Too Many Justins - Chapter 55

Just a reminder: Usual disclaimer stuff. All characters remain the property of their creators. Additionally, song lyrics remain the property of the lyricist. (In this chapter that would be: Rob Thomas, Itaal Shur)

Chapter 55 – Working Vacation

“Work is all those things you do instead of doing what you want to do. What you want to do is called VACATION.”

- Allorth Ceperant, host of 'Here's The Latest'

The group stood for a long while, just looking around the landing pad, the ocean breeze tugging gently at their clothes.

Bastila spoke, “I heard something. On the other side of the ship.”

Carth snapped into combat mode immediately, drawing his blaster and motioning for Tianna to do the same. The blonde looked back at him sheepishly, holding her empty hands open. She hadn't taken her sidearm from the nightstand before they stepped off the ship. She pointed back up the ramp, but Carth shook her off. No point in going back to get one until they had a better idea of what they faced.

Slowly, using the ramp and landing gear to maximum effect, they all worked their way around, wanting to see what was happening at the stern of the ship. To their astonishment, two Bothans casually pulled up in a large lorry and set about hooking hoses to the hull, opening various panels on the ship as they did so. They seemed completely oblivious to the fact that their every movement was being watched, even making small talk about the condition of the ship as they worked.

“Hey!” called Carth, stepping out from behind the open ramp.

The pair turned to face him and froze. Suddenly they both broke into a run, dashing the short distance to their vehicle, and without bothering to disconnect any of the hoses and lines, tore off at full throttle. Juhani, the Force flowing in her legs, took off after them, but only a few steps out a power cable, stretched taught at the Bothans retreat, snapped, whipping across the open pad. She was only just able to dart out of the way as flew by at waist height. Once back on her feet she gave up her pursuit and turned back to the others.

“Now what was that all about?” Tianna asked.

“{Maybe he knows,}” said Gwarshawk, pointing.

A tall human male appeared from off to their right, his head rising with a hurried, uneven jerk up over the lip of the landing pad. Carth holstered his gun and in a moment the rest of the man appeared, his limp slowing him down somewhat.

“I'm terribly sorry,” he called out as he approached. “We didn't know anyone was aboard until just a few minutes ago. Terrible slip-up.”

“You can say that again,” muttered Carth under his breath.

“My name is Tang. I'm the Assistant Head of Household here. And you are..?”

He paused a moment, looking at them blankly, waiting for someone to respond. Suddenly, as if a light had switched on, his eyes opened wide and he pointed.

“You... you... you're Carth Onasi!”

The Admiral nodded. It seemed reasonable that he might be recognized. His picture had been all over the Vid after the Star Forge and there had been one or two public sessions of testimony before the Senate on military matters in the intervening years. “Yes, I am. Would you mind...”

Tang's head snapped around the rest of the gathering. “And Jedi Shan! Oh kaliganish!” He stopped, appalled. “Pardon my language. Jedi Juhani. Miss Vao. I don't know how I didn't recognize you before. I suppose I could put it down to the long hours and little sleep, but as Assistant Head of Household I'm supposed to be above all that.”

“You've mentioned that you are Assistant Head of Household twice now,” Tarre noted. “What exactly is that?”

The man looked at her carefully, taking her all in. He could tell from her garb, and from that of the young man standing at her side, that she was also a Jedi. “Well, Madam Jedi,” he began with a bow, “I support the Head of Household, Mister Worthis. Together we are responsible for the smooth running of the house, making sure all the services are provided in an efficient and largely invisible manner; cooking, cleaning, maintenance, utilities. I help ensure the staff are performing their duties. The Chairman is very particular about the running of his home.”

The last part was literally true although Tang didn't know it from first-hand experience, having started in his job only a few days before. It had been a 'sink or swim' trial, much of which was still going on, especially since construction was still so far from completion. Several existing rooms were undergoing renovation and the workmen were even adding an entirely new wing to the complex which wasn't scheduled to be finish for a while yet. The reminder came as Tang brushed at his pants legs, emitting a cloud of whitish dust.

Bastila looked aghast as the fine powder drifted toward them all.

“Main hall,” he explained in a whisper. “From the stone polishing.”

“No, no, the Chairman is most particular,” Tang continued in his normal voice. “We only just found out. Mister Worthis was... is quite upset about it. Nobody told Ship Services either, it seems,” he added, motioning in the direction of the still fleeing Bothans.

“Chairman?” Bastila asked.

“Mister Worthis?” asked Juhani.

“Ship Services?” said Carth.

A small device on Tang's belt beeped twice and he reached down and then held it to his ear, waving a hand to interrupt.

“Pardon me one moment, please. Yes. I did... No, no. That won't be necessary. No. No, you can call them off. No, sir. No! You can call them off.” As he looked at the group, Carth and Bastila especially, smiling weakly as he did, three ships roared overheard before peeling off and heading away. “No, everything is under control, sir, we just... Well, when will it be...? No, I understand that. Yes, I know... Yes. Yes. No, I understand that, but...”

