Adventures of a Shard and a Zabrak, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Long Thread Titles

[Rusty]

"You know, one of these days, I'm going to have a nice, quiet hunt," Rusty muttered to himself.

It was a quiet, backwater moon on the edge of OS territory. The giant red planet around which it orbited hung bright in the sky cast an eerie crimson glow over the small outpost. It wasn't quite true day, since the sun was still hidden behind the bulk of the planet, but it was still bright enough to read by. Or, in the Shard's case, to see down the sights of Gertrude, his massive and massively powerful rifle.

He didn't often get away from the endless board meetings and sales meetings and meetings that seemed to have no purpose other than to let everyone sit around and jerk each other off over sales figures. His company, Rusty's Custom Firearms and Cutlery, had started off as a small, independent gun shop in the slums of Breehara. It had been an occasional hobby, something to do while the Wicked Grace was down. Now it was his life, and he hated it.

Well, he liked the money. Not having to worry about every single credit was nice. And being able to build whatever twisted creations came to mind was pretty awesome. But the responsibility that came with it was a serious drag. Which is why, whenever the opportunity arose, he used any excuse possible to get out of the shop.

This time, he had told Koko, his personal assistant, that he was off on a hunting trip. Which was technically true. It was a trip, and he was hunting. But instead of hunting krayt dragons on Tatooine, he was after an arguably more dangerous prey: Sith.

This moon was important to the One Sith for two reasons. Firstly, because it had deposits of several valuable ores that were vital to spaceship production, and the fact that it had a breathable atmosphere meant it was much easier to mine than asteroids. Secondly, it was out of the way enough that they could foist the responsibility for it off on a newly appointed Lord who hadn't yet earned enough respect to warrant a more prestigious posting.

Sith Lords, even newly promoted ones, were tough nuts to crack. Which is why Rusty was sitting comfortably under a thermal blanket some 800 meters away from the entrance to the pub that the Lord was known to frequent. He had followed the fellow to the club, and now he was sitting outside with Gertrude, waiting for the shot. Sure enough, the Lord had appeared, just as he had expected. What he hadn't anticipated was the young Zabrak woman who appeared ready to do something...foolish?

"The hell is she thinking?"

The Shard kept his sights trained on the Sith, curious to see what would happen next.

[member="Lok Maxus"]

 

[Lok Maxus]

[member="Rusty"]

What was Lok thinking?

Many things, actually. She was thinking about how much she missed Iridonia. How much she missed her mother's steak. How she wished she'd brought along a few more credits. How she wished she had some explosives instead.

But mostly, Lok was thinking of her brother, Thatch. Sweet, quiet, young Thatch, who'd been blessed enough to train with the Jedi - only to be kidnapped by the Sith. Sith like the scum Lok was about to ambush now.

Unaware of the audience she held, the Zabrak primed her gun and leapt out into the middle of the street. Pointing her gun at the villainous scum, the young woman snarled, "Hands in the air and don't try anything foolish, Sithling! Your Force tricks won't work on me!"

The man paused for a moment, one foot hovering in the air over the first step of the entrance. Then, slowly, with an air of detached amusement, he turned around. Lok narrowed her eyes. He was a human, at most a decade older than her. Jet black hair was carefully slicked back, and two cold blue eyes stared back. In a different scenario, in a different life, he ​might​ have been considered somewhat handsome were it not for the nasty-looking scar crawling up the side of his head. As it were, a mocking smirk had affixed itself to his hawklike features. "Oh, really?" The Sith Lord's voice was cool, though to a trained ear it would sound as though he was trying too hard to sound aloof. "And what, might I ask, is a scrawny little ​girl doing pointing a gun at a powerful Sith Lord?"

Lok's scowl deepened. "Your people stole my brother. For all I know, you've already turned him into a monster. I want to know where he is!" She took a step forward, her barrel never wavering. The hate rolled off of her in waves, and it was difficult for her to disguise her disgust. "Where is Thatch Maxus, Jedi Padawan at? Huh?"

The Sith's smirk turned into a sneer. "A Jedi? And a Padawan at that?" He scoffed. "No doubt he's dead, or worse. Not that I have to answer to you, little girl."

Several things began to happen at once. Those endowed with the Force might have sensed a surge surrounding the Sith as he called upon it to pull his lightsabre to his hand. Lok, meanwhile, had noticed the twitch and, despite not knowing what it meant, squeezed her fingers closed in order to fire off the first of her shots. As for the onlooker, well, the Force only knew what he would do.

