Disclaimer: I do not own Kotor. That pleasure belongs to George Lucas, Lucas Arts, and BioWare Corp. Everything belongs to them except for the silly little things that popped out of my head for fun.

Mad Dash

A crush of people wandered aimlessly around the promenade admiring the new swoop bike models. Gamblers raced from one holo-vid to another, checking out the stats of would-be racing champions as they ran their heats, intent on gauging which swoop racer had the best numbers before placing their final bets.

The only holo-vid not crowded was the one Canderous Ordo had commandeered. The solitary Mandalorian lit up a cigarra and blew lazy rings of smoke into the air. The press of bodies and the blazing hot swoop engines added to the already sweltering heat.

For a brief moment, he imagined a different place, a lush jungle moon with man-eating beasts and obstacles that could test a Mandalorian's cunning and endurance. But the noise of the races quickly drug him back to the present, back to the place where he was nothing more than just a knee-breaker.

With a growl, Canderous tore his gaze away from the holo-vid and stalked off. The crowd parted, giving him wide berth as he progressed farther down the strip to where all of the swoop gangs were displaying their entries in the winner's circle. Punks with blasters stood poised and ready to ventilate anyone who came too close to their share of the prize.

He glowered at the ones that made eye contact with him and was perversely satisfied when they shrank back. Pathetic hut'unns.

Canderous was pissed, though he really didn't know why. It wasn't like he cared about not being invited to watch the races from Davik's private balcony. What he did care about was getting squeezed out by that trigger happy midget, Calo Nord.

It's time to change plans, he decided. His time on Taris was just about up, he could feel it in his bones. Glowering, he muttered under his breath, "Only thing good about this backwater planet was the swoop racing anyways."

He quirked a brow when he recognized a figure standing to the back of the crowd that had accumulated in front of the Vulkars' exhibition. The little grenadier from the sewers--wearing the racing leathers of a Bek, no less. Jhetat, but she works fast! How did she manage to get Thek to sponsor her in the race?

Canderous ambled over to her side. He glanced at the Vulkars' prize and briefly spied a young woman with loose waves of auburn hair wearing nothing but a skimpy joy girl's bikini top and bottom. All around them, thugs and passerbys offered catcalls and whistles of appreciation. But not her. She made no sound. All she did was stare, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"What's with the face, kid?"

Rhyska blinked and looked at him, a dazed look passing over her features before her face went carefully neutral. "Sorry, what?"

Taking a deep drag from his cigarra he blew a ring of smoke towards the caged woman. "What's so interesting about her? You're staring like you know her."

The grenadier's mouth opened and closed, words unable to pass her lips.

Canderous looked back towards the Vulkars' prize, his own gaze narrowing. "Last year they offered up several female Twi'leks as their prize. Dancers, red ones. Very nice. Feisty."

Scrutinizing the human woman's form he noted, "This one has curves in all the right places, but her musculature isn't that of a dancer. Lean though. Don't know what's up with the force cage. She's out of it, too." Squinting, he noticed the silver circlet set against her temples. "Looks like they slapped some kind of neural restraint on her, too."

The more he saw of the Vulkars' prize the more curious he got. What's with the maximum security? Taking another drag on his cigarra, he drawled, "Apparently, she's not your average joy girl."

"You have no idea," Rhyska whispered.

Canderous turned back to her. "So, you do know her."

"I really don't, but she looks familiar. Like I've seen her before, somewhere—only not wearing a bikini."

"Was she naked?" Canderous asked hopefully.

Smacking his arm, Rhyska shook her head. "She was fully clothed and armed."

"Ooh, even better!" Canderous threw his head back and laughed. "Speaking of which, what's up with the leathers? Were you the last racer practicing their heats for the Beks?"

"Yeah..." Rhyska answered, fidgeting in her racing suit.

"You really sucked!" Canderous announced. "I've seen Hutts that've run faster than you've raced, which confounds me because I know you've got better reflexes than that."

"I was trying to memorizing the track," she informed him through gritted teeth.