He paused again to look over the group and then he whispered into the device, “It's Admiral Onasi.”

“Yes!” he continued. “I recognized him. No, I know he wasn't an Admiral when I saw him last. Sir, just... Sir! There are several Jedi with him as well. And a Wookie. Yes, a Wookie. I understand. No, I don't know what he might like for dinner. No. No. I... I haven't asked...”

The one-sided conversation continued in the same vein for a moment or two longer before the harried assistant butler put away his commlink and returned his attention to the surprise arrivals.

“It will be a moment or two before the transport arrives. Honestly, we had no idea you were coming. Perhaps in the meantime I can go aboard and organize your dunnage...” Tang noticed everyone shaking their heads. “No dunnage? Should I take it that you...”

“Hadn't planned on being aboard at all?” said Carth. “No.”

Tang noticed the generally scruffy looks, Bastila Shan and the Cathar Juhani especially, their robes still marred with faint brownish stains.

“Oh dear,” Tang said, partly under his breath.

The transport speeder arrived at that moment, sparing Tang the displeasure of relating any further bad news while they all got in and situated. The group paired off exactly as one might predict while Tang spend another harried moment on the commlink. Once under way, the vessel, piloted by a lovely young Chev, slipped rapidly across the face of the mountain side. Tang spoke again.

“I've arranged to have fresh clothes brought in for all of you, although I'm sorry to say they won't necessarily be appropriate for Jedi. Everything should arrive within the hour. Unfortunately, I have some bad news for you all. Our recent spate of construction won't be completed for several more days. It will be necessary for some of you to share living quarters until then. I'm terribly sorry.”

Bastila frowned, unpleasantly sure how those 'living quarters' would be arranged.

The speeder slowed as it came around a curve and on a little plateau they could all see a small field of grain, waving in the sea breeze, three or four humans waving at them as they passed.

“This is the Chairman's private crop,” said Tang, his tone just like that of tour guides everywhere.

“Are all the slaves required to wave as we go past?” Bastila asked venomously.

“Slaves?” said Tang. “Oh, no ma'am. There are no slaves here. We're all employees.” He gave a small wave and a nod to the field workers. They returned to their duties.

“Beings work the fields and not droids?” asked Juhani.

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“Why don't you use droids?” asked Carth.

“The Chairman doesn't like droids, sir. Not at all.”

“No droids?” asked Dustil.

“No, sir. None. Well, that's not strictly true. There are a few employed in the deep water experiments, where it's far too dangerous to employ living beings. But only those one or two on the entire planet.”

“What kind of a psycho...?” started Tianna before the speeder rounded the next curve and everyone forgot whatever it was they were thinking about.

*

“Cut! Cut! What was that?! Was that Crystal? Hmm? Hmm? Reset and do it again!”

“Sqeetle.”

The director popped his head out from behind the monitor display. “What'd you need Justy-baby?”

Justin took a deep breath and gritted his teeth.

== Remember your blood pressure, sir. And remember that you have plenty of time. The show for the employees isn't for another week yet. ==

++ Enough with the nanny act, okay? I have other things to do on Ploo IV before the show because of you. Besides, I promised I wouldn't kill him, didn't I? ++

“Can I have a word with you?” he asked aloud.

“Sure!” replied Hathrey, pulling his headset off. “Anything for my star.”

When the director stepped along side, Justin put his arm out, his hand resting on the other man's shoulder, just at the base of his neck.

“Let's walk, shall we?” the soldier turned actor said.

It wasn't until a moment later, on the far side of Justin's shelter, hidden from view, that he spoke again.

“Sqeetle, I can call you Sqeetle, can't I?”

“Sure, what ever you want Justy-baby.”

“Good.” Justin smiled and nodded. “You know, Sqeetle. I love you like a brother.”

“Well, that's real.... erk!”

Hathrey froze, the soldier's hand squeezing sharply. Painful fire ran down his arm and back. He couldn't move. He couldn't talk. He couldn't breathe.

He could, however, sweat. And he did.

“Yup. Like a brother,” Justin continued. “Just not one of my own. Now I've been here two days and we've shot exactly 17 second of material. You can blink twice to agree with me.”

The director blinked twice.

“17 seconds is not enough to actually do anything with though, is it Sqeetle?”

Again the director blinked twice.

“Is that a yes or a no? Or a yes that means no?”

Again Sqeetle linked twice.

“Well, never mind,” Justin continued. “My point is: I don't get paid if we only have 17 seconds of material. I need a finished product. Without a finished product I don't get paid.”

Hathrey felt the hand tighten, something he didn't think was even possible, and the fire spread across his chest and down his other arm. He blinked several more times.

“And when I don't get paid I get irritated.”

Another flex and the fire stretched down into the director's legs.

“And when I get irritated I have a very bad habit of taking whatever is in my hand and breaking it into Little. Bitty. Pieces.” Justin took his hand off the director's shoulder. “Crystal?”

*

No one expected anything like what they saw as the transport pulled to stop.

