Star Wars 1. Chapter 1

_Authors note: Hi there. This is my first fanfiction here, and I'm a little nervous about posting it here. The chapters begin with something relating the the chapter, and the name of one of the main characters involved, denoting whose point of view it is from, i.e. Chapter I begins with Nile Evant's POV, hence the word "Evant" at the beginning._

_Reviews, as always, are incredibly welcome._

**_Subterfuge _**

_Part I_

_Evant_

It had been ridiculously easy.

He had given the Jedi too much credit. In reality, they weren't anything special; just a bunch of self-important religious zealots who thought they owed something to the galaxy. And they were really far too trusting. He had expected something, some sort of suspicion, maybe even to be searched as he left the temple, so he'd prepared in advance. Nothing. Nobody was any the wiser. Even with their magical "force" powers, they had not seen him as he made the switch. He chuckled mirthlessly, and stretched his muscled arms above his head in the spacious cabin. Soon, he would be meeting his contact for the second time, and then be safely away from this system, well gone before anyone noticed anything was amiss. It would be a long while before he returned, to fulfil his mission's main objective.

Nile swirled the deep claret coloured liquor around in his glass, then tipped his head back against the worn headrest, swallowing a mouthful, taking time to savour the musky scent and rich flavour of the drink. There had been a time when he had not been able to afford the tunic on his back; but nowadays, since taking on the new contract, he found he had enough credits for luxuries like this whenever he found he wanted them. He would celebrate today's accomplishments with several glasses of his favourite drink, and perhaps visit a local cantina once arrived at his destination. After all, he had the time. The ship's chronometer read seventeen, so he had maybe ten hours once he came out of hyperspace in the Corulus System. A man like Nile Evant could find plenty to do in ten hours, given that he had a hearty bank balance, and with the first credit instalment promised to arrive in his account in the next fifteen minutes, all he could do was settle down and let his ship carry him there.

He awoke with a jolt as the cockpit alarm sang out, indicating it was time to come out of hyperspace. He sat bolt upright, forgetting the half-full glass he still held limply in his left hand, managing to spill a considerable amount over the front of his jade tunic. Cursing, he dropped the tumbler to the deck where it crashed noisily and rolled under the control panel, and took hold of the lever, pulling tetchily at the over-worked mechanics and bracing for impact as the starlines discoloured to show Brentaal. Brentaal was the most populated planet of the sector, a confusing muddle of city and luscious green flatlands that hovered on the edge of the concrete wastelands expectantly, as though poised for an attack on the thriving metropolis. Nile had never enjoyed visiting this sector much, not since a particularly memorable encounter with a rebellious twi'lek dancer that had left him a little afraid to be in a room alone with a female for several seasons afterwards.

The comm. hissed static as him, and he thumbed it on, configuring it to broadcast one of his ship's various false identification codes. He straightened his shoulders, catching his own rugged reflection in the polished, rather worn surface of the cabin wall, and almost didn't recognise himself. Green-grey eyes gazed calmly back at him, his own eyes, but other than that, his appearance was completely dissimilar to any description of Nile Evant in circulation on the Holonet. The thick, greasy blonde hair was fake, as was the unkempt goatee and dimple in his chin. The small crinkles around his eyes, and the curved pink scar at the corner of his mouth were the result of recent plastic surgery in a private clinic on Aramand, which had been bought under a pseudonym and paid for with a bank account that would be proven to have been closed several years previously once the credit cheque was cashed. He looked well in his fifties, but in reality was closer to thirty.

He thought avariciously of his payment for this little escapade, and rubbed his hands together in ill concealed pleasure. His contact had always paid well in the past. Very well indeed. This job required little more than basic espionage skills and the ability to keep his mouth shut, but he was being paid more than three times what he had expected. Nile thought that perhaps the man - if it were a man, for he had never met face to face with him - was a little soft in the head, but he wasn't about to complain, or confess his pay was too high. Neither would he admit that for that amount of credits he would gladly have grafted horns to his forehead and tattooed his entire body with Andronian wild flowers, then danced semi-naked with a Hutt live on holovision. He was going to be amazingly rich soon, and that was all that mattered right now.