 

[Rusty]

"Oh shi-"

Rusty was as Force blind as most of the galaxy, but he had fought enough Sith to know what was coming. If the girl had just fired, she might have had a chance. The Lord was clearly complacent, and a single well placed shot might have taken him out of the fight. That was his plan, at least. Instead, she took a second to stop and talk.

And then the lightsaber came out.

One of two things was going to happen. Either the Shard could intervene and try to save the Zabrak, or he could do nothing and let her die. So really, there was only one thing that could happen. Gertrude sang out, sending a tungsten projectile screaming across the intervening distance in a fraction of a second. The Sith never even saw it coming. Or if he did, his Force fueled reflexes weren't up to the task of taking on a finger-sized chunk of burning metal travelling at well over 2,000 meters per second. Sure, he caught it, but catching it with his face, briefly, was not conducive to long term survival. Or short term survival, come to think of it. His head vaporized, showering the street with a fine spray of blood, brain, and bone, along with chunks of hair that somehow managed to clump together.

The body twitched for a moment, and then collapsed, like a puppet with its strings cut. The lightsaber clattered across the pavement, rolling to the Zabrak's feet.

Had he had a moment to think, Rusty would have probably high tailed it to his ship, got offworld, and forgot about the incident as quickly as possible. Instead, he hopped out of his hidey-hole, took a second to heft Gertrude and the battle box, and sprinted off towards the crimson-coated crime scene.

A number of different opening lines ran through his head on the way. Are you okay? Did he get you?

"What in the hell were you thinking?"

[member="Lok Maxus"]

 

[Lok Maxus]

[member="Rusty"]

"I...."

Lok sat there for a moment, struggling to process what had happened. One second, she was getting ready to shoot at the Sith, and the next his head just...exploded. Blood, bone, and flesh spattered the surrounding areas; some of it had even gotten on her own clothes, though she was too shocked to care right now. Her blaster, which laid on the street where she'd dropped it, could never have made such a display - meaning it was the tall stranger looming over who'd done the deed.

The Zabrak shook her head, clearing the daze. Her hand briefly reached up to touch the pendant hanging from her neck, as if to reassure herself that this was not, in fact, a dream. Scrambling to her feet, she walked over and picked up her gun before turning to face the man. Lok jutted her chin out in defiance as she stood there, her own perspiration mingling with the blood and flesh of another being. "I was thinking I could've gotten a few more answers out of the Sith before you came and blew up his head. Maybe I should be asking you what you were thinking!" Any other being would've been scared shitless, but not Lok. Perhaps later, she'd let it sink in that she'd just witnessed someone's head being blown up, but right now the young woman knew she had to put on a brave face.

She paused for a moment, studying the mysterious stranger. Taller than her by almost a foot, seemingly no hair, and silver eyes that gleamed almost unnaturally, he too appeared to be human. His apparel consisted almost entirely of browns and greys. A massive gun was slung over his shoulder - no doubt the machine responsible for the mess. "Who are you, anyway?"

 

[Rusty]

"The only answer you were going to get was to the age old question of what a lightsaber tastes like. Here's a hint: it's to die for."

Rusty threw back his hood, letting his bare metal head gleam in the dull red light. It resembled a human skull, if a human skull was chromed out, had bright silver photoreceptors, and had a voicebox where the mouth and jaw should have been. He glared at the Zabrak. Despite having no moving parts anywhere on his face, the Shard managed to get the point across.

"Who I am isn't important. Who you are isn't all that important either. We've got about three minutes to get out of here, and if we don't make it offworld in fifteen, they're gonna lock this place up tighter than a Toydarian's credit purse."

Even in a mining town, where things were traditionally rough and tumble, people were bound to have noticed the ear-rending sound of Gertrude firing. It wasn't easily recognizable as a gunshot, which was fairly common in these parts. It did, however, sound like a bomb going off, which was sure to garner attention in a town where explosives were both available in large quantities and heavily controlled. By himself, Rusty could probably fight through the garrison, though it wouldn't be easy. With this one in tow, things would be a little more difficult.

He found himself somewhat surprised to realize that, in his head, he had already assumed she was coming with. Rusty did not get attached. Not since the Captain. He had no idea who the Zabrak was, where she had come from, or what she was doing picking a fight with a Sith Lord. All he knew was that, if he left her here, he'd be killing her as assuredly as if he shot her himself.

"Tell you what," he said, shrugging off Gertrude and his cloak, and passing the latter over to the woman. "Throw this on so they can't see the blood, and we're gonna boogie to the spaceport. If you still want answers, you're welcome to hitch a ride. If you have your own ship and you'd rather take that, well, try to avoid picking fights with beings that can strangle you from across the room in the future."