It started even before they stepped out of the speeder, their feet crunching distinctively on the crushed white shell of the wide smooth driveway, the vibrant green of the lush foliage framing the edges and drawing the eye to the entry. It reminded Tianna of a private resort to which she had once been invited, right down to the sculptures flanking the wide entrance. There was even soft music coming from speakers hidden in the short, well manicured hedges along the front.

The building stretched across the foot of the mountain, actually curving away from them on the right. A quadruple-wide glass door set was set under a short portico, ready no doubt for the tropical rains this island would see. The doors were clear glass, lightly etched with huge flowers, and the marble tiled floors beyond carried through the theme, a giant orchid in green and light purple set into the pale gray.

From the entrance, Tang led them into the main gathering room, three stories high.

“This is the Great Room,” he said.

“I will say,” added Juhani in a reverent whisper.

It wasn't as though any of the Jedi hadn't seen spaces even larger, the Temple Atrium for one stretched over forty stories high, but never had any of them been in a private residence of such grandeur. Surprisingly, it wasn't overly fussy, as the occasional Vid program, or in Tianna's case actual experience, would lead them to believe, most examples falling into the “stuff as much crap into the room as you can to show how rich you are” school.

The floor was more marble tile in the same pale gray. To the left and right were sitting areas, large complexes of modular sofas and chairs arranged to provide convenient places for casual conversation. Across the room was a full-sized billiards table, its burgundy cloth playing off the burnished ruddy brown of the wooden rails and legs. Behind it stood a bar, it's brass foot rail gleaming in those places not covered with blue plastic film. Three workmen knelt as they pulled the protective covering off while a young woman polished the bar-top. Another woman was arranging bottles on shelves behind it.

Still more workers were across the room polishing the marble, surrounded by a bubble of fine white dust, the mess held in check by a force field. Several open hallways led out to other parts of the building, but what held everyone's attention, and where Tang was headed, was the pool.

Past the billiards table, past the marble polishers, past two more conversation areas separated by a free-standing open fireplace, out through a wall of glass, was a tropical oasis to rival those of nature itself. There were a series of crystal clear pools, the main one a perfect rectangle in blue, others more naturalistic in shape and color, sand, light green and black, each interconnected with the others by waterfalls, or babbling brooks or swim-able passages. A number of small bridges spanned the gaps and clusters of foliage blocked part from view, creating some private spaces.

If the Force had wanted someone to build it a swimming pool, thought Tarre, this would be it. It was perfect.

*

The ship remained motionless, hidden in the mass shadow of the huge asteroid, minimal power providing some small amount of air, some small amount of light, and some small amount of heat. Everyone sat bundled up in the heaviest of cold-weather gear, waiting.

It wouldn't be long now, thought the Officer of the Deck, wiping a gloved hand through the condensation on the passive sensor display. Within the hour it would light up from the energy flux as the hyperspace tunnel opened, depositing their prey directly into their trap.

It was child's play, just like it had been the previous seven times. Their spies knew exactly when the convoy left, exactly where it was headed and exactly what it carried. It was amazing what information, among other things, having a monopoly on the Spice Trade could get you from those addicted to its particular pleasures. All that remained was for the convoy to arrive and for their small wolfpack to swoop out of the asteroid field and pluck them off. It was like shooting burra fish in a barrel.

Halfway through another cup of caffa the second act of their little pirate drama began. The sensors lit up, just as expected. An instant later the OD issued the order to run the engines to full power, the goal being to rush across the void from their hiding places while the lumbering freighters were still distracted with their return to realspace, fire a few blaster rounds into them and force their surrender.

“Child's play, truly child's play.”

The ship moved. Too small, and too disposable to its owners, to bother with a name, 3054 left the pitch black of the mass shadow and accelerated into the blinding white light of the system's twin stars. A quick look left and right and the OD confirmed the scanner reading with his own eyes. 3054 was joined by 20867, 67-9 and 123-088A, the 'flagship' of their little squadron.

“Form up,” came the command through the encrypted commlink.

“ '54 aye,” the OD replied. The other two ships responded in kind.

The four, originally system security gunboats designed to protect shipping from piracy but now on the other side, with powerful and somewhat ungainly hyperdrives welded onto their backs, formed into a diamond, the flagship in the lead, 3054 at the rear.

“Tally-ho!” cried 67-9's gunner into the open commlink. “Two targets at 106 mark 2.”

“Confirmed,” came the flag's reply. “ '54. '67. You two take the one on the right. Dash-9 you come with me. Shields up.”

The diamond broke apart, the flagship turning to port, Dash-9, the smallest ship in the group, joining the much bigger flagship to balance out the firepower. '54 and '67 were a perfect match, identical hulls, with '54 having a bit less punch, it being the older ship by a half-century. The OD focused on the target, ignoring the flagship's commands to Dash-9.

“Tac-2,” he ordered.

“Tac-2 it is,” came '67's reply. The flag's communications abruptly ceased as the pair switched to the other comm channel.