An uninterested female voice on the ships comm. channel broke him from his thoughts.

"Welcome to Brentaal, heart of the Corulus system. Please enjoy your stay on this, the most pleasurable of worlds. Magenta Ocean, you're cleared to land."

Nile got a feeling from the sarcastic undertones of the woman that Brentaal was the last place she wanted to be, even if it was the "most pleasurable of worlds", which he knew from experience wasn't entirely truthful. He gave a clipped reply, then gently guided the small freighter into the docking bay with the sure-handed steadiness of someone who had spent many years at the controls of a ship. The spacecraft touched ground in the arid docking bay with a whisper-soft murmur of well-oiled hydraulics. The man pulled his tunic straight with a one handed jerk before disembarking down the landing ramp with one hand raised to his forehead to shield his eyes from the glare of the suns. He checked surreptitiously that his hidden blaster was snugly tucked into the back of his waistband, felt in his pocket to make sure he had a good supply of credit chips with him, and then went off in search of entertainment.  
Night fell swiftly on the planet, darkness drawing in, sucking the warmth the city to leave it bare and icy, eradicating the cloak of decency that thinly veiled the slums and alleyways, hiding them during day's activities, to leave a filthy vision of treachery for all to see. 

Nile shivered a little in the cold air, wrapping his thin cloak around himself, keeping away from the little light there was, stepping back into the darkness when anyone walked too close.

The place his employer had chosen for their rendezvous on Brentaal was somewhat out of the way; well out into the countryside and far from most of the usual bars and restaurants that attracted the casual tourist. The place was seedy, and he could see, from a cursory glance around once he entered the establishment that it was in violation of at least three Republic health codes.

There was a permanent layer of dust and grime on the walls of the cantina. Many of the seats seemed rickety, and the tables weren't much better. At a bench in the corner, a young man was sprawled, clearly unconscious, face down in a pile of dried vomit, one hand still weakly gripping a glass partially full of wine, as if even in his prone state he did not want to part with it.

There was a large mirror behind the bar. It was cracked, several shards of the dirty glass coated in a smear of green liquid that could have been some sort of beverage, but was more likely to have been the blood of some unlucky former patron. There were also other signs that there had been a fight in the bar not too long ago. He wondered idly who had been involved, who had won and if anyone had been killed. Such occurrences were common in places like this.

Behind the plank that served as a bar, a churlish looking Snivvian known only as "Gren" slowly polished a greasy looking glass with a filthy rag. He looked up from the task momentarily as Nile walked in. He did not look like the sort of being you would pour your heart out to over a glass of Correllian Ale, unless you had a death wish. Gren had very little patience for anything except serving the drinks, getting the credits and closing up for the night. Nevertheless, he tilted his piggish head in acknowledgement to him, and motioned with one hand to a table in the corner.

A figure sat in the shadows, a hood drawn up over his face, obscuring most of his face so that only the bottom half was fully visible. He raised a hand, motioning for Nile to sit, and he did, lowering himself slowly onto one of the broken stools, careful not to put too much weight on it; afraid it might cave in under his weight. The man leant forward, a hint of a smile tugging at the thin lips, and the hood fell back to reveal a middle aged man with soft, brown eyes, a shock of white hair and a round, pleasant face. The tops of his ears were slightly pink, and peeling, from too much time in the sun. Nile had a nagging feeling he'd seen him somewhere before, but couldn't quite place where.

"Come here often?"

The man's voice was low and melodic, kept to barely above a whisper. He spoke with a smooth Anasonian accent. "Often enough….You made the exchange? I trust you weren't seen?"

Nile nodded, and tried to keep his excitement from showing on his face. "Your maps of the place were surprisingly detailed. I had little trouble finding the crèche. You can smell those Jedi bratlings a mile away. After that…" he shrugged, coolly. "It was easy. You're sure there isn't a surveillance system in the office?"