And with that, he picked up Gertrude once more and set off towards the spaceport at a light trot. If she wanted to follow along, she'd easily be able to keep up.

[member="Lok Maxus"]

 

[Lok Maxus]

[member="Rusty"]

Lok jerked back in faint surprise. Her initial assumption had, quite obviously, been wrong. This was no human. At least, no human variant she knew of. And yet, the almost ghoulish appearance made her relax some. She didn't know why, exactly. Perhaps it was because he looked the part he'd played, which, in Lok's mind, meant he was probably more trustworthy. Or maybe it was just the fact that seeing a man's head explode tended to raise one's expectations of "scary".

She caught the cloak without hesitation and slipped it on with ease, already following behind Skully. "I have no ride of my own. And I wasn't picking any fights, I was trying to get answers." The cloak made it difficult for the Zabrak to walk with her gun in hand, forcing her to holster her weapon and hoist the cloak up so that it didn't drag. Hell, she was practically swimming in the fabric - even with her own soft physique, Lok was downright scrawny compared to him. Granted, the rest of him might've also been made of metal, but still.

Later, Lok might - ​might - ​look back on this as the strangest and most dangerous expedition she'd been on. Here she was, covered in tissue on a backwater planet in OS territory, wearing the cloak of a droid-like stranger, and following said stranger to Force-knew-where with nary a name to him, aside from Skully. Not that that was sanctioned. But for now, the Zabrak was on a mission. The man - or whatever he was - had taken from her a chance to get answers about her brother, and he owed her answers of his own. Besides, if he'd been intent on killing her, there were probably a thousand ways he could've done it. Besides, the level of curiosity coursing through her was just too damn high.

She pulled ahead of him before whirling around, walking backwards in front of Skully. "Who you are is important, actually, considering the fact that I'm going to be in your spaceship and, therefore, at your mercy. So. Who are you, what are you, why did you kill that Sith and, above all, why didn't you let me handle it?"

 

[Rusty]

Rusty glared again, checking his internal chrono against the projected series of events. They were slightly ahead of schedule, thankfully, and it seemed the response for what passed for law enforcement was slower than average. Maybe they were used to that bar being lively, or maybe they just assumed it was the Lord's doing, and new better to interfere. Either way, he had a moment to explain.

"Fact the first," he growled, his gravelly voice resonating in the alien air. "I didn't let you 'handle it,' because you were approximately a second away from being killed. You don't get answers from a Sith Lord, not when they're armed and in possession of all of their limbs. If you'd knocked him out, drugged him to the gills with truth serum, and kept him under an ysalamir, you might have gotten answers. Assuming some pissant backwater Lord knows anything of importance to begin with.

"Fact the second, I killed him because you-" he jabbed a finger towards the Zabrak's chest in an accusatory gesture "completely kriffed up. I was planning to blow his legs off and watch to see how long it would take his underlings to finish him off, but nooooo." The last syllable was drawn out, mocking. "Somebody had to go and try to play billy badass and nearly get herself bifurcated."

They were nearing the spaceport now, and the first reports of the incident were being broadcast over law enforcement frequencies. Yeah, we've got a body out by the Shaved Wookiee. No, we haven't got an ID, head was blown clean off. Wearing a Sith uniform though. Could be trouble.

All hell was going to break loose here shortly. The constabulary wouldn't want to get the OS garrison involved, but if a Sith was dead, that was instant trouble. Heads would roll, quite literally, if they delayed too long. The Sith knew they were about as welcome on these backwater worlds as a genital wart on everyone's favorite lady of negotiable affection, and they tended to react with overwhelming violence when the locals got notions of expressing their displeasure.

It didn't take long to find the Shard's ship. It was an old freighter, inconspicuous in this neck of the woods, lightly armed and armored. If things got hairy, he planned to ditch the cargo hauler and hop in the Panaka-Class starfighter in the hold. The beskar-skinned fighter was one of those beasts that only came along once every few centuries, and could easily punch its way out of the light defenses of the system. It would be a bit cramped with the two of them, but they were close enough to the edge of OS space that they could make a short hyperspace jump to a nearby planet and secure a more comfortable ship. If they left soonish, however, it wouldn't come to that.

"And if you really want to know who I am," he said, "the name's Rusty. I own a gun store. You coming with me or not?"