“Hold a little off my stern quarter, Thit,” the OD ordered. “I'm gonna put one across his nose. This guy can't take more than one or two direct hits and he knows it. Let's see if we can do this without having to use suits.”

The last time they had ambushed the Laharan convoy all three warning blasts had hit the thin skinned freighter, tearing her open. It got the job done, the crew were killed instantly as the hull decompressed, blast doors of little use when so much of the hull is exposed to vacuum, but it also meant that the prize crew needed to work for several days in spacesuits, welding and patching in order to get the ship ready to stand a trip through hyperspace.

“Fire.”

*Freow* The blaster's high pitched scream washed through the bridge, the small gunship shuddering as the weapon discharged. “Cease fire. Secure the weapon.” The OD shifted in his chair, waiting for the inevitable “all freq” surrender.

The two pirates turned onto a parallel course off the freighter's starboard side, waiting for the call.

There was a long moment of silence. “Is he blind or just stupid?” asked the OD of no one. “Gunner, two more across her bow.”

The gunner trained his weapon. “Helm, come around point oh-six,” he called to the helmsman, the turn away from the larger target allowing him to aim past the freighter's bow. He fired two shots in rapid succession before resetting the safety.

“Okay, Mister Dense,” the OD said, “time to pick up the commlink and beg us for mercy.”

“Sir,” said the helmsman, “I'm having trouble matching speed.”

The OD left his warm seat to look over her shoulder. By the time he got back to it, the chair would be cold again, and he cursed the idiot freighter captain for making him move.

'Speed kills the target' was the pirate's adage. A pirate flying slow was a pirate in trouble. They might have an oversized blaster, they might have an oversized hyperdrive, but their hull was only eight meters across and a single lucky shot, even from an old hyperlaser could obliterate them completely. Going slow only gave an inexperienced freighter crew more chances of getting in that lucky shot. Better all around to fly fast, hit hard and dance away, preparing for another rush.

“ '67,” he called out, “turn to one three three and get ready to make a pass.” To the helmsman: “Best match.”

The helmsman took a deep breath, knowing just how dangerous the tactic was and she focused all her effort on getting the speed and course matched perfectly, as ordered. The OD watched as well. The gunner did not, having his own problems trying to keep the blaster trained on the frieghter's nose, the aftermost starboard viewport his target. None of them saw the bright flash. None of them saw the change on the scanner, the large dot labeled “123-088A” dissolving into a handful of minuscule dots, drifting apart for a moment before vanishing. And none of them heard the distress call from Dash-6.

“ '67, put one into his engines.” His curses for the freighter crew the OD kept to himself.

Nothing. No confirmation of the order, no flash of blaster-fire. Nothing.

“ '67. Fire on their engines.” Again nothing. “ '67! Respond!”

“Sir!” screamed the gunner. As he had watched the freighter, his targeting pipper dancing on his view of the ship's bridge viewports, he was distracted by several streaks of gold and crimson. Blaster fire!

The OD ran back to his seat, his eyes instinctively on the scanner. He saw his worst nightmare: a swarm of dots whizzing around the display in their blind spot. “Break left!” he hollered. The ship responded immediately as the helmsman twisted hard on the stick, slamming the throttles full forward. They would have prayed to the gods had any of them been believers, in the hope that the engines would power them out of danger.

The maneuver, performed without conscious thought, brought 3054 over the top of the freighter at very close range, putting the ship, or ships, shooting at them into the uncomfortable position of having any misses strike the huge commercial ship.

The gunship shuddered twice; two booms, like sledgehammers pounding on the deck beneath their feet, jostled them as a pair of shots struck home, another flashing past the forward viewport, missing the freighter as well. More shots flew past, the first glancing off the freighter, and they could see a small cloud of vaporizing paint filled with shards of metal blown from the hull. The helmsman and the gunner both turned to look at the OD, terror in their wide eyes.

Whoever was shooting apparently didn't care if they hit the freighter or not.

“Engine room!” the OD shouted into the intercom. “Get us to light speed!”

“Look out!” cried the gunner, pointing out the front viewport. The helmsman looked back up and twitched her hand, the pirate ship rolling to the left as two ships flew past, one down the left and one down the right, both too quickly to get a good look.

“The Republic!”

More shots flashed past from behind. Another impact, so violent it knocked the control stick from the helmsman's hand, had them all thinking of loved ones. The hull was certainly breached. Not that it mattered. At that instant the hyperdrive engaged and the pirate barreled off into the elongating stars.

*

“This is very nice and all,” Bastila began, “but we really aren't interested in staying.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tarre whispered, just loud enough for Dustil to hear. He sat next to her on one of the stylish, yet extremely comfortable, sofas.

“I'm very sorry, Madam Jedi,” said Tang, “but you won't be able to leave.”

All the Jedi felt the flush as Bastila called the Force, preparing for what none of them quite knew, but preparing anyway. “Won't be able to leave?” she cried out, exasperated. “You mean we are prisoners?!”