The man raised a glass of something frothy and crimson coloured to his mouth and took a leisurely gulp, draining the remaining liquid. It looked uncannily like blood, but it couldn't be…could it? The man gave a relaxed sigh, then picked up the glass and ran a finger around it unhurriedly. "No, there isn't. Jedi value their privacy, and they're a little old fashioned about these things. Think their "Force" will protect them from all threats." He chuckled a little at this, as if it were a foolish notion.

Evant forced a laugh, feeling it was obligatory. The man stood, suddenly, pushing his chair up, and strode to the bar, and dropped a few credits, more than enough to pay for the one drink he had bought. He motioned to Nile to follow him, and paced methodically out into the doorway, light from the bar's flickering sign pooling around his feet. Nile noticed that he walked with a slight limp, leaning more heavily to the left side, and wondered vaguely if he had been injured recently. "Come," the stranger said, gently. "It is not safe to talk here, where the bartender can overhear. Anything he hears, he sells for fewer credits than the value of a good meal." 

He bowed his head a little; coming so close to Nile's face that when he exhaled the air tickled his ear. Nile wrinkled his nose in obvious disgust as the smell of raw, putrid flesh permeated his nostrils, and had to stifle a gag. The outsider did not seem to notice, or if he did, wasn't offended. "I have a safe place we can go to talk. I have new instructions for you tonight, Nile."

A little unsure, and wondering how in the seven hells the man had recognised him with his new appearance, Nile followed the man off into a side street, his hand straying to his blaster, suspecting a trap. After all, he hardly knew him, and he was unfamiliar with this area. For all he was aware, the man could have been leading him into the belly of an Akarian Ice-Worm. Pure greed kept him following. 

The cobbled walls of the narrow alley were covered in a viscous green mould, and stank of damp, but the odour was still preferable to that of the bar. He pulled the collar of his tunic over his mouth, coughing, and followed the man down the darkened street without another word.

Back in Gren's bar, the "unconscious" young man leapt nimbly to his feet, removing a very recognisable silver cylindrical object from the inside pocket of his civilian garments. He kept the lightsaber gripped loosely in his left hand, and, pulling his hood up to both conceal his identity and keep back the worst of the evening's biting cold, hurried out into the night. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Part II_

_Sell the kids for food  
Weather changes moods   
Spring is here again  
Pray for darker grounds_

He's the one  
He likes all our pretty songs  
And he likes to sing along  
And he likes to shoot his gun  
But he don't know what it means

Nirvana - In Bloom

_Jin_

As if on cue, the heavens opened, a wave of sudden torrential rainfall rebounding off the pavement with such intensity that it resembled a blur of white-hot sparks wavering with a heated sort of energy that rose and fell in an unpredictable surge. His footsteps rapid but soundless on the cobbles, the boy leapt the alcove that marked to the alley, intuitively using the Force to soften his landing. He chewed his lip uneasily, amethyst eyes searching through the darkness, scanning for his targets.

Keeping his voice low, he clicked the commlink on, holding it close to himself to avoid it becoming damp and therefore useless. "Master." He whispered, holding himself back a little from the two he was tailing, keeping to the darkness. "I've found him. He's…down an alley about half a block west from…" he searched his mind momentarily, trying to recall the name of the tavern. "Gren's Bar…It's off seventeenth. Should I follow?"

He flexed the hand that gripped his lightsaber, fingers twitching to ignite it on impulse. He knew he mustn't; he would be noticed. The voice was silent for a moment, and Jin waited impatiently for his Master to reply, toes curling in his boots in anticipation of the chase.

"…No…hang well back…wait for me…" she replied softly, and then her voice dissolved momentarily into a burst of static. He fiddled with the small device for several seconds until the voice returned, less audible but still clear.