[member="Lok Maxus"]

 

[Lok Maxus]

[member="Rusty"]

Lok huffed angrily. "I wasn't playing billy badass, Skully," she muttered under her breath. In a louder voice, she added, "You don't know if I was gonna be bif-- Byfur-- Whatever you said. I'm not slow or helpless, you know! Besides, how was I supposed to know you were there? You didn't exactly have a sign." As they neared the spaceport, the Zabrak pulled the cloak tighter around herself. With the initial fervor ebbing away, some of the absurdity of the situation was beginning to sink in. Did she have regrets of coming with the metal giant? Not at all. However, even she was smart enough to realise they weren't exactly inconspicuous.

When the man's ship came into view, Lok barely gave it a second glance. She had more important things on her mind. "Of course I'm coming with you. I came this far, didn't I? It'd be stupid to leave now. I'm Lok, by the way. Lok Maxus. What kind of a name is Rusty? Is it a nickname? Or is it a family name?" The young woman hurried towards the boarding ramp, then paused. "Wait, you didn't answer all my questions. You're a gun shop owner, sure, but what species are you? And what is a gun shop owner doing out in the middle of nowhere, trying to kill Sith? And why haven't you killed me? If you're hoping to enslave me or something, I have to warn you, I don't do well with tyrannical authority figures. Or slavery."

Now was not the time to be asking questions, not until they were a safe distance away. But when curiosity seized Lok, it chomped down on her brain and refused to let go until it was satisfied. Besides, if she was gonna be travelling with a stranger she might as well get as much information out of him before he killed her. That way, her ghost could come back and point the Jedi or whoever in the right direction.

A pang twisted in her gut at the thought of the Jedi. Lok sincerely hoped Thatch was okay. She hadn't been able to uncover any real details about her brother's abduction, not since the Jedi had put everything under the "Classified" label. Or whatever they called it in the Order. Nonetheless, it was making her quest feel even more desperate.

Turning back to look at Rusty, she asked, "Well? You coming?"

 

[Rusty]

"Oh for kark's sake, it's my ship. Of course I'm coming, because it's not going anywhere without me."

Exasperated, frustrated, irritated. If there was an adjective to describe "annoyed as hell," it could safely be applied to Rusty at the moment. He understood, logically, that it was normal for an organic to be confused in a situation like this. Their poor little minds could adjust to anything given enough time, but they often had trouble making them work in the short term when confronted with the unfamiliar.

As they strode up the docking ramp, the Shard signaled the ship's computer to go ahead and fire up the engines. If they made it out of the atmosphere before the OS shut down spaceflight, they were home free. Despite the dilapidated appearance, the freighter was fitted with a sophisticated navicomp that could get them into hyperspace, and safely out of reach of the locals, the instant they left the gravity well.

He ignored the rapidfire questions until he was safely seated in the cockpit. He didn't bother waiting to see if the Zabrak was going to strap in or not. Rusty just switched on the repulsors, stood the ship up on its tail, and rammed the throttles forward, all the way to the stops. The ship took off like a mynock out of hell, leaving a massive cloud of dust and several angry calls from Air Traffic Control behind them. As soon as they were clear, he engaged the hyperdrive, and the ship vanished from reality in a blur of pseudomotion.

That taken care of, he turned his attention back to his passenger.

"Alright, let's get a couple things straight. Firstly, no, you are not a captive. You wouldn't still have your blaster if you were, and at any rate, no slaver worth the name would buy you, because you talk too much. Secondly, if you want answers, cool, so do I. We can either do this civilly and exchange an answered question for an answered question, or I can see how much space tape it'll take to shut that gob of yours and dump you out at the nearest spaceport. Understood?"

[member="Lok Maxus"]

 

[Lok Maxus]

[member="Rusty"]

Lok merely stuck her tongue out and continued up the ramp, pausing only to allow Rusty past her and to look for a place to remove the cloak. As he went up to the cockpit, she carried on to the main hold. The young woman wanted to snoop around more, but felt that exploring the more private areas of the ship would definitely cause her saviour's hospitality to vanish. At least, what little he had shown her.

It was then that she paused again, looking down at her clothes. They were still covered in the yuck, and Lok was suddenly seized by a desire to be rid of them. Easy enough, as she had no particular attachment to them. But she also very well couldn't walk around in her skivvies on a stranger's ship; again, it was the threat of being kicked off rather than modesty that kept her from doing so.

"Hmmm..." Dropping her weapon on a couch, the Zabrak slipped of the cloak and quickly undressed, kicking her boots and outer garments to the side. She then put the cloak back on, wrapped it tightly around herself like a towel, and used her belt to secure the fabric in place. Tugging on it, she grimaced. It felt weird to be wearing someone else's cloak, especially in the manner she'd improvised. Hopefully Rusty had some real clothes she could--

All of the sudden the young woman was thrown to the ground as the ship took off like a rocket. A pained yelp escaped her lips as she banged her joints and other knobby bits on the floor and furniture. Scowling, she picked herself up and stumbled to the cockpit just in time to watch the leap to hyperspace. Lok opened her mouth to complain, but was cut off when Rusty spoke first.

