“Representatives of the Empire remain tight-lipped on last Wednesday’s tragedy, though unconfirmed sources claim it was a regrettable necessity to prevent a greater disaster. Over 200 000 deaths following commander Vader’s bombardment of a Falleeni city have now been confirmed, whereas thousands more are still..,”

Lost in thought, he only half paid attention to the broadcast. Death and destruction was all around him. Within him.

Even if he could have blanked out the media reports, the looming star destroyer overhead was a constant reminder of the recent catastrophe. As if the subsequent uproar wasn’t enough on its own, with twenty-four seven media coverage providing hourly updates of the death count along with speeches, protests and the progression of relief efforts. “The worst calamity in civilized history”, as the news anchor had just put it, following a descriptive account of the horrid brutality that the barbarian hordes had wrought upon the cultural center of the galaxy.

The general state of turmoil around him mirrored the chaos within Ma Xuz. The more he heard or saw of it the more confused he got. Although supposedly removed from it in how it hadn’t concerned him and his directly, the currents of emotion that coursed through the normally reserved Falleen society had aroused in him anger, fear and excitement all at once. It was, without a doubt, the biggest event to occur in memory, and however shocking it was to hear of people dying on such a scale it was a catalyst for change.

Causes warrant effects. He had been fascinated with war stories as a kid and, although long since grown out of it, the dwarfed war hero aspirations of his youth had been reactivated at such potent stimuli. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“They can’t just ignore it,” A university classmate had argued that very day, at recess. Sporadic agreement had been voiced from the impromptu audience, causing the speaker to continue. “They say there’s a reason it happened, but what kind of reason warrants a slaughter of OUR people? There must be consequences,”

“Of what kind, though?,” Someone had retaliated, challenging the speaker. “The sheer size and power of the Galactic Empire kinda limits the options. It’s not like the Federation has got the resources to compete,”

“Exactly. Get back to reality. It won’t happen,” A third voice, apparently a skeptic. “You’ve seen the press conferences. Prone to denouncement of the Empire though they are, the high council won’t lift a finger if it’d risk their precious neutrality. “

“As well they shouldn’t.” Someone added. “The superiority of Falleen transcends military might, right? Our Federation will outlast any empire as it has in the past. We haven’t gotten to where we are through chest-beating and warmongering,”

“Nor by letting down our guard. Neutrality my arse! If the Imperials hadn’t been allowed entry to Falleen space in the first place, let alone on Falleen soil, this would never have happened!,”

“On the other hand allowing the Imperials free access might have prevented similar genocide on a much greater scale. We’ve lost a lot already. Had we denied them entry the invasion fleets would soon have been upon us. It’s an unspoken threat, but if we throw out the imperials head first now I don’t doubt the imperial military is as ready to land as they were then,”

“The preservation of Falleen is the highest priority, as they always say. The empire will know of our disapproval in many ways, but not through open conflict,"

"Frak yeah. It must be better to maintain the status quo than to invite an occupation,”

“Forgive but not forget, aye? Talk but don’t act, rather!,” Someone had jeered in anger, after which a door slammed shut and a pitter-patter of footsteps in flight announced the individual’s departure. The room fell quiet, as conversations and similar debates had been interrupted by the rather vivid case of PDE (public display of emotion). It didn’t last long. Far too many students had suffered similar breakdowns over the past week for people to pay attention to it. Xuz, on the other hand, had nothing of his to return to. He had been eavesdropping on the casual discussion all along. He had yet to voice it openly, but he sympathized with the sentiments of the departed classmate more so than he did with conventional caution. It suggested that in spite of indoctrinated principles, of which calm and restraint were the ultimate testimony to self-control, there was plenty of doubt.

Within him, yes, and perhaps even around him. He couldn't be the only one to feel that way.

“I don’t understand, Father,” They were in the latter’s study, discussing events on his request. He needed guidance. Someone to whom he was comfortable voicing what tradition dictated he should keep to himself. “How do we prevent something like this from happening again if we don’t do anything about it?,”

“I take it ground zero is what’s troubling you,” His father retorted with a sigh. The man was seated behind his paper-laden desk, his reading materials set aside from the moment his son had entered the room. Articles on the Imperial bombardment hinted at that his father’s preoccupation had been of similar nature. “Haven’t you heard the reports? Plenty is being done as we speak. Why, the relief effort was commenced as soon as the initial confusion settled,”

“I know. I mean.. Why isn’t anything being done about the Imperials?”

“Because as you’ve probably heard already, any action against the Imperial presence on Falleen would turn this into a bigger issue than it already is. We’ve lost enough already. We need to hold onto our neutrality to recover, and that means accepting what happened as a tragic fact,”

“What, without holding anyone accountable? Even though everyone knows who is responsible for it,”

“Not necessarily that. There will be consequences in due time,”

“So I keep on hearing. What consequences?

“I don’t see why-,”

“What consequences? I haven’t seen or heard anything that seems punishment enough yet!,”

“Restricted Imperial access to Falleen space. Revoked permission to establish military outposts on our planet. Limited cooperation with Falleeni authorities. Trade restrictions. Etcetera,”

“Right. Until it’s demanded at gunpoint again,” Xuz muttered, referring to how imperial presence had come about in the first place. It had never been explicitly stated that the Falleen Federation was given no choice but to comply with Imperial requests, but the threats had been tangible indeed. It seems to me that would amount to a whole lot of nothing,”

He barely registered that his father seemed displeased with his tone. It had been brewing too long. He had refrained from speaking up amongst his peers for quite some time; needed to get it out of his system, needed to vent, to be heard out.

