Scraping Together the Past, the Future and the In Between: Chapter I: Status Quo

Timeframe: Six standard months after Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords.

Disclaimer: This story can be read as a (certainly) alternative beginning to KotOR III or as a totally independent story, depending on the reader's preferences. This story and its characters are creations of my own mind, but heavy references and connections to those that are not my property are present due to the nature of the text. No worries though, there is absolutely no chance that anyone would ever pay me anything for this and everybody already knows it, so whatever...

The Black Hole Cantina with its dim lights and shady atmosphere was something like Nar Shaddaa itself in smaller scale. The bar represented especially well the surrounding district around it, which consisted of small, uncontrolled spaceports, dark alleys and endless rows of large buildings with walkways and deep gaps between them. On its own part, the cantina's usual clientele could well be used to describe the major part of the inhabitants of the Smuggler's Moon quite fittingly. Though it was still relatively early, a man who was starting to become a common sight in the bar was already sitting in the corner, quietly sipping his juma juice. The bartender droid was cleaning the tables and doing other chores while not serving drinks to the few customers, who at this hour pretty much consisted of two loud rodians leaning on the counter and a couple of pazaak players, along with the lonely man in the corner table. The man in the corner liked it this way, when the cantina was still quiet and roomy, when he had more space for his thoughts. If he believed there was such a thing as luck, he could have considered himself lucky to be able to sit in the cantina this early. He had already managed to do his job for today, and the pay had for once been really nice. It was even almost worth the nuisance he had to endure earning it. Now he had time for himself, as there was nothing else, and this is how he would spend his time, as he had done countless times before. This day would soon become evening, then turn in to a night, and be like many other days before. He almost liked the idea of that, and ordered another drink.

The man sat in his corner, his dark hair a bit messed up, as he leaned his elbow on the table and let his hand support his head. He focused his tired blue eyes in the drink in front of him. Time passed as his cup of juma was emptied and then filled again, and more crowd was starting to find its way in the cantina. It was mostly the less wealthy or fortunate ones of Nar Shaddaa's citizens who would come here to drink cheap beverages, gamble or seek other types of not so classy entertainment. The Black Hole was also known as such a place, where you could do certain somewhat secretive but sometimes very lucrative business activities quite successfully. The man in the corner watched, as a trio of thugs led by a tough-looking aqualish entered the cantina making others jump out of their way. The man had seen them in the bar a couple of times earlier, and didn't like their disturbing behaviour. Well, actually, he disliked most of the others, but right now he really hoped these three wouldn't do anything to ruin his day. There were few other things, that were more important for him than his own privacy and the quietness he needed. Maybe the man had given the thugs a little too long a look, as the leader of the trio glanced back at him in a despising manner. To the man's relief the aqualish and his companions were far more interested in getting their drinks served and making themselves room at the counter using mild violence, than in him, leaving the man sit alone in his corner.

After a few drinks the man's peace was eventually disturbed by the aqualish and his men. The man wished he could just ignore the thugs or have them forget him, but it started to seem impossible as the aqualish sat on his table and began his enraged explanation of whom the man's staring had so undeservedly and unwisely insulted. For a while the man listened to the aqualish's boasts and threats, seeing his relatively good spirits fade away. Then he grew bored of the thug's ranting, and said the seemingly angry aqualish with a straight face: 'I don't speak aqualish. No matter how hard you try, I don't understand what you are trying to express at me. I'm very sorry.'

Of course it was a lie, and even the man didn't believe it would work the way that would be the most beneficial for him, but he didn't much care. The thugs had already probably ruined his evening, and what difference would it make, if he ruined it a little further himself. Some common thugs could still hardly get him in any real trouble. The aqualish was infuriated by the man's answer, smashing his fist on the table and spilling both his own, and the man's drinks. The aqualish's men looked at each other and at their leader. The weequay stared at the man chillingly, and the human responded to the man in basic: 'Your insults might likely have a violent ending, unless you compensate your foolishness in some decent way right now. Our leader has a very bad temper, and an even nastier disruptor rifle. Credits would probably work fine, and if you have enough of them to please our leader, we may not even need to rough you up.'