"…dangerous…want to alert them to our presence…there shortly…careful, Padawan…"

Didn't she trust him to tail them? If he were quiet, and wasn't seen, there really wouldn't be any harm in following. Hadn't the sector's government made it that Evant must be caught? He tightened his shields against her slightly, knowing that she would see his intent immediately otherwise. He began to move again, keeping low down. "I know…." he said, curtly, stopping himself from rolling his eyes, then remembered she wasn't there to see, and went ahead and did it anyway. The only immediate reaction was another explosion of white noise.

_Why do they even bother issuing us commlinks when most planets have transmit. blockers? _He thought irritably, and began plucking uncomfortably at the rawhide weaving around the tunic throat to stop it from sticking to his skin. Until now, he had never thought he would miss his Jedi tunics.

He glowered darkly at the commlink, resisting a pressing urge to throw it at the nearest wall. If this carried on much longer, he would lose them! They were already further ahead than he would have liked. He took a shallow breath to prevent himself from rolling his eyes again, and replied, in a tone that was somewhat tight, lacking in his usual unruffled persona, "Yes, Master?"

A search beam from the watchtower of a nearby manufacturing works swept over the filthy ground close to his feet unexpectedly, illuminating the alleyway clearly. He blinked at the sudden brightness, and thrust his commlink back into his pocket, cutting her reply short. He dropped behind a pile of debris, keeping as still and silent as possible, scarcely breathing as Evant spun on his heel, turning towards the light. The man grunted, his face twisting in exasperation; lingered there for a moment, pushing his hair out of his eyes then shrugging, spun back around and trotted after his companion.

Jin swore under his breath, picking himself up gingerly from the ground and dusting down his tunic. Another beam and they'd see him. He fumed silently at his inability to complete even the most straightforward of tasks. Sith, all he had to do was follow, and his master would be along in a few moments to wrap things up properly. He lay there for a few moments, dimly aware of his heart thudding dully in his ears, waiting for his breathing to slow, reminding himself to focus only on his task. Calmer, he pushed himself to his feet, glancing skywards, keeping a keen eye out for any more searchlights. The moons weren't visible tonight, a dim scattering of stars providing only a dull, hazy luminosity that left the city largely cobalt black and threatening, but for a few all-too-bright simulated lights. Largely, the city seemed cheap and shoddily built, and as a result of this, his time here had left Jin feeling as though his skin had been coated in a slightly unsavoury greasy film.

A thunderous crash split the atmosphere as though it had been severed with a dulled knife, and far ahead Evant's companion whirled around, blaster pistol drawn and aimed with the swiftness and precision of someone who was used to being in tight situations. He noticed Jin instantly, despite the darkness, his leathery face contorting into an expression that was a mixture of astonishment and revulsion, hard eyes screwed up in an attempt to make out who it was. Recognising the danger immediately, Jin had only reacted a little at the noise of the crash; slackening his grip on the lightsaber, watching the emerald blade blaze into existence, comfortingly warm in his cold hands, a light that had always guided him well in the face of darkness. For a moment, not one of the three moved at all, the others stunned into their silence, the teenager sufficiently intelligent to recognise when it was unwise to make the first move.

He took a slow mouthful of air, letting the Force surround him, and barely blinked as two flickering energy bolts sailed through the air towards him. He raised the 'saber slightly, in two swift parries that repelled the blaster bolts safely in the opposite direction. He inhaled slightly, revelling in the familiar odour of ozone as he moved his 'saber to hover somewhat closer to his face, unaware of it's blistering heat coming dangerously near to his skin, readying himself for another lethal assault. Two more bolts, one from each of the men, were sent harmlessly away to extinguish several hundred metres down the alley in a flash of white light. Again and again they fired, and each time he sent them flowing away, sometimes leaping a little to land a few metres away. Every few seconds, he took a step forward, forcing his attackers further and further down the alley, closer to the grey beginnings of daylight on the other side.

Evant broke the heated silence, callous words floating out from his vantage point, hidden behind a pile of rusting durasteel and greasy machine parts. "Give up, kid. You can't keep us back forever," and punctuated the words with six new bolts, each coming nearer than the last.