“We might appear to bow down to our lesser here, Xuz, but it’s not that simple. If indeed we are the most culturally distinguished species in the universe we have a duty to the galaxy to preserve our heritage. Inviting further destruction of the magnitude we’ve seen in the past would not serve that interest,”

“Right. Thanks for citing the party-line, father. So you’re saying we let ourselves be pushed around in the name of our supposed superiority?,”

“I’m saying we'll mourn our losses, rebuild and move on. We’ll reconsider our dealings with the empire in due time, but for now we’ll thread with caution. Nothing good ever comes from letting indignation interfere with one’s judgment,”

“But it’s nothing but cowardice! What are we proving by ignoring the fact that they’re responsible for the death of hundred thousands!?!,”

“Cowardice has nothing to do with it,” Although far from copying Xuz own speech volume, which had intensified somewhat, his father had nonetheless come to raise his voice a notch. Simultaneously the man had gotten out of his seat, adding to the illusion of fatherly authority by continuing from a higher vantage point. “What would you have us do? Declare war on the largest war machine of the galaxy to avenge a mutual tragedy? You call it what you will, son. No one meant for it to happen; but it is, as they say, human nature to err. There’s no need to let this disaster lead to another one,”

“Forgive but don’t forget, huh?”

“That’s the general consensus,”

“Great. I just hoped there were better reasons to it,”

The father seemed disappointed at this, his voice moving from weary to stern.

“I don’t like your attitude, Xuz. I don’t see why you’ve brought this up if you don’t want to hear what I have to say. Perhaps you’re not as mature as I thought,”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Xuz started, anger surging up at the patronizing statement. “I’m just as entitled to an opinion as any-frakking-body else!,”

“If only you could see yourself, son,” The old man sighed, shaking his head before replying accordingly. “I never said you weren’t. However I’m not going to discuss this matter with you any further. Come back when you’ve mastered that temper of yours, boy. Until then you can keep your sentiments to yourself. Now leave me be,”

It was infuriating to be told off. Much like his classmate earlier that day he stormed out and slammed the door behind him, but a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the way to his quarters halted his angry stride. He had fought with parents and friends alike before, but he had never lost control to such extent it activated his pigmentation. Dark grey turned blushing red; the mark of his failure at discipline. Shocking though it was, it clarified which of the many feelings he’d cultivated since the onset of the Vader incident that was the dominating one. Which meant…

Just what did it mean? What next?

Re: Rebellious Intent

Time had passed. Lots of it. He’d grown older; changed. His reflection had gone from its adolescent roundness to the hollow-cheeked adult noun that now stared back at him through the improvised mirror of an over-polished serving droid. Side point, that, but vanity was a testimony to his development.

Falleen had changed with him. Decisively turning away from the affairs of the galaxy, the Federation had fulfilled his father’s predictions pretty much to the letter. Granted, imperial presence was not completely expelled, but the size thereof had dwindled to nigh unto non-existence since the Vader incident. Other groups had found it similarly difficult to enter the Falleeni sphere of influence, thus drastically cutting the amount of outsiders and off-world goods in circulation. It was a blessing and a curse. Falleen had never been multicultural per se, but with the sporadic coming and going of trade vessels from afar there had at least been a steady flow of visitors about. As foreigners were regarded with suspicion to the point that the average citizen would not miss their presence, it was good bye and good riddance to most.

Xuz disagreed, as always.

He considered himself a marked individual; thought himself different, unique. Others assumed his consistent inability to control his facial hue was a product of his problems at home, well known as it was that ever since way back his relation to his parents had been strained. That it had coincided with the Vader incident went largely unnoticed. He, on the other hand, thought of it as testimony to how he’d never fit in. It was not just his parents, so to speak, but just as much the common Falleeni sentiment that had spawned the issue with his progenitors in the first place. Any government that excused murder of throngs of innocents did not deserve its power, whereas any setup that preached inaction and isolation as a response to such overlords did not deserve his allegiance. He wanted out. He wanted to leave Falleen behind as much as he wanted to kick Imperial ass.

He had relied on freighter pilots to provide him with news of the outside world. The successes and failures of a popular rebellion had tickled him especially, and ever since he’d heard of the alliance he’d prodded newcomers for updates in the shady joints that surrounded the intergalactic space port. His resolution had strengthened as the news feed had trickled to a halt.

He wanted to be a part of it.

“Hey stranger,” A hoarse greeting, coyly demure, preceded the knockout that slumped into the seat across from him. Calmly he put his book down, intentionally putting it out of sight in his lap. Questionable literature. Fortunately it never came to her to question what he was reading. Or anything else, for all that mattered. For all bits and purposes it had been a rebellion in his mind. Reserved and secretive were adjectives commonly associated with Falleeni stereotypes. As were two-faced and treacherous. Lack of traditionally inherent abilities did not necessarily exclude other common traits.

On the surface he did fit in, his pigment deficiency aside. He played by the rules.

“Guess what!?!,” Dead give-away, that phrase. The female was positively beaming at him. Although a solid poker face in most situations, she had yet to learn how to control her enthusiasm.