Nostrils flared, the Zabrak gave Rusty a sour look before plopping down on one of the passenger seats, making an effort not to prop her legs up. "Fine. I understand." It killed her to keep back the onrush of questions that beset her, but Lok sensed Rusty would make good on his threat. Rather, with a look of pain upon her face, she asked, "Who goes first?"

 

[Rusty]

"You just did," Rusty replied smugly.

Once they were in hyperspace and he could take his eyes off the controls, the Shard glanced over at the young Zabrak, taking note of her state of dress. It was a sensible move on her part, shedding the blood and viscera soaked garments. They would start to rot in short order, and would be a health hazard. Still, that cloak couldn't be comfortable. He had deliberately chosen a rough weave, meant to emulate the sort of thing a Force user might wear. Not because he was one, but because no one paid them any mind. In most people's experience, cloaks equaled danger, and they gave them wide berth. He didn't mind, not having skin, but that thing had to itch like mad.

At a glance, she appeared to be about Koko's size, maybe a little taller. The Shard woman routinely kept spare clothes on Rusty's ships. She claimed it was so she could use them at a moment's notice, but he suspected it was so she could tag along when he ran off on one of his little side quests. She would be annoyed to find a wardrobe gifted to a stray, but frankly, Rusty didn't care. His personal assistant spent more on clothes than he did on ammunition, and that was saying something. Even her spare clothes tended to be expensive and stylish, though still supremely functional. They would fit, and probably fit well.

He fished a bag out from an overhead compartment and set it on the ground next to the Zabrak.

"Change of clothes," he explained. "My personal assistant is about your size, and she keeps spares on my ships for some damn reason. As soon as you tell me your name so I know what to call you, you're free to go change. Or we can do the question and answer thing here, if you like to itch."

[member="Lok Maxus"]

 

[Lok Maxus]

[member="Rusty"]

Lok merely stuck her tongue out again.

Truth was, the cloth did itch. A lot. But she didn't want to go change yet; of the two itches, only one was unbearable. And it wasn't the cloak. A further examination of the clothing provided merely solidified her choice. Wrinkling her nose, she gently pushed the bag to the side with one bare foot. Lok didn't like fancy, expensive-looking clothes. She preferred more simple, basic wear - clothes that could be worn for outside use without having to worry about ruining it. "I'll stay," she told him. "The cloak itches, but I can handle it."

And if she wanted to be honest with herself, it was a bit of a pride thing. Lok was more than willing to sit there for the entire ride dressed like that before she'd go change. To prove what, exactly? Who knew?

Leaning back in the seat, arms folded behind her and ankles crossed in front of her, the Zabrak continued. "And I already told you my name," she replied, the smugness in her own tone matching Rusty's tenfold. "My name is Lok Maxus, remember? I come from Iridonia. What species are you? Or are you a droid?" Actually, the droid part was a little doubtful. No droid Lok had come across had ever acted like this being before her. But, hey, with the way the galaxy was nowadays, one could never be too careful.

 

[Rusty]

Rusty searched back through the events of the last few minutes.

"So you did. Must have gotten lost in the verbal tsunami."

Her question was a thorny one. Shards were, by nature, unwilling to reveal who they were, especially after two massacres in less than a thousand years. Ordinarily, Rusty would have tried to pass himself off as a pure droid, since that was easier for most people to swallow than the truth. But his gut, or intuition, or whatever version he had in his crystalline body, was telling him to extend a little trust to this one.

He sighed, a habit from his time in the HRD chassis. Must have looked strange, but he was too preoccupied to notice.

"My body," he explained, thumping a metal finger against his chest and producing a distinctly metallic clang, "is pure droid. Actually, this was a suit of power armor that was converted to a battle droid a couple centuries back. I, however, am a Shard. We're a race of sentient crystals that can inhabit droids and use them to move around, sort of like how your brain uses your body to get from place to place. There aren't many of us left, and I would appreciate it if you'd keep that to yourself."

Rusty sat back in his chair. Though his face was impassive as always, his body language suggested he was troubled. Which, to be fair, he was. Telling Lok that was a huge risk. Only a handful of people knew what he really was; most of the board at RCFC was convinced he was either a manumitted droid or an enteched soul. They had a pool going to see who would get him to spill the truth.

Something told him that investing a little trust might pay dividends, but he had been wrong before.