“Oh no, Ma'am!” Tang cried of his own. “I seem to be having terrible trouble expressing myself today. No no no. Not prisoners, definitely not prisoners.”

Bastila continued to eye him suspiciously.

“What I meant was,” Tang continued, “that there simply isn't a ship available to take you.”

“What!?”

Tang shook his head.

“Carth, do you hear this?” the lady Jedi asked.

Carth nodded and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, I heard it. What would you like me to do about it?”

Bastila opened her mouth, but just swallowed whatever she was going to say. “So we are prisoners.”

“No, Ma'am.”

“But we can't leave.”

“No, Ma'am,” repeated Tang.

“Then, for all practical purposes, we are prisoners here.”

The Assistant Head of Household stammered for a moment, wondering how it was that Mister Worthis had left him to deal with the 'Guests' on his own. “I guess that's what was meant by Assistant in the job offer letter,” he thought ruefully.

“Ma'am. If I might suggest...” Tang was not by any stretch of the imagination a professional butler. He'd been a kolto processor on Manaan before his accident and he still felt more comfortable running an oil extraction machine than arguing with a passel of construction workers about how long it was taking to get the hot water installed, but he'd taken the job. He was just going to have to 'wing it'.

“If I might suggest,” he started again, “your room is nearly complete. It's just down this hall, the last door on the left. Right before the end of the hallway. It's quite comfortable, I assure you. The next ship that could take any of you off-world should be arriving in about ten days. I understand that it has just left Manaan. You really will have a very enjoyable time. You have my guarantee on that.”

“Bas,” said Carth, pushing a billiard ball around the large burgundy table, “would it kill you to take the man's hospitality?”

Tang broke out in a big smile, but thinking better of it and his position of employment, he quickly clamped down and when Bastila's gaze returned from hurling daggers and clubs at the Admiral, he was completely placid.

“I suppose I'll have to,” she said coldly.

“There, see?” said Carth, stepping to her side. “That wasn't so hard, was it?” The lady Knight took a deliberate step away, her eyes heaving even more deadly objects in his direction. “Besides,” he added, “you might actually have some fun.”

Bastila just let out a hard sigh. Then she lifted her chin, pulled back her shoulders and walked out, down the corridor Tang had indicated.

“Fun!” she fumed as she walked. The hallway was much longer that she expected and she had a moment to consider her situation.

“Force knows how much trouble Kashyyyk could be in by now,” she thought. “A week to get to Ploo, another week to get here, (wherever here is!), two weeks in captivity, and then who knows who long to get back!”

“Those poor Wookies.”

She stopped by the last door on the left, a place for a label sitting obviously empty. But there was no security panel, no door chime, nothing. She stood puzzling for a moment before deciding to just walk toward it.

The door slid open silently at her approach. “Wonderful. Anyone and everyone will be able to just walk right in on me.”

“At least I don't have to worry about Mission sneaking in anymore.”

But thoughts of Mission, or Hutts, or Tarasins, or Vortal Seeds or anything else ceased the minute she walked through the door.

The room was gorgeous, among the most fabulous she'd ever seen. And that included Justin's room aboard the Fantasia. It was amazing. The short entry, a small cloak closet on the right, opened into a huge room, a sunken sitting area in the middle, a stone and coral fireplace along the interior wall, two doors opposite the entrance.

Everything fit, everything worked. The color of the sectional sofa, eight pieces in all, including a decadent chaise end unit, contrasted perfectly with the carpeting. The occasional table was tastefully decorated with two large pieces of crystal clear art glass, scattering the light from the magnificent wall of windows opposite the fireplace. The central french doors were open and the ocean breeze blew the sheers around. It was quite simply the most sensual place she'd ever seen.

A fruity smell mixed with the salt air, drawing her to the open door. She pushed the pure white sheers aside and looked out at the incredible view. The small terrace looked out at the vast swimming pool complex. To the left she saw but did not hear a towering natural waterfall, perhaps eighty or even ninety meters high. To the right she could see all the way down to the bay, the white sand of the beach glowing in the mid-morning sun. She stepped out and looked back toward the building, the tan stonework so obviously constructed, but so clearly designed to look like part of the landscape.

“Someone spent a lot of time, and a lot of money, on this.”

She noticed that it was a trifle warm standing in the sun, the light and heat were reflected off the water and the building, and she felt a single bead of sweat run down the side of her neck by her short braid. She looked down at her Jedi robe, thick and coarse. And so inappropriate for her surroundings.

“I may as well see what Tang found for me.”

Back inside she opened the left door. A small 'fresher, well stocked, but lacking a shower.

“For guests, no doubt.” She looked around the room behind her once more. “A lot of guests.” The room could seat more than a dozen comfortably, and several times that many if everyone stood. She chuckled at the extravagance. “I'm not sure I know enough people to need a room this big.”

The second door led to the bedroom, and if she had thought the living room was sensual she needed to seriously reconsider her vocabulary. Stunning was an understatement.