“You’re graduating top of our class,” He questioned innocently, earning a roll of the eyes and a muttered “If only,”

He was about to draw it out further when she blurted it out, too eager to clue him in.

“Dad’s given me the go-ahead. We’ve got his old shuttle for as long as we want it. We can be off right after graduation!,”

“That’s awesome,” He responded, as genuinely excited as she was. Although he’d suspected as much, it was exhilarating to have it confirmed. All too soon did he realize just to what point, as the hotness in his cheeks indicated that he was showing it a little too publicly. Fortunately she only smiled at the transparency of it all. He did not pretend to understand why, but ever since the start of their friendship she had complimented on what most of his peers regarded as a weakness.

Supposedly she had a thing for bad boys.

“Where do we go first, you think?,” She continued, courteously working around the awkward moment. “I want to go to Coruscant,”

“So do I, at some point. As long as we make it to some of the outer ring worlds as well,”

“Why bother? If anything’s comparable to Falleen it has got to be found at the center of the empire,”

The empire. Thanks for the reminder.

“Isn’t a pilgrimage supposed to take us all over the galaxy?,”

“Wherever we want to go, I guess. Oh, don’t worry. I’ll let you decide a stop or two,”

“Gee, thanks,” He laughed, continuing their banter accordingly.

He liked her well enough, but she was a means to an end.


Having extracted himself from Zira's clutches, he had gone straight to search out his fellow associates. Most vengeful Falleen had already jumped ship, taking to join the Rebel Alliance or to foolishly hunt for the Imperial high-up, Vader, who was responsible for the bombardment. Unlike them, Marcus and his peers had first had to struggle for recognized citizenship and financial autonomy. Both would, however, come with graduation. He wouldn’t have cared about school if it wasn’t for the gateways it opened; in society, yes, but more importantly to his savings account. His parents had set aside a decent amount for him every month, though following the kinds of trouble he had kicked up after his fall from grace they had set a conditional for it. He was to finish school first.
 
Naturally they’d still object to wrongful use of it. The not un-common pilgrimage was, fortunately, something they could relate to. Something they wouldn’t object to, courtesy of tradition and nostalgia. And once he was off planet he’d be out of reach.

“I’ve got a ride. Sooner than you, but I can’t bring more people. Where do we meet?,”

He spoke quietly, having caught up and tagged along with one of his fellow plotters in one of the many school corridors.

“How?,”

“Pilgrimage. Zira’s got a ship,”

“You sure she’ll be alright with it?,”

“Positive,”

Best not to give the whole picture.

“If you say so. I’ve got class, we’ll talk it through another time,”

“As you wish. Later, then,”

Things were in motion. At last.

Re: Rebellious Intent

As a rebel footsoldier it was either feast or famine; you were either an inch from death or so distanced from its clutches that you almost forgot about the war altogether. The latter applied to the Rudrig system, as so far maintaining readiness had amounted to little more than drilling and time-killing. Watch duty was torture for the soul; a dreary wake that extended ad finitum until days and nights alike blurred together, time nigh unto immesurable.

Some took to exercise to pump away the boredom while others to staunch adherence to their orders. Most, however, took to chatting the days away, creating a soundtrack of banter to tune in or turn off to should one favor solitude over gregarious peerage. Marcus was one of the few who did, and in his desire for personal space he found himself a lot more Falleeni than he had thought himself to be. The concept of fraternizing freely with strangers was distressing, envious though he was of the lack of inhibition displayed by the many denizens of the galaxy that flocked to the cause of the Alliance. Perhaps in the future he'd indulge them, but for the moment he contented himself with observing and listening.

"She's right in there. The kids too. As eager to serve as me. 'sides, I reckon if ever the Imps get names she'd be safer here than elsewhere,"

Spoken by a Bothan. Loved ones was a popular subject.

"Mine's back on Ryloth for that very reason. Wouldn't want her around in case the Imps come knocking,"

"Oh, yeah? Not missing the action, are ya?,"

"Good point. Haven't had a good night's sleep since I joined up,"

Lots of snickers and har har's at that. The uncouth manners of his fellow fighters were an indication of his position. An educated fool, he had insisted on the front lines over alternative service. It was a choice. Perhaps also a suicide attempt.

"What about you, big boy? Got a sweetheart somewhere?,"

"A couple here, a couple there. You know how it is,"

"A girl in every harbor, huh? Is that for real or in your dreams?,"

"Shut it, you frakker,"

"Defensive, aren't we? You, Devan? Keep it going,"

"As single as they come,"

"Not for long, you ain't. War veterans are in high demand, they say,"

"Assuming we win and that I don't get killed before that happens, yeah,"

"Of course we'll win, silly,"

Snickers resurfaced at that. Black humour. Victory was far out of reach; they all knew it.

"Don't be such a skeptic. Marcus?,"

"None of your business," He muttered. As much as he wondered at the outspoken-ness of his new acquaintances he was yet unwilling to copy their examples.

"Sorry, what's that?,"

"I said: It's none of your business. Now leave me alone,"

Awkward silence ensued, the playful banter having slammed into a proverbial road block. As people were unused to his kind, he had found he got away with rudeness. He took no pleasure in it, but intimidation kept obnoxiousness at bay. He was, in any case, not prepared to lay out his private for open discussion. Especially not on love and partnership, as confusing a subject as it was.