"How's that workin' out for you?"

She shrugged. "Might take me another turn or two before the ride smooths out."

Canderous rolled his cigarra to the side of his mouth and drawled, "Is that a fact?"

The grenadier bristled at his comment and flashed him an irritable look before answering flatly, "Well, yeah. What's the point of doing all this if not winning?"

She said it in such a way that he couldn't help but laugh.

"No seriously," Rhyska insisted, "I have to win."

"So do these guys." Canderous gestured to the gangsters and thugs wandering around. "And they've got credits and turf rights riding on this race."

"Big deal!" Rhyska snorted, her gaze settling back on the woman in the force cage. "The way my partner talks, the fate of the galaxy is riding on this race. Sure, he's kinda paranoid, but for the sake of my sanity, I'm gonna win this thing, or else..."

Dumbstruck, Canderous put the cigarra back to his lips and took a couple of drags. With the last puff of smoke he asked dubiously, "Or else what?"

An announcement rang out overhead, "Rhyska Nevar! Please return to swoop pit four! Rhyska Nevar! Swoop pit four!"

With a sigh, she turned back to him, "Looks like they're playing my song. You should lay some credits down on me."

Crooking a brow, he spoke in a low voice, "I heard the Beks had an engine that couldn't be beat. That the Vulkars stole it, but the Beks got it back. You have anything to do with that?"

"The Beks did get it back, but it had an accident and exploded," Rhyska replied with a grin. "The only edge I've got is me. I may not look like much, but I am the long shot. The payout is gonna be stellar when I win."

There it was again. When I win. I'm going to win. I will win. If there was a doubt in her, he couldn't see it, or feel it. Whatever her reasons, he got the distinct feeling her being in the race wasn't about winning at all. He also noted that she hadn't fully answered his question. "You ever race before?"

"Nope."

"And you expect me to bet on you and your nonexistent skill?"

"I don't expect you to do anything," Rhyska said as she turned on her heel. "I'm just saying. When I win, you'll be sorry you didn't." Without waiting for a reply, she ran back to the Bek's swoop pit.

Canderous watched her go and shook his head, Well, I'll be a son of a Kath hound... She and Slick weren't down in the Under City to scavenge. They're the crazy cha'kaars that robbed the Vulkars!

Walking over to the nearest bookie, Canderous weighed the odds of the crowd favorite against his unknown little grenadier.

Beside him, a young woman pleaded with a man in the betting line. "Largo, are you sure you should be doing this? Isn't this what got you into trouble the first time around? I don't think she'd approve."

"It'll be fine, Silla," the Upper Tarisian assured his companion. "Who better to place our money on than her?"

"Her who?" Canderous drawled curiously.

"Uh, Mr. Ordo, sir," Largo choked, fast going pale.

"Well, boy?" the mercenary barked. "Who'd you lay credits on?"

Behind the pale youth, the Twi'lek bookie snarked, "Stupid chuba laid credits on the Bek's new racer, Nevar. Slowest one of the lot. Might as well be flushing his credits down the crapper."

Flushing, Largo grabbed the girl's hand and vanished into the crowd. Canderous watched them go and rolled the cigarra in his mouth. Turning to the bookie, he punched in his credits and chose his rider.

The bookie stuttered, "Uh, Canderous, you can't be serious!"

Blowing a smoke ring in the bookie's face, he drawled, "Like there's anything better to blow my credits on?" With a feral grin, he growled, "Place my bet. I'm feelin' lucky..."

"Out of body experiences are not my cup of tea," Bastila Shan said to no one in particular. Deep within the recesses of her own mind, she had conjured up the memory of her favorite tree on Dantooine. Her safe haven.

From beneath its boughs, she gazed over the expansive fields of Dantooine and breathed in slowly, closing her eyes. A sharp whistle broke through her cocoon of silence. Her eyes snapped open as she exhaled raggedly.