The room was as big as, perhaps even bigger than, the living room. The right side was dominated by the biggest bed she'd ever seen sitting atop a wide platform. It could sleep six easily, the tall pencil posts reaching up three meters at least, more sheer curtains hanging from the cross braces, each pulled back and tied. She walked over. Pillows everywhere, the sheets clean and white. They were smooth and cool to the touch, and she ran her hands back and forth over them for a long time, reveling in the feel. Looking up she saw an open closet, plenty big enough to walk into, sitting empty. But draped across the foot of the bed was a long white robe.

The other part of the bedroom was dominated by a huge, nearly swimming pool sized bathing tub, set right into the floor. It had to be five meters by six (“It has steps for Force sake!”), the water giving off a wonderfully clean, refreshing scent.

With a furtive look around, as if she was wasn't sure she was actually alone, she quickly got undressed, flinging her filthy clothes into a hamper set just inside the closet entrance. Grabbing the diaphanous robe, she walked down to the tub. After checking the temperature with her hand and finding it exactly right, she walked in.

“Ohhhhh,” she sighed. “This is nice.”

*

“Wimp!”

Dustil scowled. “I am not a wimp, Tarre, I just...”

“What?” asked the red-head, slipping her over-robe off her shoulders. It slid down her sleeves and onto the toasty warm sand with a hiss. Dustil watched, casting an occasional glance back toward the path.

The two had taken a walk after lunch, a simple but hearty affair that they ate right in the huge gourmet kitchen by themselves. They had followed a series of signs that led to the beach, Tarre talking of her childhood on Atzerri, days spent playing on the warm sand before running into the rolling surf to clean off. For a while they had watched the wash roll back and forth, walking well below the high tide line, the white foam tickling their ankles.

“So?” Tarre asked, undoing her sash, careful not to drop the two hidden holocrons as she released the tension. “Are you coming or are you just going the stand there sweating?”

Dustil stood fixed, exasperated. He looked around again. “You're crazy!”

“There is nobody around to see, Dustil,” Tarre teased, slipping out of her tunic. Clad only in her underthings, she made a deliberate show of looking around, her hand like a visor on her forehead. “Nobody.”

The padawan was torn now. On the one hand he was worried about someone like Bastila Shan, or worse his father, coming by and seeing the two of them. On the other hand, Tarre was now naked and splashing her way through the surf. In a moment all he could see was her backside as she dove headfirst into a wave. With a last look around, he quickly tugged his tunic over his head and splashed in after her.

“Are you...?” she called. “Oh! You're here.”

“Yes, I'm here.”

Tarre swam over frog-style, her head bobbing along on the waves. She came up to him, slipped her arms around his neck and planted a long kiss squarely on his lips.

“Mmmm. Salty.”

Dustil laughed. “You're nuts!”

“Nuts? What makes you... Hey!” Her hands slid down his torso, stopping near his waist. “What are these?!” she exclaimed, pulling down on the offending garment.

“Tarre!” Dustil bellowed, grabbing her hand with his right and trying to pull his shorts back on with his left. “Stop it!”

The red-head dropped below the surface, wrapping her legs around his. Dustil lost his balance and fell backwards into the water. He came up in a few second, coughing a sputtering. Tarre surfaced a moment later, a smile of triumph on her face.

“Ha ha! Victory is mine!” She waved the black shorts over her head, droplets of water flying in all directions.

“Give me those!” he demanded, splashing after her.

“Make me!”

The water was only just up to his waist, so Dustil fainted to his right, making it look like he was going to jump at her. Tarre hopped back, struggling with the next wave as it rolled past them, the wave top lifting her up. But instead of moving forward Dustil shaped the Force and threw huge blast of water toward her.

Tarre took it full in the face and she dropped the shorts to wipe her eyes and clear her nose.

“No fair!” she cried.

Dustil called the shorts into his hand. “Ha!” For a second he considered moving further inshore to make it easier to get redressed, but the water barely covered him as it was, so he simply stooped forward and slipped his left leg through the opening. At that instant, with his balance precarious, Tarre had her revenge. With a wave of her hands the Force slammed him in the chest while water ricocheted up into his face and she simultaneously pulled the shorts back toward her.

Dustil somersaulted backward, fully clear of the water, his pale bottom well over his head before he landed face down.

“Ha yourself!” she shouted.

Dustil pushed himself up, the water only a decimeter deep. He looked at his smiling tormentor, his shorts dangling from the little Knight's fingertips. He surged forward on all fours, like some kind of hairless animal, the Force powering his arms and legs. Two bounds through the surf and he was on her. But Tarre was ready for him, the Force helping her as well, and just as he hurled his body forward for the final assault she flung his underwear straight over his head toward the beach. Dustil saw the black cloth go over him, but no amount of Force-enhanced twisting could turn him toward it. Or away from her. Tarre saw his head turn to follow the shorts, and then snap back again, his eyes growing wide just before impact.