So much time had passed, yet he recalled every moment and detail of his brief experiences thereof.

He had deceived her..

From the very start the pilgrimage had been rigged as a means of getting from Falleen to Nar Shaddaa, where he had arranged to rendezvous with his fellow subversives. From there they would attempt to locate Alliance contacts that could get them into the fight. Although their plans had allowed for the pilgrimage to occur by default, he had knowingly kept Zira in the dark as to his real intentions. The fewer who knew the lesser the risk of exposure before he'd be out of reach from parental influence. He had meant to tell her in due time so as to prepare her for his departure, yet supposedly the opportunity had never presented itself. That or he had never found the courage to bring it up.

..used her..

They had taken off as planned; roaming about on a trans-galactic pleasure cruise he had never seen the like of. The freedom of it, intoxicating as it was, had inspired them to go further a field in pleasures of adulthood than they had ever done before. Drinks and death sticks were but the start. Physical acts of intimacy, at first experiments, had led to intensified chemistry. Love. Attachment. Something like that. Whatever it had been it had begun to grow between, he too amazed by the transformed relationship to stay anchored in reality. He should have ended it; should never have let it happen in the first place, but he hadn't had the self-control to refrain from indulging himself the experience.

"Do you love me?,"

The question had come out of the blue; a casual inquiry as they strolled down a Coruscant avenue, enjoying a lazy afternoon. It seemed harmless enough, but the way her eyes sought his underlined the gravity of the question. He'd stopped dead in his tracks, unsure of what the answer really was.

"Sorry if I'm going straight to the point. I've always liked you, Xuz, but I'm not sure what I'm feeling. Once we're back at Falleen..,"

Back at Falleen. He instantly knew that if he'd ever go back, he'd be hers. If she wanted him.

"We're far from home. Please take this for what it is. I'm not thinking straight out here, and you're not either. If things become different back at Falleen, just..,"

"I think I do,"

As advocated by the male's magazines he'd skimmed through on occasion. Genuine spur-of-the-moment romantique.

He really thought he had. Still did.

.. betrayed her.

"What do you mean you're not coming?,"

She had been flustered, apparently not prepared to believe in what necessity had finally dictated that he told her. They were at Nar Shaddaa; a curious stop, at best, that she'd argued there was no point to lest they fancied getting robbed. Yet it was the end of the line for him, if it so meant he’d have to jump out the airlock. Granted, a part of him had been tempted to forget his rebellious aspirations in favor of returning. She had warmed up to him, in spite of hesitation on her part. It was a promising development, inspiring thoughts that rivaled his thirst for adventure for the outcome of his future.

Resoluteness only persevered at recalling his aversion to conformity. Returning without accomplishments would equal to nothing. He'd been opposed to the arbitrary regime of the Federation in the first place; more so now that he had experienced an alternative to daily repression of the urge to speak out. Returning meant resigning his ideals for the reality that was. Others did every day, but that didn't mean he was prepared to follow in their footsteps.

"I mean exactly what I'm saying. I'm not going back,"

"What are you talking about? What's gotten into you?,"

"Zhor and the others are waiting for me here. There's something I've got to do,"

"What, who? What’s going on?,"

"You know what I feel about Falleen. If there's anything I can do to make up for the timidity of our people it's to join the rebellion. Frak knows we all should be doing it,"

"The Rebellion? But, Marcus..,”

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, Zira; we've discussed this before!," His voice went scornful; needlessly provoking. "Or going too far, am I? Is it so unforgivable to want to translate all the talk back home into decisive action? At least I have the guts to back up my words!,"

Her expression stiffened; lips pursed, a frown on her face. Controlled anger. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, as the idiom went

"If you do, then back up what you said to me,"

"What are you talking about? I want you to–,"

“If I had known before..,” She hesitated. Superficial calm was not necessarily the equal of complete composure; of that he knew well. "At least you’ve got the courtesy to tell me now, instead of just running off. That doesn’t change that you’re leaving, and that doesn’t change that you tricked me into taking you here,”

"If you'd just listen and–,"

"I don't want to hear any more. Shut up and get off my ship, Xuz. Now. Out!,”

Deja vu. Though at least his father had never laid a hand on him.

His feeble attempts at resistance did not suffice in preventing her from practically forcing him out and pushing him onto the landing platform. He lost his balance, tripping over and falling onto his back. When he got up she had already sealed up the ship. He had half expected her to take off then and there, but it hadn’t happened. Presumably she was as shaken by what had just occured as he was. Torn between staying and going, it had taken him considerable will-power to turn and walk away.

Thus he had gotten what he wanted.

But had what he wanted been to sit about listening to the mindless blabber of uncivilized groundpounders? Was it worth the price he'd paid for it? Or was it a self-induced punishment for his follies?

So many question marks.

Re: Rebellious Intent

Time heals all wounds. Or so they said, but it had not been time that fixed him up. His efforts at self-adjustment were just as crucial; brought about as they were by toil and trouble beyond your average journey of self-discovery. War promoted companionship at higher frequency than it did officers. It also inspired trust as much as it did hatred, and the concerns thereof temporarily overshadowed past guilt in how it forced one to live in the present. So he had since the battle of Rudrig; from which he had narrowly escaped alongside assorted galactic lowlives gone rebels. Their subsequent crowding together for weeks in close quarters had resulted in friction, starvation and questionable hygiene; but also camraderie. Necessity dictated it. If one had no choice but to squat in a pro-rebel farmer's stinky basement one could as well as make the best of it.