Bastila gazed down on the crowd gathered at the base of the tree. A crowd of imbeciles had invaded her domain with their rude gestures and lewd comments. It was getting harder and harder to keep them out. Her gray blue eyes took on a glacial quality as she whispered distastefully, "Fools!"

The only thing good about her situation was that the masters weren't here to witness her failure. I lost the whole ship. The whole bloody ship!

Bastila shook her head dejectedly. It was unreal. In one fell swoop, everything that she had gambled on had been dashed away. There was no way that she could ever be granted the rank of Jedi Master after such a humiliating defeat.

The icing on the proverbial cake had been her crash landing into the deepest recesses of Taris and scrambling her senses. Her lightsaber had been knocked from her belt and only the Force knew where it was now. Probably hocked by one of the grunts that had come to scavenge her pod.

That had been an ill-coordinated fight. They had numbers and she was bleeding from the head, the odds just weren't in her favor. Eventually, Force powers or not, they had subdued her.

At first, they'd kept her heavily sedated, but her body healed quickly and burned through their drugs. After she'd flung two of her guards across the room, they added the neural restraint. Much to her dismay, it was a winning combination. It made her wish she'd kept her abilities a secret. Things might have turned out very differently if she had, but she hadn't. And so she bided her time.

There were days she wasn't always aware of what went on around her—and part of her didn't want to know. The only thing she could recall with any clarity was a name. Brejik. It was spoken often and with no little amount of fear. She assumed he was the one behind her incarceration.

Tearing her gaze away from the group of people, Bastila looked out across the swaying plains of Dantooine. She watched the sky change colors and the sun sink in the distance. She closed her eyes and tried to block out the barrage of noise assaulting her senses. That was when she felt it. A familiar presence in the Force—calling to her. And she could feel something in herself respond in kind.

Bastila's eyes snapped open and she found herself standing in the middle of field. The Tarisians from earlier were gone, faded into a mist that was slowly eating away at her mental safe haven.

At the edge of her vision, Bastila spotted a profile in the fog. She squinted and bit back a gasp when she recognized the figure. She had come across several dark Jedi in her travels, but only one dark Jedi wore the infamous mask that had once belonged to Mandalore--the former Lord of the Sith.

"What are you doing here?" She croaked, "You're dead—dead and gone, Revan."

The Sith Lord didn't move, didn't speak.

Bastila's fight or flight responses warred with each other as Revan's ghost stared her down.

Distantly, she heard a voice snarl beside her ear, "Fierfek, Janaar! You gave her too much! Brejik said to keep her knocked out, not put her in a flaming coma! She dies, we're outta the race you kung-sucking bastard!"

A numbing cold was spreading throughout her body even as little needles seemed to stab at all her nerve endings. Her face twisted in pain and she gasped for air. Bastila had no idea what was happening to her physical body, but it hurt. It hurt worse than anything she had ever experienced.

Her eyes flicked to the dark Jedi and she hissed, "Is this why you've come? To see me die?"

And then the Sith moved forward, walking over to her.

Bastila staggered back. She tried to keep some distance between them, but the strength in her legs gave out and she swayed, falling.

Instead of feeling the impact of the ground beneath her, Bastila felt the sure grip of gloved hands on her arms holding her upright.

Panic seized Bastila as she struggled to free herself from the Sith Lord's grasp.

"Bastila..."

The voice that rasped her name sounded rough from lack of use, but there was power beneath it. When the Sith Lord called her name again, the power willed her to stop struggling and Bastila found herself unable to deny it. Her stomach lurched as the cold and pain shooting throughout her body intensified.

That was when she felt the first rush of power flow into her. It filled her with energy and healing, chasing away the icy numbness and the pain. Bastila gasped in relief and stared at the Sith Lord in disbelief. She hadn't felt this good since she before she was incarcerated, but that relief dropped like a stone in her belly when Revan spoke.

"Did you think I would let you die so easily, Little Jedi?" The Sith Lord shook its cowled head. "We have much to do, you and I..."

A strange glow emanated from the beneath the Sith Lord's mask. Before she had time to scream, Bastila was engulfed in a blinding flash of light.