Jin forced a dry laugh, but the humour was ill felt. His Master was right, he shouldn't have followed…. He swiftly ducked behind a trash compaction unit as the sound reflected off the glistening walls to echo up the alley, acquiring a little sound and pitch with each new reverberation. His own laughter seemed to be mocking him, scornful of his chances at succeeding. As much as he hated to acknowledge it, he knew what the man had said was at least partly true.

He began to struggle greatly as he started to feel weary, his upper body aching with the effort of keeping his sword moving in anticipation of each bolt. He knew he couldn't keep this up much longer, and his 'saber skills had never been magnificent… He really should have practised more often when he was back at the temple, but there was always something else to catch up with…astro-mechanics, or atomic theory, or the soul healers bugging him or…. _where was she? _She ought to be here by now…He shook his head to clear it, droplets of water flying in every direction from his damp hair, and whirled around rapidly, colours blurring before him. He staggered suddenly, pain flaring in his shoulder…_where was she?…_ vision wavering precariously in a queasy haze that flashed in a frightening maelstrom behind half lidded eyes. Acting on instinct, he pulled the lightsaber up to his chest, it's soft thrum of energy reverberating through his teeth as he fell to one knee, the force of the hard ground jarring him to the bone.

He opened his eyes to face his fate, glanced up at the blaster now two centimetres from his skull serenely. The searing hot edge of the gun's nozzle jammed painfully into his left temple, but he scarcely noticed the temperature as it branded it's mark into the unmarred side of his face…Force, he was cold. Why was it so cold? The air seemed to have dropped by several degrees in the space of a few seconds. It must be thinner now too, because he was finding it increasingly hard to draw breath. He seemed to be freezing slowly from the inside out, his blood coursing sluggishly through his veins, laboured by spikes of ice…he fought a rising sense of panic, choking it down to a place where it could not bother him.

He wondered if he were dying.

// No, little one, you're not dying. Injured, maybe, but I'm coming for you. Stay calm. //

A comfortably warm sort of numbness gripped him as he noticed the rapidly growing green bloodstain on the left of his tunic breast, and as both arms were jerked upwards and behind him he let himself fall limp and his dulling eyes slide shut, having suddenly found what remained of his calm centre as he drifted down towards unconsciousness.

A grim half-smile spread over the boy's pallid features as he was dragged roughly away.

His master was coming for him. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Part III_

_Well it's a lonely road that you have chosen  
Morning comes and you don't want to know me anymore  
And it's a long time since your heart was frozen  
Morning comes and you don't want to know me anymore  
For a moment your eyes open and you know  
All the things I ever wanted you to know  
I don't know you, and I don't want to  
Till the moment your eyes open and you know_

Keane - Your Eyes Open

_Evant_

The annoying buzzing in the back of Evant's head slowly materialised into the murmur of voices in the distance. Swallowing thickly, he forced one grimy eyelid open the tiniest of slits to see where he was. Bad idea. Fireworks seemed to go off inside of his skull, flares and starbursts and supernovas all mixed up together in a painful ripple that spread through his head and then his body, starting at his temples and working its way down his upper body, sending waves of nausea rippling through him. He groaned out loud in spite of himself and pressed his eye shut again. There was a faint ringing sound in his ears a few octaves below the chatter of voices. An outside noise? An inside noise? A hallucination brought on by one too many Correllian Ales last night?

He moaned again slightly and forced his unwilling body up, turning his head - _not too quick! _- to look around. Despite his caution, the room rolled nauseatingly like a ship on high seas, the floor rising up to meet him, the walls moving in. He tasted bile at the back of his throat and gulped hastily. The ringing in his ears grew worse, louder and more shrill, a perfect bell tone had it come from a bell.