It reminded him of Nar Shaddaa. There he had spent several standard weeks holed up in a crummy apartment that was way too small to house him and his friends. Yet it was all they could afford as they scoured the planet for opportunities to join the ongoing rebellion. The filth and squalor aside, he had rather taken to the locales. Or perhaps to the company. Although wrecked by his rapture with Zira on arriving, the companionship of fellow firebrands had quickly bolstered his spirits. Excitement abounded. Slumming about the bars became the primary pass-time between pursuit of odd leads. When they weren't trying out some new pleasure of the underworld, or sometimes even while doing so, they engaged in debates on Falleen, the Galactic Civil War or their mutual rebellion against the conventions of the Federation.

Booze. Alien women. Quasi-intellectual stimulation. A great combination; an adventure that had merely begun..

.. Yet one that went foul too soon..

Xuz and his quartette of rebels with a cause had found themselves at a crossroads; blinking stupidly down contradictory paths that led in similar directions. The Alliance recruiter, once located through unofficial channels, spoke of restoring democracy and standing up against the wide-spread oppression of the empire. Another lead offered a curious alternative. They had been approached by a Gran who allegedly not only recognized their kind but also their motivations. A standing offer aimed at renegade Falleeni had been expressed alongside sympathy for their cause. The offer was supposedly extended by one of their own, though the sentient or their organization had not been revealed.

Any folly of youth they might or might not have possessed did not suffice to entertain illusions of single-handedly tracking down or disposing of an imperial bigwig; they needed support. Unfortunately their preferences varied as greatly as their respective backgrounds.

"Rebellions are quelled all the time. Remember that it is Vader's head we're after, and not a change of regime or a grand revolution,"

Xuz was comparatively well-read on the matter of politics. While of all things he was not a devoted revolutionist, he disagreed with the aforementioned sentiment for several reasons.

"The Galactic Empire is as responsible for what happened as Vader is. In defending his mistake it has paved the road for more of the sort. Perhaps not on Falleen, but elsewhere,"

"Which would be none of our business. Last I heard there were plenty of fools to be the moral conscience of the galaxy. Rebellion's sure going strong without us, in any case,"

"Yet Falleen is as unprotected as anywhere else as long as the Empire is in control,"

"Hardly. If the killing of Vader is traced to a Falleen assassin fear would keep the fools on Imperial Center away from our system,"

"Or bring on star destroyers and orbital bombardment. If we're capable of revenge I wouldn't put it past anyone else,"

So the discussion went, swaying back and forth between their options. The ultimate tie-breaker became the identity of the supposed intraspecies alternative. Falleeni-coordinated operations naturally had to be superior to political malcontents of foreign administrations. Route for the home team and whatnot. Xuz had argued himself blue in the face, literary and metaphorically speaking, protesting vocally against the shadiness of the Gran recruiter along the lines of that it would be better to go for the least secretive option. He was voted down at every turn, slowly but steadily causing him to consider breaking off.

"Sure you won't change your mind?," Zhor had inquired at the night prior to their ultimate separation. "All those long nights of planning only to split up like this?,"

Xuz' face broke into an involuntary smile. There was nothing to cheer one up like talk of the good old days, mere standard months away though they were. It sure felt as if more time had passed, all accounted for.

"I don't know. There's something about that Gran, whoever he is. I don't want to end up on the wrong side of things,"

"That's assuming there's a right one. If it's a means to an end, how can whichever side we choose matter?"

"How can it not?,"

"Our goal itself could be considered immoral. How then can the comparable virtue of an organization we join up with to achieve this goal be of relevance to our cause? Afraid of the dark side? For what we're out to do we'll end up on it regardless,"

"So because we're damned by our intent we might as well skip morality altogether? The galaxy isn't an oversized copy of Ryloth; you're not just either black or white,"

"Quite the contrary. If there's truly good or evil they're as impossible as natural settlement would be on either of Ryloth's opposite halves. Its people instead inhabits the thin strip of twilight that separates the two halves; the proverbial gray of the morality spectrum,"

"Your point being..?,"

"That you're not as intelligent as you'd like to think," A chuckle at that. "And that moral quandary is inconsequential. Whatever we do we'll be no better or worse than anyone else in the galaxy,"

"I don't agree,"

"I know. And if this discussion of ours won't convince you I guess there's nothing I can do to make you come with us,"

Zhor chuckled again, giving Xuz a friendly pat on the back.

"You've got until morning. If you're still sure of this we'll go our separate ways and that'll be the end of it,"

It was.

Just as with Zira, it had been anything but easy to turn his back on his mates and leave behind their company to seek out the alliance recruiter. It wasn't until he returned to their quarters, now empty, to pick up his belongings that the full force of the rapture finally struck home. He was on his own..

Had remained so until then, on Rudrig, as prior to their cellar stint he had not befriended anyone past superficial acknowledgement. Battle bred brothers in arms, as they said. Ironic that he'd cultivate such relations on an Imp-covered rim world on which they would likely meet their ends.