The man had no difficulties believing that the thug had somehow managed to stash this illegal weapon under his jacket, but he was quite disappointed that these ruffians would bother to try relieving him of his credits. He could certainly defend himself when needed, but he wasn't at all excited about fighting with some small time thugs just to keep his earnings. For common convenience fights in the cantina were kept in check by two large gamorreans at the door, and the liberal atmosphere at the bar was actually under strict control when it comes to the use of blasters and vibroblades. The man didn't really believe these thugs would have enough interest in him and his credits to want to extend the fight outside the cantina, if he made them think that actually he was pretty useless for them. 'Do I really look like I have much credits? Well, I don't. I only had enough to buy me a couple of jumas, and I'm afraid the little I have left wouldn't be able to make your boss happy. It was never my intention to insult you. I merely happened to glance at your direction, because I thought you were someone else. Maybe we should just get back to our drinks, shall we? The results from the swoop track are also coming anytime now, so if you have any bets in, I'm sure you would like to hear them.'

The thugs didn't seem too eager to buy his speech about peaceful solution for the situation. 'Well, we happen to know something about sentients who visit this place and hang around in this sector. We heard that you are a veteran of war, and many of them make good credits these days as mercs and such. We will see your blood drip, if you try to scam us... Scrubus and his men are not someone you want to mess with.'

So, the thugs had come to hear the short, simple story he had fabricated and told about his past in the occasions that needed it. It wasn't a good thing that beings such as these knew anything about him. Now anyone could know as much about him as these thugs, though he had put some real effort in keeping a low profile. Maybe he had spent too much time in the Black Hole. Damn it, why can't a man just be by himself, unbothered by old things long ago left in the in the past and some insignificant matters, drinking and not caring about anything around him? Though, his silent thoughts weren't the answer the thugs were waiting for. Their growing impatience sprung more threats, and this time these were said in a more menacing, lowered voice. 'So, now it is your last chance soldier. Scrubus likes hurting humans and committing violent acts. If you start behaving now, stop lying about your credits and drop the insults, we might let you live.'

Scrubus, the aqualish added to this something about killing the man in a way that would be somewhat fast and painless would be a big reward at this point. It seemed, that the man's evening had really not turned out well. Now he had to listen serious threats about painful death, when he had only planned to spend the night drinking juma as usually. This evening would probably become one of the worst he has had in a long time. He decided it might still be worth it to try settling matters the easy way, because violence always attracted unnecessary attention and created problems he really didn't need. 'Ok guys, I think I might have just enough credits to get us in a bit better mood. The fact is, that it is actually somewhat difficult to return to our drinks like I suggested, because we happened to lose our drinks on the table's surface... This is practically my fault, so I propose, that we start putting things in order with new drinks. Personally I prefer drinking to fighting. So, what do you say, if I get you three nice big glasses of fine, strong, cold corellian ale?'

The thugs glanced at each other, and the human answered with a nod: 'You should really get us the drinks for starters, and then we'll see what to do with you. Now to the counter 'Captain Pathetic', we really hated your damp corner anyway.'

The man and the thugs proceeded to the counter, and the bartender droid poured the new drinks in their glasses. The man paid the droid in advance for another round of drinks for the thugs, and so he got to slip away, back to his usual place in the cantina. He checked the situation at the counter as he sat down on his almost own chair, and saw the aqualish picking a fight with someone else. He could again turn his attention on his drink, just the way things should be.