He pulled himself up on his elbows and noticed that, while he was otherwise fully dressed, his boots were missing. He still had his slightly fuzzy red socks on, though, with the tiny four leafed jade _trefoil_ plants embroidered into the heels - to bring him good fortune, an overly superstitious ex-girlfriend had gushed, on presenting him with the socks for a life day gift. So far, the power of the lucky socks was undisputed, because after four years of moving from place to place, never trusting anyone with his true identity, and coming dangerously close to being captured numerous times, he was still alive. He lay back on the pillow, looking at the socks, and wriggled his toes slowly. He grinned, taking an almost perverse pleasure in the fact that _they_ didn't hurt. They were the only thing in his entire body without their own personal aches and pains.

Blearily, he stood, one hand gripping the wall of what he had now identified as a small, if functional cabin, a virtual clone of hundreds of others he had seen in his thirty-two years travelling the galaxy. A low, rumpled bunk, thin off-white sheets stretched over a plastic mattress and a rough, itchy, prison issue type blanket that was too small for anyone much taller than a Jawa. The one pillow was starched stiff, perfectly square, and was much too hard for anyone who wasn't completely unconscious. There was a door off to the side, presumably leading to a 'fresher, and a high slatted skylight window that was currently pouring dirty sunlight into the room. Everything in the room screamed standard issue, boring, dull, and made to order, but Evant found the almost-familiarity strangely comforting for some reason.

Last night had been…interesting, to say the least. Sethos was a dull host, boring him to tears with endless talk of scientific theorems and politics, but he had managed to get acquainted with several very…. cultured women, and had eventually found his own entertainment. His employer didn't seem to mind; being in unusually high spirits since they'd dealt with the Jedi brat they'd caught tailing them late last night, but had reminded him, however, that as they had important issues to discuss this morning, Evant should join him for breakfast in his office as soon as he woke.

He checked his wrist chron. hurriedly, and began to pull on his clothes from yesterday as quickly as his throbbing head would allow, careful to keep his eyes squeezed halfway shut against the bright light to avoid further aggravating his hangover.

The corridor was only dimly lit by small iridescent lamps overhead, their sallow light casting a sickly green glow over the metallic walls, giving kind of sterility to the area, a clinical feel, akin perhaps to a prison wing, or a medical sanatorium. Evant felt a little uncomfortable as he stepped into the wide hallway, as though each camera was focused intently on him, his every move being tracked and scrutinized by unseen eyes.

_Don't you have anything better to watch, you old creep?_ He thought, but swallowed his frustration at having to follow the old man's every order. Money was more important than any temporary inconvenience he had to suffer. Fifty thousand credits! The vision of shining, newly pressed Republic crednotes flickered behind his eyelids, and he began to smirk slightly, a thin, sarcastic smile that spoke of dark times, dark places and dark deeds. He glanced upwards briefly; a lock of ash blonde hair falling over one eye as he tried to figure out just how many security cameras are there were on the complex.

_What are they hiding here? So much security, and yet…_ He wondered, and scowled, pushing his fringe back onto his forehead before stooping from his considerable height to press the intercom button. 

A sharp, tinny voice answered the buzzer immediately, that of an arrogant looking protocol droid he'd perceived earlier, with inflection enough to give the impression of considerable boredom, though that was not possible for a droid.

"Yes," There was a significant pause, and then a low snapping sound, as though a sharp piece of metal had been drawn across a tightened wire, snapping it in two. "…Sir?"

"Uh…. Is Mr Sethos there? He said I was to come see him when I woke…um…" Nile shifted his weight impatiently from foot to foot, his boot heels making small triangle shaped dents in the surface of the unsightly plast-wood flooring as he moved, and producing angry sounding, echoing clicks from the movement.

The droid seemed to deliberate this for several seconds, and there was the soft clack of buttons being pressed, before chirping, just loud enough to worsen his headache, "Yes sir. He'll see you now. Come on in."

"Thank you." He replied, through partially clenched teeth, and ran the fingers through the flaxen hair currently affixed precariously on top of his own diminishing black curls. He found the whole disguise process irritating to say the least. Necessary as it may be, the hairpiece itched constantly, and the heavy makeup made his neck ache with the additional weight.