Re: Rebellious Intent

"Yeah? Last I heard what makes you so effective at it is an anomaly. Those teeth of yours tell quite the tale,"

"How observant of you. I can't help that I'm a superior being, now can I?,"

"What are you talking about?,"

"The teeth. Male devaronians are supposed to have only incisors. The canines and molars are a feminine trait. Yet our friend here sports a set of both. It's a benign mutation,"

Amazing what one could learn from casual eavesdropping. Riskyr'nel was well-read; a bothan scholar masked in brawn and weapon mastery.

"Does that mean that he's got, well..,"

An awkward silence followed as Ryate's half-finished statement trailed off. Xuz, attentive to the curious discussion, impulsively continued from where the human had left off. Boredom was too frequent a feature of the Rudrig farm cellar not to indulge in the occasional exchange of verbal bantha poodo.

"What?,"

"He's wondering if you're a hermaphrodite," Marcus snickered, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the impact of his words. An instant later Sadip translated his obvious offense into action. Xuz found himself wrestled down onto the dirt floor by the horned simian, the latter hissing obscenities as he attempted to exact appropriate retribution for the insult. Xuz' amusement, developing into all-out laughter, interefered with any resistance he could have mustered. Although it effectively meant that he would probably get his arse kicked he nonetheless welcomed the diversion.

"Shut it, you two,"   Ti'Ahn hissed. They froze where they were; Xuz momentarily on top of his adversary. The significance of the engine sounds above was an all too sobering reminder of their precarious situation. It was not the first time the area had been combed by Imperials for rebel fugitives and probably it would not be the last. Heart racing, Xuz listened intently to the muffled sounds of conversation above; tried to visualize the storm trooper squad that doubtlessly would push their way in any moment and proceed to wreak havok inside, eventually locating the hatch and forcing its occupants to exit at gunpoint with their hands over their heads.

The hatch was opened, alright, but instead of an armor-clad imperial it was the rustic who had sheltered them since their furtitious escape from the now smoldering ruins of the rebel base that peered down at them.

"Clear skies," He hailed them with a good-natured chuckle. He was either ignorant of or untouched by their grim appearances.

"Blast it, man! I nearly blew your frakking head off!," Muttered Ryate; though what the farmer replied was largely blocked out by Xuz' sigh of relief. He would have collapsed on the dirt floor, his muscles void of energy as tension faded, had it not been for the companion that was still lodged between him and the ground from their previous grappling.

"Get off me, you overgrown lizard,"

The Devaronian cussed under his breath as he heaved him aside and pushed himself to his feet. Ti'Ahn offered Xuz' a hand and helped him get up, teasing him as she did so. "Gentility would get you further, Marcus. Besides, I'm sure there are better ways of testing the hermaphrodite theory,"

"As if he'd ever get a frak any other way," Sadip spoke with a mischievous grin, though his annoyance at their continued entertainment on his behalf manifested itself in a half-hearted punch delivered on Ti'Ahn's shoulder.

Although usually slow at conjuring witticisms, Xuz had come to appreciate their incessant bantering over the course of their shared confinement and would undoubtedly have joined in had the situation allowed it. Yet as they joked about the bothan had hoisted himself out of the cellar and was now standing with his back to it, conversing with a set of voices Xuz did not recognize. Had not the accumulated stink of sewage stained uniforms and unwashed bodies inhibited his sense of smell or he would no doubt have noticed sooner. Ignoring the chatter of his peers, he moved over to the hatch and stretched to his full length to regard the scene up above.

"We're told you need a way off this rock,"

Riskyr'nel's conversation partner was a skinny human male in his early twenties; a not unhandsome man whose looks were tarnished by apparent  malnourishment and exhaustion. He was flanked by a wary-looking redhead female and a brawny male, both of human origin and each seemingly both on their guard against trouble.

"Indeed we do. We need to get to the nearest independent system, preferably avoiding imperials on the way. No questions asked,"

"None needed. Those uniforms of yours tell a story of their own. Alliance soldiers are a rare commodity these days. Our services come at a price, of course,"

Smugglers, it dawned on him. Hardly a reliable way out.. but perhaps the only way.

"Obviously we can't pay you much in advance. If we had anything to offer we would have left long ago. However we're carrying valuable intelligence that the Alliance would pay a fortune to obtain. You would no doubt be rewarded provided we are safely delivered,"

Xuz was about to question just what that information would be when he found himself forced down by Ti'Ahn, her hand slipping tightly over his mouth once he was out of the strangers' sight.

"Leave negotiations to Riskyr'nel," She commanded, her voice a
barely audible whisper. "The truth won't get us anywhere, you hear?,"

A ploy, then. He could not help his emergent feeling of unease at the thought.

Re: Rebellious Intent

Credge felt displaced as he emerged from the farmhouse into the dust-ridden Rudrig countryside. Earthy colours were unfamiliar to his eyes; so far removed from the steely shades of spaceports and spaceship interiors that were his usual surroundings. A fish out of the water – No, a spacer out of the skies. He coped well with sterility bustling with transient or artificial life due to its inherent predictability. Nature, on the other hand, consisted of uncontrollable randomness that always threw him off. Consequentially he disliked it enough not to seek out in unless he had good reasons to. Business was, indeed, about the only reason he ever did. This time, however, the completion of yet another deal had not resulted in a sense of satisfaction. Instead his unease at the scenery intermingled with a nagging disquiet at the political implications of the arrangement; that and the potential volatility that came with unspecified rewards.