She became aware of several things all at once, bright light, an unbearable heat, and a terrible pounding in her head. With a hiss, Bastila winced at the pain and rubbed her temples. "Bloody hell..."

She couldn't even fathom a guess as to what happened, but whatever it was, it felt an awful lot like her brain had been squeezed through a sieve. Into what, she wasn't sure.

That's when she got a good look of her new surroundings. She frowned in confusion. A swoop bike platform? Behind her, an engine growled to life. Her mouth dropped open in shock. "By the Force, it can't be..."

A woman sat on top of a swoop bike, her body encased in the protective suit of racer. Bastila watched thunderstruck as the woman cursed up a blue streak while jamming her head into a helmet.

Bastila felt a sense of relief so fierce, she nearly choked on her words. "R—Rhyska Nevar? But you're supposed to be dead. I thought—I thought everyone was dead. That I was the only survivor--"

Walking over to the woman who was busily pulling on a pair of gloves, Bastila demanded, "How did you get here? Did anyone else make it off the Endar Spire? And what are you bloody well doing in a swoop race?!"

But the rider went about her business, prepping her bike and waiting for the starter's signal, as though she hadn't just heard the loud demands being hollered into her ear.

"Are you even listening to me?" Impatiently, Bastila waved a hand over the woman's face and frowned when she got no reaction. "What in the world?"

The first signal lit up and the woman revved the engine, the bike lurching forward to the starting line. Bastila's eyes widened in shock as she watched as her hand passed through the woman's face. Her jaw dropped as she watched the woman shudder from the contact.

Looking at her own hand, Bastila uttered in dismay, "Oh my stars..."

A strange chill raced up Rhyska's spine even as beads of sweat trickled down the back of her neck, rolling until it was absorbed by the inner lining of her swoop suit. Tugging on her collar, she squirmed. It was a very snug fit. She didn't mind snug, but she wished they were a bit more comfortable.

Zaerdra had said they were designed to fit as close to the body as possible. While the Twi'lek helped her suit up, she dispensed a little racing advice. "The race is full of perils. Other than your suit, there is nothing else protecting you but dumb luck—and I wouldn't put much stock in that, either. I've seen plenty of racers try squeezing through places they ought not to attempt. But attempt it they do. I can count on one hand how many imbeciles survived getting snagged and being yanked off their bikes."

Rhyska remembered nimble fingers combing through her hair, pulling it into a tight braid. "Keep it simple," Zaerdra urged. "When I race, I take my time. Get my bearings. After a few times around the track, you'll be riding on memory and instinct. Trust your instincts. You'll know when you need to move. You'll feel it."

The Twi'lek frowned as she added, "I'm not sure you should even attempt it on your first run, but when you go live, try to hit as many of the jumps as you can. It'll give you a serious boost in speed, but be careful. Make sure you're pointed in the right direction when you jump. Last thing the pit crew wants to do is scrape you off a pylon or retrieve your carcass from the lower levels if you jump off the track."

"Don't jump off the track. Don't end up as a smudge on the pylons. Win the race and—oh, yes. Save the girl. Right..." Rhyska muttered under her breath. In spite of it all, a crooked smile curved her lips. Tapping on her com unit, she signaled Zaalbar. "Hey, Big Fella. Remind me to score us some dinner—courtesy of Carth."

A familiar trill answered her back through her ear piece and she grinned. Gripping the bike's handles, she waited in anticipation for the second signal. Leaning forward, she tucked into her bike and waited for the last signal.

When the light turned green, the swoop bike thrust forth like a rocket. Bastila watched as it raced down the track.

For a moment, she wondered, Maybe I ought to have followed... and then she was moving, flying through the air. Gone was the swoop platform. She hovered over the swoop bike and its racer, following its movements, matching its pace.

A small sound escaped her lips and her eyes widened in surprise. Bastila had been on plenty of speeders and transports before, but she had never experienced anything quite like this.

The masters never mentioned anything about out of body experiences—not that they've ever found themselves in such a predicament. What am I going to do now?