He shook his head, pushing the nervous thoughts aside for now.

"Why were you trying to get answers from a freaking Sith Lord?"

[member="Lok Maxus"]

 

[Lok Maxus]

[member="Rusty"]

Lok blinked, intrigued, if a bit bemused. It wasn't that she was too stupid to understand; none of the words were unfamiliar to her. Well, alright, the way he used Shard - as if it were a name - was a bit weird, but otherwise you get the point. No, what had her scratching her head mentally was why the big man was acting like it was such a big deal; like as though he was letting her in on a terribly dreadful secret that no one else should know. "So what you're saying is.... you're a crystal brain who's controlling a droid body. Gotcha." The Zabraki girl rubbed the side of her face, eyeing him. "But don't worry, I won't tell anyone. It's not my place." And she meant it. Though she did not think it was such a big deal knowing what race he was (as glad as she was to finally have some sort of name for it), Rusty's body language suggested to him, at least, it was. She hoped he could tell how serious she was - for Lok, any promise, whether it was a simple "Don't worry, I won't" or a solemn "I swear on my life", was a binding oath. And if she said she would keep it, then she had all intention of keeping it.

Perhaps it has something to do with what he said, about there not being a lot of Shards left, she thought. But what happened to them, I wonder? The woman resisted the urge to shake her head. Better ask that later.

She pursed her lips at his question, hesitating. Lying was no good; even if Lok hadn't been adamant about sticking to the truth, she was a terrible liar anyway. But she also owed Rusty an answer, and it would be unfair to withhold information now.

With a sigh, the Zabrak settled back into a normal position, both feet planted on the floor and her hands in her lap. "I am looking for my brother, Thatch. He was in training to be a Jedi Padawan when the Sith kidnapped him." Here, an angry glint flashed in her eyes, and her nostrils flared. A clenched hand gripped her pendant. "Everyone back home believes him to be a traitor, that he joined the Sith willingly - even his own Master! But I know better; I know Thatch would never join those bloodthirsty, scum-sucking bottom feeders under his own power." Her features twisted into a grimace. "Unfortunately, I'm the only one who appears willing to do anything. My parents don't even talk to me anymore, and the Jedi haven't been of any help."

There was silence for a moment, then, "Why didn't you let the Sith kill me? You were under no obligation to save me or anything."

 

[Rusty]

Rusty nodded in what he hoped was an understanding sort of way. It was a common enough story these days. Back in their hay day, when the Jedi were the guardians of the Republic and the Sith were so far underground they needed a periscope to find rock bottom, defectors were extremely rare. The discontented either stayed quiet or were quietly handled by the Jedi Shadows. Since the resurgence of the Sith, however, it was extremely common for Padawans, high on teenage hormones and their sense of invincibility, to turn to the Sith, thinking they were strong enough to use the Dark Side, rather than let it use them. They were nearly always wrong, of course. Though most could probably be redeemed given the right impetus, Masters rarely bothered these days. Telling the difference between a change of heart and a double agent took effort, and the Jedi Order was expending all its effort just to keep its head above water.

If Lok's brother really had been kidnapped, Rusty would eat his shoe.

That said, the Shard felt a worrisome sort of kinship with the young Zabrak. Worrisome, but undeniable. He too had lost someone he had considered family. Though the Captain was still alive, they might as well have been dead to each other, and the idea of leaving Lok to her own devices to deal with her pain made him uncomfortable. He had the sinking feeling that he was going to end up offering to help. Koko would kill him.

For now, he put that aside and focused on her question.

"Obligations come in many shapes and sizes. I was under no obligation to help you, true. However, I had set out to kill that Sith. Granted, I usually like to take my time, but he was going to die, one way or another. I had made it my duty to eliminate that particular stain from the galaxy, and following that train of logic, I was obliged to prevent the stain from spreading. If I let him kill you, I would have been derelict in that particular duty, and thus, the obligation was formed. Since it was one of my own choosing, you needn't feel indebted."

Realizing he was rambling a bit, Rusty shut his metaphorical mouth and considered his next question.

"What made you think that particular Sith had the answers you needed?"

[member="Lok Maxus"]

 

[Lok Maxus]

[member="Rusty"]

"Huh." Not that the Shard's words dispelled her sense of need to repay him. Lok was a stubborn broad, but with a good heart. At least, that's what her hope was.

She also felt grateful to Rusty for not offering the usual "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that." If she had a credit for every time someone said those words to her, she'd be rich. Lok hated, hated, hated pity. Sympathizing was one thing - but pity, pity was something she couldn't ever stand. She did not want pity. She did not want condolences. She just wanted her brother back. That was all.