He cared little for the civil war that plagued the empire and even less about whether the sitting administration or their sworn enemies would be victorious. Of all things he'd vote in favour of maintaining the status quo; an opinion both spawned and supported by greed. Battle-ravaged worlds made for lucrative markets. Hard-to-come-by-goods fetched extortionate returns once delivered and desperate fugitives paid veritable fortunes to get away. The frenzied pace at which orders came in had had him planet-hopping all over the outer ring for the last couple of standard months, hauling legitimate and clandestine merchandise alike and making more than he ever had previously. It was what had gotten him to Rudrig in the first place, hauling medical supplies and over-prized food items. Rudrig. Apparently the place to make a killing.

He’d gotten the lead from an acquaintance of old and had taken considerable time in thinking it over. Knowing his contact’s sympathies would perhaps not have flared as distinct a warning sign had he been unaware of the sector’s current affairs. He wasn’t. Only an inept or careless smuggler would fail to keep themselves updated on the goings-on at their whereabouts and destinations. He wouldn't have swallowed the bait.. . wouldn’t have. Second conditional. Like a pendulum he would rather have kept swaying back and forth between both groups, doing odd jobs for both sides without committing to either. Yet he preferred to gamble for his neutrality on his own terms over having them sold at the convenience of his employer and benefactor. His ascending conflict with Rental was getting out of hand, the only remedy being accumulation of sufficient revenue to purchase autonomy. Any contribution toward his freedom – not that of choice but that of movement; his ship – would do, and the more the better.

“You’re up to something,” Cinia, leaning forward in her seat, was striking up conversation from behind him. Quizzical green eyes framed by strands of red reflected his gaze expectantly as he turned around to face her. Perceptive and straight to the point. Psychology could have been an alternative discipline for her had she been able to utilize, or at least react to, her character observations. Ironically human relations were not in her otherwise versatile set of talents. Honesty, quietness and dead adherence to staunch principles prevented her from exercising even the slightest flexibility in accommodation or manipulation of a fellow sentient. Not that he was in a position to point out social impairment, but Cinia Ardmore was better off in the engine room where she spent most of her time. If nothing else the hyper-drive was in greater need of probing than he was.

“What makes you think that?,” An off-handed reply. Her curiosity would be indulged in due time.

“Well.. . You obviously don’t believe them,”

He was somewhat shaken by the implication, wondering if it had truly been that obvious and, if it had, what the rebel squatters might have construed of it.

“Perhaps I don’t,” He spoke with purposed dismission, knowing as he did that she would not agree with his line of thinking. Should they not be valued accordingly by the Alliance they might well be by the Empire. Or an adequate bargain could be made with the Hutts' or the Black Sun.

Preparations occupied him over the hours succeeding his return to the civilized world. Paper-work covering for a shipment of alien slaves from Rudrig to Tatooine corresponding to that of the rebel group were secured through cashing in on a few favours with local black market operatives. The illegitimacy of the papers was irrelevant. Smuggling was usually conveniently overlooked on the rim worlds as it provided merchandise not easily obtained from, or even prohibited by, the more strictly governed galaxy core. Potential lack of cooperation from the cargo itself was far greater concern than the possibility of discovery. Desperate men warranted caution, no telling as there were of what they might do should they realize their skins were at risk.

Only after nightfall did they return to the farm. Darkness simplified avoiding imperial detection. Words were traded with the farmer before they entered the kitchen, the latter advised to steer clear of them in case there would be trouble. Needless casualties thus prevented, Credge proceeded to signal positions to his men before he opened the hatch; having first declared his identity by calling out “Larcast here. Don’t shoot or you’ll lose your ticket out of here,”

“Wear this,” He added as the packages were tossed down for their benefit. He leveled with them by kneeling down, reducing the height advantage, as he watched them tear the wrappings open to reveal the shoddy garments and their durasteel accessories.

“What the frak?!?,” The contents were spilled onto the dirt floor for emphasis by one of the soldiers, a human, who glared defiantly up at him. A hasty attempt to avoid open hostility was made by the furry one, the bothan, but that did not eliminate the underlying question. “The clothes I can understand. Why the shackles?,”

A meaning look flagged his cronies’ attention. Needless communication. Whatever their shortcomings they were competent in dealing with potential shootouts. Having ensured his protection he spoke up in defense of the questionable items. “An unpleasant necessity,” He explained, appealing to their sense of reason. “Even if we make it to the space port without being stopped the likelihood of imperials searching my vessel before take-off is high because of the ongoing manhunt. I’ve managed to establish a pretext for your presence on board. You’re slaves bound for Tatooine. I need you to play the part,”

“Oh yeah? So you can hand us over to the imps all neat and tidy and save yourself the fuel costs, pal? Not gonna happen,” The hostility in the voice of the speaker matched the dark red tint of his skin. Galling machismo. A pitch-fork to go with the horns and he would’ve been the splitting image of evil. Credge sneered in return, assuming fake indignation at the accusation in spite of – or rather because of – the uncanny accuracy of its contents. Another one, the reptilian, took a more reserved and cautious stance that still only partially concealed his disapproval. “Is this really necessary?,”

“Not if you’d rather stay here,” Obstreperous comment, that; sarcasm to parry their belligerence. Unproductive at best, but perhaps it would add to the charade. The resumption of the reasonable approach that had thitherto dominated his contributions was brought about after a pause, suggesting swift application of self-control. “Look, the punishment for harboring rebels is harsh. Slave trade, on the other hand, is condoned as long as it’s done discretely. Now I’m not going to endanger my ship or my crew any more than is necessary. If you don’t approve you can rot here for all I care,”

Predictably his words sparked more of the same among the refugees. Hypocritical jeering about his general lack of guts did not endear them to him; indeed solidified his resolve to treat them as means to an end. Whether it was a product of double standards or lack of self-insight the insult was laughable coming from so-called fighting men covering from their enemies underground.