It was strange. The wind wasn't pushing against her or ruffling her hair, but she could feel it. It was just as real as the heat emanating from the swoop bike. Maybe, it's not that I feel it, but that she feels it. Can I be experiencing sensations through her?

Phantom wind rushed all around her and instinctively, Bastila spread her arms wide and lost herself in the moment. Exhilaration and adrenaline rushed through her veins—and then the swoop bike launched off a jump pad. The excitement was dashed away as she felt her incorporeal self disintegrating into a low ceiling.

Fear and surprise temporarily flooded her senses. With a cry, Bastila struggled for control of her disembodied self. Reaching out, she clawed at open air until she felt her fingers sink into Rhyska Nevar's back and found an anchor.

As she floated to sit just behind the estranged Endar Spire crewman, a barrage of sensations rushed into her. Images of the track bombarded her. One in particular stood out. Another jump pad. Another consciousness pushed against hers and suddenly the swoop bike adjusted its trajectory, slicing through the wind in an effort to make it to the pad.

Bastila's fingers squeezed involuntarily and she muttered, "Blast! You've over shot it!"

Suddenly, the engines cut back and they slid across the pad. The engines revved up again as they were propelled forward.

Soaring through the air, more images of the race track appeared in Bastila's mind as the swoop bike hit the ground and hurtled forward. Further ahead of them, she spotted several upcoming jump pads.

Frowning, the Jedi mumbled. "She decelerated when I noticed she'd overcompensated with her speed. Is she reacting to my thoughts?"

Her gray eyes narrowed as she spotted a series of clustered jump pads. "Well, let's test this theory, shall we?"

An uncharacteristic smile quirked Bastila's lips as she mentally nudged the swoop racer.

A beefy looking mechanic with shaggy iron gray hair and green coveralls stood with arms crossed in front of the Beks' swoop vid screen. A pair of flinty eyes scrutinized his riders and their bikes as they ran through the course. Behind him a small league of mechanics made themselves busy while awaiting their next pit stop.

Vin Hale spat out a wad of chew and readjusted his tool belt as the last Bek swoop bike slid across the finish line and into the swoop pit. The rider dismounted the bike and yanked off her helmet with a grunt and a few curses.

His crew swarmed the bike, making quick repairs and tightening up any loose parts before the next circuit. They had their job and he had his. He stared irritably at the woman as she wiped the perspiration from her face and neck with an old rag and squeezed a hydra shot into her mouth.

Without warning, he tore into her with a booming growl, "What t'hell was that?"

The woman looked up and spat. Squeezing another hydra shot into her mouth, she drank it down, her only answer to his abrupt question was an arched brow, as if to say, "What?"

"Yer speed was shoddy! Slow ta start and then barreling through like a maniac. Ya need ta be more consistent!"

Gulping down the last of her water, she huffed, "Look, it was my first run. It wasn't meant to be perfect."

Newbies! Vin rolled his eyes and snorted, "Perfect? Who cares 'bout perfect? No one here's 'specting perfection from ya, but least ya could do is 'tempt to make a good run of it. Yo're as slow as a granite slug on yer practice runs and now this...Keep that shavit up and you can bet yer sweet fanny that yer gonna end up getting scraped off the track!"

"I'm touched by your confidence in my abilities," Rhyska drawled sarcastically. "No, seriously! You're totally inspiring me."

"Ah'm head mechanic, not here ta inspire ya. Ah'm here ta tell ya that you're embarrassing me and my bike! It's disgraceful! Didn't pull that bike outta retirement just so's you could ride her straight down the Hall of Suckage!" Vin spat. "Lookit the swoop reader board! Yer damn near at the bottom! And everybody knows that Gadon sponsored ya. The least ya could do is try not ta crap out!"

Rhyska ignored him and stared at the board. "Two of the Beks made the top five."