The Zabrak could feel the familiar whirlpool of emotions bubbling up again, but she managed to choke it down. Instead, she focused on his question. "Uh... I... I didn't, actually. I've just, um..." Lok scrunched up her shoulders, her face warming up. "I've just been trying to question any Sith I come across." Up until this point, her game plan for getting her brother back had been solid. It had been her purpose, her drive, her lifeline for getting up every day since she left Iridonia. But now, away from the galaxy for a moment, away from the place that had stolen her brother without any breadcrumbs to follow... Well, she was starting to get the sense of how much of a waste of time her plan would've been.

Well you know what? she thought. It was the best damned plan I had with the resources I had. Nobody wanted to help me, so I had to start somewhere, right? Lok sat up straighter, her jaw set in a look of defiance, as if daring Rusty to make a comment. Her hand reached up to grab the pendant again. "And I would hunt down every Sith I could get my hands on in order to find Thatch." In the same heartbeat, she switched gears. "Why is your name 'Rusty'? Is it because you've got a droid body?"

 

[Rusty]

The Shard shrugged.

"Rusty's been my name for as long as I can remember. My people are a long lived bunch. I can, for instance, remember the fall of Jedi and the rise of Palpatine's Empire. After a while, the distant past gets muddled. Kinda like searching for keys in a drawer with nothing but keys, and you can't remember what most of them are for, or what the one you're looking for looks like. Chances are, it was a nickname at some point, and it just kinda stuck."

The words came spilling out, largely because he was struggling to cope with the insanity of Lok's plan. He knew organics were often irrational, illogical creatures, especially where their families were concerned, but sweet hopping Yoda on a pogo stick, that was nuts.

"Okay, major props for bravery, but you do realize your plan is basically suicide, right? And no, that's not my question, it's rhetorical."

The Shard growled mechanically, the frustration boiling over. He was convinced now, more than ever, that if he put her down on whatever world and left her to her own devices, she would die. Lok would die, and with her, any chance of her brother's redemption. And her blood would be on his hands.

Rusty had lived most of his life without much in the way of a conscience. He'd been fine without one. Sure, he'd spent a few centuries as a barely sane berserker who hunted Sith for sport, but not giving a damn had helped. Sith liked to play dirty. When one tried to pick up a meat shield, Rusty shot through the poor soul. Improvised explosive in a crowded building? No problem, so long as the target went down.

He wasn't sure when his tactics had changed, when he'd started minimizing collateral damage. It had probably been for fun, at first. Made the hunt harder, more enjoyable. After a while though, he found that he couldn't just blow up random civilians if it meant killing the target, even if the target was a Sith. It just didn't feel right.

And then came the Captain, who had very particular notions about what was and wasn't acceptable. She never knew all the things he did to keep her safe, but he never once hurt someone who didn't deserve it. Well, he didn't hurt them badly, at any rate.

Even then, though, he had been able to compartmentalize. He'd been able to make the conscious decision to abandon the unnecessary baggage and deal with the guilt later. He sold weapons to certifiable monsters, and didn't mind one bit.

So why did the idea of leaving this girl, this stranger, to her fate bother him so?

There was an answer to that question, but he didn't know where to look.

"I want you to think about what I'm going to ask next carefully, because the answer may take you to places you're not comfortable with. If you say yes, you may be taking the first steps down the path that leads to your brother, but it won't be an easy one. You may find yourself doing things, terrible things, things that you wouldn't in a million years be able to imagine. You may find your brother, but it may cost you your soul. If you say no, I'll drop you off at a convenient port with some credits and a better weapon than that hunk of junk blaster."

Rusty looked Lok dead in the eye.

"Do you want me to help you find Thatch?"

[member="Lok Maxus"]

 

[Lok Maxus]

[member="Rusty"]

"Yes."

The word leapt from her mouth like a trapped animal finally freed from a dirty cage. She did not think over the offer. She did not weigh the pros and cons of working with someone like Rusty. She did not consider what he meant, when he said it might cost her her soul. She did not even think about the risk to her own life, her own person. How the Lok who set out to find her brother might not be the same Lok that finishes.

Why?

Because it didn't matter. Rusty was offering her help, and, in the woman's mind, there was no other alternative to saying "Yes." To say anything else, anything which might be construed as turning it down...well, in Lok's mind, that was the same as saying her brother was gone. That her brother was no longer worth saving. So what if the path takes her places she's uncomfortable with? So what if it's not the easiest path? So what if it's the hardest? So what if she has to go to hell and back?