An intervention by the feline dominated the group before he could continue to argue his case, understanding advocated in light of how desperate measures were unavoidable provided the circumstances. Whether by rank or de facto, the impact of the creature's words established him as the leader of the group. A mental note was made of it as Credge let the rebels talk it over amongst themselves, satisfaction ensuing as he realized his sales pitch had carried home with the most important member of the pack. Why exert his admittedly limited powers of persuasion trying to secure their agreement when one of their own did it for him, and with far greater efficiency and credibility? Half the battle won. He’d have them onboard in no time.

Re: Rebellious Intent

Their spatial and psychological imprisonment was thus traded for more palpable restrictions on their mobility. A cell for shackles. At least, he thought, as they marched like the prisoners they were toward their freedom, they had gotten out of the stinky cellar. That had to account for something.

Had there been any doubts as to their credibility as indentured servants they were surely dispelled by how the combined weight of their restraints and the strain of the journey to the spaceport made them look the part. Exhaustion was quick to come to muscles that had long since weakened from disuse and malnourishment. Details became indistinct as they progressed ever onwards; an Imperial patrol bribed to overlook the smuggler’s shady dealings, the increasing frequency of speeders darting past and the maddening cooking odors of nocturnal restaurants and local residences as they approached the closest vestige of civilization. The stench of spaceship fuel and the familiar hum of sub-light drives prepped for departure were added to the aforementioned blend of sensory inputs as they reached the star-port, though soon enough it was supplanted by the stale scent of bottled-up humanity that filled the corridors of the smuggling vessel.

He was too tired to care for the rationalization of their quartering in a cargo-hold, and quickly fell asleep once he got settled onto the blankets that had been prepared for them.

---

Hours later he jerked awake, momentarily confused by his aching limbs and inability to straighten out. However clarity resumed as sleep gradually fled his mind. They were still in the cargo-hold, alright, the door to the rest of the ship closed. He was also still in chains.

“Hey,” He called out, not quite sure what to expect in return. He felt far from rested and had no means of telling what time it was, so rather than assuming the worst he was prepared to think that they had yet to get around to release them.

No answer.

“Hey!” He repeated at a slightly higher pitch. An answer came this time, but not from outside.

“Don’t waste your breath,” Ti’Ahn was sitting upright, eyes wide open in a way that suggested he had been awake for quite some time. “We’ve been stuck here for too long for it to be a simple mistake. I swear, I sensed something fishy about this –,”

A loud crash sounded as Sadip jolted awake at his side and tried to push himself to his feet, but failed in mid-motion and fell flat on his face due to the tightness of his bonds.

“ – … deal from the start,” She smirked faintly, glancing sideways at the heap of limbs that was their Devaronian comrade. “Graceful as always, aren’t you? I guess the hermaphrodite bit does not come with female agility,”

”I’m just not in tune with my feminine side,” Sadip grunted, all the while trying to pull himself up from where he was. “What’s up with this, anyway?,”

“Frak, yeah? What the frak have you gotten us into?!?,” The ruckus had apparently woken them all up. Ryate was rocking to and fro, apparently pulling at his chains to no avail. Riskyr’nel was with them too, assessing the situation in silence despite his rather awkward position on the side.

“Looks like Mr. Larcast is taking us for a ride,” He said, ignoring Ryate’s increasingly desperate struggle.

“Shut it, will ya!,” Barked Sadip, glaring at the frantic human as he finally got himself up against the wall. The glower remained as he turned to face the Bothan. “I could have told ya so, smartass. Well in advance, too,”

“There wouldn’t have been a need to. I half expected it,”

“You what?!?,” Ryate blurted out, his anger and desperation apparently given a target at the confession.

“Consider our situation on Rudrig. At least now we’re on our way, and we’re not in the clutches of the empire. Our chances are greater than they ever would be in that basement,”

”Yeah, ’til we end up on a slave market on some outer rim backwater!,”

”Drop it!" Marcus retorted to Sadip's needless comment. As annoyed as he was at how easily they had gotten into their predicament, he did not see anything good coming out of being snarky about it. “Riskyr’nel is at least partially right. If we were to take no risks we would be stuck in that rathole until the end of us,”

”At least we’d be free, rathole or not!,”

“What’s the frakking difference? It’s not like we could have waltzed into town or anything,”

”Yeah, well at least I could move my frakking hands, free or not!,”

“Be quiet, all of you! Bickering won’t get us out of here any quicker. Keep your comments to yourself if you’ve got nothing constructive to say,”

”Go chuck up a hairball or something, you pussycat!,”

“The pussycat has got a point! Or do you think bickering like this is going to get us out of here anytime soon?,”

“No sooner than anything you could possibly arrange, you @&$%$@#^%!,”

And so it went on. They had their merits, his newfound friends, but these were nothing compared to their penchant for fighting amongst themselves.