It was already getting late, but the man wasn't thinking of leaving. His small, simple one-room apartment wasn't too cosy and didn't feel like a home where he would like to be right now or ever really, to be honest. He didn't either want to go sleeping. His dreams bothered him and staying in the cantina half-conscious was a form of resting he currently found more pleasing, as he often did. For his great annoyance, the man wasn't allowed to keep his peace for long. With his somewhat juma-blurred eyes, he saw Scrubus the aqualish coming towards his table, with his thugs trailing behind him. They had obviously run out of beings to boss around and bully, and neither did they have more drinks to pour down their throats. The aqualish sat down yet again on the man's table opposite him, explaining with what kind of atrocities he especially liked to entertain himself with, and which ones of these could be applied on the man's case. Scrubus seemingly enjoyed giving his lengthy descriptions of different kinds of cruelties.

When the gamorrean guards moved from their observation spot at the door to calm down a quarrel in the other side of the cantina, the aqualish took his threats one step further. He opened his jacket enough to let the man see the disruptor rifle he was carrying, and reached for it. The man couldn't anymore sit still and listen silently. He knew, that murders happened all the time in Nar Shaddaa's cantinas, and he had witnessed many happen. Though incidents such as fights and killings were not generally allowed to happen in bars to maintain the control of clientele, these could be done in a more elusive way, which never raised a visible conflict or anyone's true interest. In a swift move, the man reached over the table, and grabbed the collar of Scrubus's jacket and pulled the aqualish halfway on the table, seizing his hand before it ever touched the rifle. The two other thugs couldn't get over their puzzled incompetence fast enough, and just stood back and stared as the man started talking, juma juice and adrenaline making his words unusually intense.

'You like making others suffer, do you? You enjoy killing living beings, right? I bet you have ample enough experience on the matter to have created such an opinion? Let me tell you something about the pleasures of violence. Wiping the spilled blood, your own and otherwise, off your face is easy enough, if you only have water available for the task. Though, the smell of burnt flesh sticks to your clothing worse than anything, and it doesn't budge no matter how many times you try to wash it off. And the nice surprise of finding small bits of your enemy's remains when swiping through your hair after the fight... But, still I think, that there is something that beats all that I have mentioned before, on the subject of the pleasant results of fighting. With your prized, state-of-the-art weapon... When equipped with powerful enough upgrades, so much heat is produced by the blade on the metal casing, that the blood and the sliced guts of your enemy burn and cling real hard on the hilt of your...'

At that point something snapped on the man's mind, and he fell suddenly silent. He loosened his grip on Scrubus's jacket, and the aqualish landed roughly on the table. The man realized he had said way too much, and talked about something he should have never mentioned to anyone, anywhere, anytime. These things were of the past that he had put behind him. They should have never come up at all, and he should have by now done a great job forgetting about them entirely. Scrubus tumbled on his feet, gave the man one last look and left for the door, his thugs behind him. The man remained on his seat, too shocked by his own words to do anything. He turned his eyes from the leaving thugs to the other customers of the bar, in order to catch any hints of someone hearing his words. The only thing he could have found suspicious was the look of one pazaak player, whose eyes were for a second watching his way with a noticeable tension. Probably realizing that the man in the corner was looking at him, the pazaak player quickly turned back to his cards, continuing his game. The man tried to clear his head, to think what he should do to minimize the damage he had done for his current situation and his entire life with his stupid, careless outburst. He still couldn't believe it. He certainly would not ever return to the Black Hole, and he would even avoid the whole neighbouring sector for a while. If he also chose his future jobs carefully and stayed away from people and public, he could still keep up with his lifestyle. The man finished his last drink in the bar, which had lost its cool freshness long ago. As he was starting to leave, he saw the pazaak player exit the cantina. The man hurried after him, but lost sight of the pazaak player on the alley outside.

The night outside felt cold after the hours spent in the cantina. The man walked away from the Black Hole, not really thinking about his destination. His journey was however stopped shortly by Scrubus and his thugs, who emerged from a dark doorway on the alley's side. The thugs surrounded the man, the weequay and the human were holding their blasters and the aqualish was waving his disruptor in the air quite openly, as the alley seemed empty of all life. The human thug started a malicious speech: 'Oh, isn't that 'Captain Pathetic' from the cantina? What a coincidence that we meet again. By now I have learned that you can't behave yourself and you are a liar, as you seem to understand aqualish pretty well. You have likely lied about your credits as well, and that is something we will soon find out. But the most important thing is, that what you have said raised our interest in bigger credits. Your words could easily be understood as references to the Jedi, and even though it's a long shot and no one has heard about the Exchange's bounty on Jedi for six standard months, we figured we might still try selling your bruised body to someone.'