Her eyes grew wide in much the same way. She'd been so intent on suckering him into the attack, just so she could fling his bottoms away, that she had left herself vulnerable. All she could think to do was pull her feet up from the sandy bottom. Dustil smashed into her, both of them fortunate that she was no longer braced against the bottom. The two just rolled over a few times under water.

Tarre came up first, but she waited for the padawan to surface before swatting him with her hand.

“Idiot! You could have drowned us both.”

“Give me back my shorts!”

Tarre just smiled. “I don't think so.” She pointed.

“Oh frack.”

Tarre swam over and latched on from behind, kissing him below his ear. “I guess you'll just have to swim with me for a while, now won't you.”

Dustil swiveled within her grasp. “I guess so,” he admitted, defeated.

She was right. Far past the white sand of the beach, high in one of the many towering palms that swayed back and forth, like a small flag flapping in the breeze, was his black underwear.

*

“Tang!”

Mission stepped back into her room. It wasn't really 'hers', she was sharing it with Gwarshawk and Juhani, but she did find a change of clothes there. It was just cargo pants and a tee-shirt, but at least her own boots fit well with it. She could have done without the small but highly stylized fuzzy pink bears on the front, at least with Tianna Ression around, but it was the only thing Tang said he could find in her size, a donation from a young teen on one of the other islands.

She'd asked him for more information, like who this young girl was who gave up her obviously favorite shirt, the frayed collar told of hundreds of wearings, but Tang was tight-lipped, claiming he'd already said too much with out the Chairman's approval.

“So, security is a big thing here?” she'd asked.

“Oh, yes, Miss Vao. Very big.”

She had personal experience with their tough security from her long struggle with the entry panel to the Star of Peltion's bridge. In fact, it wasn't just shipboard security that these people took seriously, it seemed everything about the place was mysterious.

For example, other than Tang and the two Bothans at the landing pad, Mission hadn't seen anyone other than the six who came with her. No droids, as Tang had explained, but no people either. And yet a simple lunch was provided in the “small dining room,” as Tang called it, the clothes she was wearing had been laid out on her bed while she was washing up without her seeing or hearing anyone, and her dirty clothes had vanished from the 'fresher where she'd left them in a pile on the floor. She didn't even know how they figured out it was her bed the first place, having only flopped onto it moments before as a way of staking her claim of the three identical beds set in a room in the otherwise empty room.

“Must be cameras everywhere,” she thought to herself as she dressed.

And then to top it all off, Tang had disappeared.

She'd been looking for him for the better part of twenty minutes, all through the main parts of the very large complex. She'd even interrupted Bastila's bath. The lady Jedi met her at the door clad in a huge, luxurious towel, shampoo still in her hair.

From there Mission come back to her own room, finding Juhani sitting cross-legged on her bed, the one furthest from the 'fresher, eyes closed. She stood for a moment watching, trying not to breathe or otherwise disturb the Cathar Jedi.

“What is it Mission?” Juhani asked softy.

“Ah!” It was enough of a shock that Mission jumped. “Don't do that!” she exclaimed patting her hand over her heart.

“I am sorry. I did not wish to startle you.” The Cathar unfolded her legs and stepped off the low bed. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Mission paused to catch her breath. “I haven't been that...” She stopped to swallow. “Actually I was looking for Gwarshawk. You haven't seen him, have you?”

“Not for a while now, since before I began my meditation. Perhaps Carth will know.”

“Where is Carth?”

“He and the Lieutenant are outside by the swimming pool. If you wait a moment I will change and join you.”

“Actually,” said Mission, “I'm not interested in a swim right now, considering that these are the only clothes I have.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Juhani. “I had forgotten about that. I have nothing appropriate for swimming either. Perhaps I will see what Bastila is doing, instead.”

With nothing else to try, Mission took Juhani's advice and went outside to the pool. Carth and Tianna were there as expected, sitting in fluffy robes and having a drink under a huge umbrella.

“You haven't seen Tang, have you?” she called from the far side of the water.

“No, why?” replied Carth. Mission saw Tianna catch sight of her tee-shirt and giggle into her glass.

The little Twi'lek groaned. “I can't find Gwarshawk and I wanted to know...”

“He went for a walk,” called Tianna, the laugh still in her voice.

“Who, Tang or Gwarshawk?”

“Both of them,” the Lieutenant answered. “I saw them from our bedroom terrace, headed off together down that path over there. An hour ago, at least.”

Mission scowled at Tianna's mention of 'bedroom' and she turned to leave the two to themselves. Instead of going back inside she turned right and walked along a narrow slate-lined path toward the far corner of the house.

As she turned the corner, the bright sunlight coming down through the tall swaying trees, she saw two figures talking a few dozen meter away.

“Tang?” she called out.

The taller figure turned in her direction, but the light in her eyes was so bright she couldn't be sure it was him. The figure turned back and a moment later the other figure left at a brisk walk. Mission ran to catch up with the first man. It was Tang she saw as she drew closer. By the time she arrived the second person, dressed in a grayish jumpsuit she'd noticed, had vanished completely.

“Tang, have you seen Gwarshawk?”