None of it mattered. So long as there was a shred of belief in Lok's mind that Thatch was alive, nothing else mattered. And if Thatch was dead? She would mourn him, but it wouldn't be the end of her quest. Not until her brother was home again, or if he had died, not until the truth was found.

That, ladies and gentlemen, was why Lok leapt headfirst into an agreement that neither party really knew the ending of. She did have one more question for him, though.

"What's wrong with my blaster?!"

 

[Rusty]

"Notorious for Tibanna leaks. The manufacturer used cut rate gaskets on the blaster gas cartridges, and the valve that feeds into the reaction chamber has a tendency to corrode. It's usually not enough to be dangerous, but a 30% reduction in power is expected after five years. That's not a dealbreaker if you're using it as a home defense piece, but if you want to kill a Sith who's wearing any sort of armor, you're gonna have to throat-kark him to death, because those bolts aren't gonna do the job."

Well, he had to admire the girl's courage. Whether she was really brave or just borderline crazy remained to be seen, but he was reasonably certain she'd have the guts to get the job done.

Rusty leaned back in his seat for a moment, staring thoughtfully at the bulkhead. He'd have to make a few calls, shake a few trees and see what fell out. There was always the chance that this Thatch fellow would be easy enough to find. Apprentices turned Sith were a credit a dozen to be sure, but they had a way of being fairly high profile. Drunk on their newfound power, they tried to make a big impression to show the old fogeys how it was really done. The ones that survived grew to be a little wiser and a little meaner, and tended to find a patron who would take them on as apprentices. After they got done laughing, of course. He half suspected they encouraged that sort of thing so they could weed out the imbeciles.

If Lok's brother really had been kidnapped, that was one thing, but if he hadn't, the Shard figured there was a better than even chance that his contacts would have heard something about a Zabrak doing something insane on the battlefield. If the kid matched the general description, they might be onto something. That would have to wait until they dropped out of hyperspace. The Network wasn't big on long distance calls.

"You might as well go get cleaned up," Rusty said, belatedly remembering that Lok was wearing that itchy cloak and not much else. "There's a refresher with an honest to Force water shower, third door on the right once you leave the cockpit. Yet another thing my personal assistant is weird about. I've no idea what sort of clothes she packed, but I'd be willing to bet they're some fashion designer's idea of what a smuggler should dress like, and they probably cost more than this ship."

[member="Lok Maxus"]

 

[Lok Maxus]

[member="Rusty"]

"So, what, I suppose you're going to give me a new one? Just like that?" She shook her head, arms crossed. "No. I can't let you do that." Lok stood up, taking a moment to readjust the cloak around her before picking up the bag. "You've done too much for me now, and you're going to do even more. Just... I have a few credits, and I can get a few more from my bank." Heading for the door, she paused long enough to look back and add, "If I can find a credit dispenser somewhere, I can pull enough to buy another weapon if it's that big of a deal." The young woman had been planning on making her money last as long as possible, but now that someone had offered to help her, it would make things easier.

The Zabrak found her way to the 'fresher easy enough, and it wasn't long before the hot water was cascading down her body. She didn't mind being dirty or sweaty but boy, did it feel good to shower. Lok was certain that, if given a couple more days, she might've been indistinguishable from a bantha's doo doo. Eyes closed, she drove all thoughts from her mind and focused on the feeling of being clean.

Ten minutes later, the young woman was buffing her horns with the towel and digging through the bag of clothes. Her initial intuition was right - as was Rusty. The clothes looked like they'd barely hold up under an hour of work. The shirt was a silky type of cloth, the jacket was a soft sort of fabric, and the pants were made of smooth faux leather. And the undergarments? Um... Lok wrinkled her nose. And no way was she wearing those boots. Lok would go barefoot before she wore those black, knee high, fur trimmed boots.

With a resigned sort of sigh, she put the clothes on and tried her best not to gag. Whoever thought these clothes were what spacers wore was in for a rude awakening. Tugging on the jacket, Lok padded barefoot out of the 'fresher. She'd left the cloak and her own undergarments on the floor, along with the towel - but hey, she at least shoved them in the corner, out of the way. Walking back to where she'd first stripped down, Lok scooped up her datapad journal and took a look at her own boots, fingering her pendant.

It looked like her boots, too, had gunk on them. They were also starting to smell. Lok grimaced. Since she'd have to buy a gun, there wouldn't be much left over to go clothes shopping. Plus she'd still have to go shopping for food and--

The Zabrak straightened up as a thought struck her. Clutching her journal, she tore off through the ship until she finally managed to find Rusty. Breathing hard, she forced out, "How will I pay you back?"