The door swung open to reveal a purposely dim passage, about twenty metres in length, identical grey doorways opposing each other at regular intervals the entire distance end to end. All of the offices were dark and apparently vacant, save one, at the very end, where the faintest shimmer of white light escaped from a single grimy transparisteel panel to suck most of the oppressive gloom away like dirty water down a drain.

Nile, unsure where else Sethos could possibly be, walked slowly down the corridor towards the light, his shadow casting a looming, ebony silhouette that clung to the wall as he moved, almost as though it were a separate person behind him, slinking mutely after him, mimicking his movements exactly.

He stood at the door, rapped twice on the metal with his knuckles, tugged his tunic straight once more, and waited for an answer. None came. He waited for several moments, and then tried once more, and again. Still there was no response, other than the returning echo of his own persistent knocking.

A voice piped up from inside, and then the sound of scuffling, a confrontation, perhaps, could be heard within. A firm voice, recognisable as Sethos', could be heard cursing stridently from within, yelling at something that Nile couldn't see. Deciding that now was not the time to act the courteous employee, he pushed the door open, and marched swiftly in, to see Sethos struggling to hold down someone Evant had thought long dead. He stood, transfixed for a moment, watching the tousle haired boy thrash about violently, fighting against the aging man. Though considerably weakened by his injuries, and despite the fact that he was less than half the man's weight, the boy was putting up a good fight, his scarred face grim as he resisted the heavy restraints Sethos was attempting to fasten.

A metal tray crashed noisily to the floor, it's contents, including a particularly lethal looking hypodermic needle and a bloody scalpel rolled out, and spilled across the floor to rest under the bed. Something inside of Evant snapped, and he woke up from his trance like state, reacting instantaneously.

He drew his blaster and levelled it immediately in line with the youth's head. His finger twitched on the trigger, but he forced himself to hesitate, waiting until Sethos shifted out of the firing range before pulling back to shoot. After all, a dead employer could hardly pay him. The teenager saw the danger, and immediately stopped struggling, falling back onto the table in submission, frustration showing clearly in his purple eyes.

Sethos nodded his appreciation, wheezing, and moved forward to fasten the restraints. Evant came to stand beside him, and cocked the blaster beneath the boy's chin, trying to remove the eerie calm look that lingered, even now.

"Just try it, kid, and your head'll be removed from your body in two seconds flat. Don't think I wont. I've slain younger than you. I'll kill you in the end, and what's more, you'll be begging…. begging me for life. Just like the rest. Jedi or not, they all plead in the end…" He seethed, putty-like jowls wobbling with anger, his grip on the gun tightening.

The boy's only response was to pull back his head and spit directly into Evant's face, right between his boarish eyes.

"Try me." He said, indifferently, an icy calmness behind his eyes.

Evant swore, flying into a fit of rage, and, grabbing a handful of the boy's matted dark hair, yanked his right head back. No reaction. The boy's eyes had frozen, staring into space, disturbingly emotionless. For a second, there was no movement from him, his chest frozen halfway between one breath and the next. Then he shuddered, taking a sharp breath inward, before his head lolled on his shoulder, his eyes closing once more.

Sethos capped the syringe and dropped it into a disposal chute by the bed. There was a long scratch down one of his cheeks, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. Evant holstered his blaster once more, turning to him.

"I didn't know he was alive. You assured me his injuries were fatal. I…. He should be dead."

Sethos gave the trolley a push, and it separated from the wall. He began to manoeuvre the bed through the frigid laboratory towards a small alcove in the corner. There was chair, a refresher unit and a small washbasin in the corner, but no door. Instead, a buzzing force field cast a blue glow over everything nearby. Sethos deactivated it, and steered the gurney into the corner, before stepping out of the small chamber and thumbing the energy wall back on behind him.

He turned to Evant; his mouth tightened dourly, and he suddenly seemed a lot more dangerous than he had appeared to be when struggling to hold down a mere fourteen year old. "Don't worry, Nile. No matter how stubborn he is, in less than a week, he will be." 


End file.