“Indeed Miss Vao. I left him in the North Field.”

“Field? You left him alone!?”

“Certainly. He's perfectly safe there, as is everyone on the island. The Chairman wouldn't have it any other way.”

“But...”

“The North Field, or at least the southern part of it where it meets the foot of the mountain, has the largest trees on the island and the young man was very insistent. I told him that our trees couldn't possibly compare to those of Kashyyyk (not that I've ever been there, but I have seen them on the Vid), but he was free to climb around on them as much as he liked.”

Mission stopped to contemplate the information. “Stinky did ask where all the trees were,” she thought. “Makes sense, I suppose, him being from Kashyyyk and all.”

“You're sure he's all right?”

“Perfectly, Miss Vao.” When Mission didn't respond for a moment, he added: “Is there anything else, Miss?

“Wha... No. No, nothing. Thank you, Tang.”

“Anytime, Miss. If you'll excuse me.”

The Assistant Head of Household disappeared through the main entry way, leaving Mission alone on the front walkway.

*

“So why are we here?” asked Kat, the brunette.

“Don't you like the place?” countered Duchess, a stunning blonde and arranger of the evening's event.

“Well, sure. It's just that on Natunda we always go to Tweetch's.”

“Always, except tonight. I thought here would be more interesting.”

Mucha, the red-head, looked around. “You mean this isn't Tweetch's?”

“No,” said Kat. “Honestly, Mucha. You've been there a thousand times. Can't you tell the difference?”

Mucha giggled into her bubbly pink drink. “I just thought since it was Natunda we were at Tweetch's”

Duchess and Kat could only shake their heads at the ditzy red-head. She was always like this, but she was kind-hearted and always good for a laugh or two, most about her choice in men.

After another round of drinks, Kat said: “Okay, I'll bite. Why is it better to be here tonight?”

Duchess pointed to the tall human stepping onto the little stage only a few meters away. “Him.”

“Ohh,” said Mucha. “He's... wow!”

“You don't know the half of it,” added Duchess.

The man played, his voice warm and smoky, the music rolling and diving, swirling round them. Mucha closed her eyes and swayed along. Duchess just locked her eyes on his, willing him to notice her attention. Even Kat, the most reserved of the group was tapping her foot in time to the beat, her eyes following the large silver ring on his hand as it ran up and down the neck of his crystalline instrument.

“Oh, I could eat him with a spoon,” said Duchess, breathless.

“So could I,” said Mucha.

“Mucha! You too?” asked Kat, indignant. “I could see it from Duchess, she only ever thinks with her hormones, but I thought you had more control than that.”

“Oh Kat,” Mucha complained, “just because you can't get any, doesn't mean the rest of us have to suffer.”

Kat turned to Duchess for support, but seeing the blonde still absorbed in sexual telepathy with her next victim she had to swat her on the arm. “Duchess!”

“Hmmm?” the woman replied dreamily, the songs words swirling around inside her head, pushing out everything but her primitive lust.

I’ll tell you one thing

“Are you going to let her talk to me like that?”

“Why? Hit too close to home, did she? Gods I want him!”

If you would leave it would be a crying shame

“Here, take my napkin, you're drooling.”

“Oh, I'll need more than one!”

“Duchess!!”

And just like the ocean under the moon
Well that’s the same emotion that I get from you

“What!?” Duchess turned straight back to watching the man sing. “Gods, Kat! I have half a mind to go home with him tonight.”

“No way!” said Mucha.

You got the kind of lovin' that can be so smooth

“Bet you a hundred credits!” Duchess taunted.

“It's a bet!”

“I'm in!” added Mucha.

“You're both on.”

Gimme your heart, make it real
Or else forget about it

Even before the song finished, Duchess left the table to better stalk her prey. Kat saw the singer's eye follow her every move and with a sense of disgusted fatalism she pulled her credit chip out. She'd seen that look before, that slack jawed, “male can't keep his mind out of the gutter” look.

“I hate when she does this...” she said quietly.

The set finished and within a minute Duchess was back, her arm around the singer's waist, his around her shoulders.

“Justin, these are my friends Kat and Mucha. Mucha, Kat, this is Justin Blacque.” She winked at Kat.

Kat just smiled at Justin weakly. Mucha held out her hand. Justin took it and brought it to his lips.

“Enchanted,” Justin said, kissing it. “Duchess, honey, I'll go get my ride.”

Duchess grabbed him as he pulled away and kissed him. Hard. Kat scowled. The blonde ran her hand down his arm as he walked off, until only her fingertips were touching his. “Hurry! I can't wait another minute,” she called after him.

As Justin nodded, she quickly turned back to her friends. “He said there's room for all of us.” She winked and darted off after him.

Mucha's eye went wide and she turned to Kat, imploring.

“Oh, go on!” said Kat.

Mucha ran off without another word. As she watched her friends join up and walk out the back door together, Kat threw her credit chip onto the table. On top of losing the bet, she'd been stuck with the bar tab once again.