's feet lifted from the floor, but she clung to the counter, preventing herself from being carried away. Arwain simply stood in place, frowning and leaning against the tremendous inertia. The ship shuddered and rumbled and swung side to side, Nerim tossed back and forth in his seat, in too much pain to even scream. The Dug bounced across the interior until Arwain reached out her free arm and caught it, holding it in a similar way to the holocron. She closed her eyes and entered some sort of deep meditation.

The chaos and bruising continued for what felt like hours to Nerim, though the clock told him it couldn't have been more than two minutes. The interior of the ship was an utter mess, covered in the aftermath of whatever the Dug had cooked the previous night. As Nerim regained his vision, he realized that a number of skewers, mugs, knifes and forks, and other dangerous clutter was suspended in the air around Arwain. He didn't even want to think about how bad it would have been if those were able to bounce around freely.

She let out a breath and they all dropped to the floor. She clicked her tongue. "That was reckless. But...I suppose it did work."

Nerim groaned in pain, curled up under the table and covered in new bruises. Arwain smiled at him.

Tetha stepped out of the hallway, checking on the group. Her cold eyes quickly scanned Arwain and Jianno, then Nerim. She rushed over to Nerim and held out a hand, helping him back into his seat while Arwain shoved the Dug back into the seat across from him.

"Are you okay?" Tetha asked.

"Might—Khght—die!" Nerim coughed, letting his head fall onto the table. Tetha frowned and put a hand on his back to comfort him.

Jianno stepped over and looked down at him, then punched him in the shoulder, causing him to yelp. "Calm down, whelp. You're doing great."

"Thank youuu..." Nerim moaned, swallowing what was trying to escape his stomach.