Scrubus himself couldn't contain his enthusiasm, and added in aqualish: 'Now you will die stupid human, and it will happen slowly. First I'll shoot you, so you will stay put. Then maybe I'll rip your limbs off one by one, you'll see...'

The man had certainly had enough of these three. This night had become a nightmare. He probably wasn't thinking straight... Suddenly he just saw the two thugs fall off the alley and over the ledge of the walkway screaming, in to the depths of Nar Shaddaa. Scrubus was on his knees, as if knocked off his feet by a strong push. The aqualish grabbed his indeed nasty-looking disruptor rifle, and fired a shot in the direction where the man was standing. Almost instantly he felt an incredibly sharp, blinding pain tear his right side, and acted. The man realized what he was doing only when he saw the brutish aqualish kicking in the air, holding his head. The Force grip was far from perfect, and the pressure was not on the enemy's throat as it was supposed to be, but it was focused a bit too high, on the aqualish's head. Scrubus's skull cracked, creating an unsightly mess, as the body dropped on the pavement. The man nearly panicked. What had happened in the bar was bad, and this was far worse. He had lost control. Now he was wounded, and he had just made his life on the Smuggler's Moon impossible. And what had happened to the decisions he had made? Why did he do something like this? Could this happen again? He had to get off this moon right away. But no, not in a too much of a hurry, he had made too much inconsiderate things for this day already. First he would go somewhere, where he might calm down, assess the situation, and make plans for tomorrow. Above all, he needed to get himself together. The man pushed the aqualish's corpse over the ledge, and tried making the remaining mess a little less noticeable. He knew all too well, that in Nar Shaddaa, it usually seemed that no one was watching, but always someone saw. He would not get away with this easily.

The man continued to walk the alley forwards, holding his side that was radiating with stinging pain. After walking past hundreds of doorways and thousands of brightly lit advertisements he saw the Sarlacc Pit, a small cantina, where local beverages from the distant desert world of Tatooine were supposed to be served. He had not been here ever before, and no one in here should know him. At least this place was far enough from the Black Hole and the area he usually spend his time in. Even in the situation and the state of mind he was in, he could appreciate the undeniable irony in the bar's name with a tired laugh as he stepped in. The cantina was something that could really be called a pit: small and dirty, with only a few rather miserable looking customers. For a change, the man ordered a juri juice from the bartender, an aging ithorian behind the counter. His glass was emptied quickly, and he asked the ithorian, who had a low voice and slow moves, to pour him a bantha blaster. This was a surprisingly strong drink mostly enjoyed only on Tatooine, and exactly what he needed to push back his anxiety and relax. Maybe he should yet have another, and then things could begin to seem more hopeful. It's only too bad, that tarisian ale wasn't served anymore, it would have been nice too...

Nar Shaddaa's cold winds blew through the man's simple clothes, as he found himself waking up in the alley, close to the Sarlacc Pit cantina he remembered himself entering some time ago. It was clear enough, that there was nothing too mystical about what had happened to get him where he was now. Just too many drinks, too much toxins on your nervous system and you get a blackout, which makes the bartender call the guards to drag you out. His wound was aching and probably bleeding by the looks of it, and he didn't feel much better in the other parts of his body. Not any amount of beverages could make him forget what had happened tonight. These events made him even more nauseous than the uncountable drinks he had consumed, though the drinks certainly did their part in making him feel sick. The man got on his feet slowly, concentrating his attention on keeping himself together. At this point he noticed, that the pocket where he had put his todays pay in, was empty. Holding his side, the man started his long walk home.