The cranky mechanic shook his head. "Delis just lost his lead ta one of those Vulkar punks! We're back in second place. He's run all his heats an his engine's pretty much shot. Leaving Shandi an yerself as our last great hope for winning. Shandi's bike clipped a pylon on her last run. She's only got one more chance ta make it happen an that's only if she gets lucky an her bike doesn't over heat. Ya got two runs left. Try ta race like ya give a shavit!"

Downing another hydra shot, Rhyska gave the flinty eyed mechanic a dirty look. "I'll win it, you cranky grub! Just do me a favor and quit riding me. You're starting to work my last nerve and I kinda need it!"

The mechanic sputtered, "Win it? You? Now I know yer crazy! Be lucky to keep second place at this rate!"

Rhyska frowned as the holographic racer board was replaced by images of the trophies.

Bastila stared in horror as her image appeared on the holo. Knowing and seeing were two completely different things. She quickly came to the conclusion that seeing was infinitely worse.

Even as she stood there speechless, Bastila listened as the mechanic spoke.

"It'll be a blasted shame about yer friend. I heard that Brejik plans on tradin' her to the Sith when they win." His eyed the racer accusingly. "Seems you downplayed her value to Gadon. Brejik thinks he can get all the turf in the Lower City with her."

Bastila looked from Rhyska to the mechanic as the situation became glaringly clear. "Force, help me. I'm a prize in this bloody race?" Turning back to view her own image among several others on the holo board, Bastila's eyes narrowed as she noted something else. Something she found extremely disturbing. "Am I—am I standing there in my underwear?"

"Brejik isn't going to get squat." Looking directly at the mechanic, Rhyska growled, "The Vulkars won't be winning this race. I've already stormed their stupid compound once this week. I'm not about to do it again. And I sure as hell don't want to hear Carth piss and moan about this mess, either."

Spinning around, Bastila walked towards Rhyska, hope stirring within her. "Captain Onasi's alive? Carth Onasi, the star pilot?"

But Rhyska didn't hear and she didn't answer. All she did was glare at the mechanic. He didn't look at all sorry for anything that he'd said, but he did have the grace to at least duck his head guiltily at the mention of the Endar Spire and her crew.

The hope that Bastila had felt just moments before was dashed away. A question dying on her lips as the answer dawned on her. "We're it," she murmured softly in disbelief. "We're all the crew that's survived of a hundred and fifty? Just us?"

If it was possible for a disembodied person to feel ill, Bastila did. She wrapped her arms around herself as she recalled the Jedi's mantra. Even as she chanted the words softly to herself, they weren't enough to block out the rest of the conversation.

"Even kolto has its limits. The pod survivors taken in by Zelka won't be waking up anytime soon—if ever. And the one survivor we came across in the Under City we lost to the Rakghouls. I'm not sure Captain Tightpants can take another loss," Rhyska grumbled. "Especially not hers. I'm winning this."

"Just like that," The mechanic replied dubiously.

"Yep." Rhyska said as she tugged her swoop helmet back on. "Just like that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got another heat to run."

Vin pulled a tin from one of the many pockets on his coverall and plucked some chew out of it. Popping it into his mouth, he watched the temporary rider mount the bike and steer it back to the starter line. His pit crew gave them a wide berth. They knew him well enough to leave him be.

She was just as bad as some of them duracrete-headed riders. Cocky bunch a idgits. He expelled a long and tired sigh. Least she had gumption, even if it came with a mouth.

"Just ain't no way a first timer's gonna win," Vin shook his head and muttered aloud. "She's gonna go flying off one them jump pads and right off the track. I can feel it in my bones..."

Bastila eyed the crotchety mechanic. "I don't care what you feel in your bones, old man. We are not going to lose—" Without warning, Vin suddenly spat a wad of chew at her translucent feet. She jumped back, her nose wrinkling with distaste. "Revolting!" the prim Jedi hissed as she turned and made her way to the swoop platform.

She stood alongside the rider and swoop bike, gazing intently at the track before them. Softly, Bastila murmured, "I don't know if you can hear me, but I know you can feel me on some level. Whatever it takes, we must succeed. Everything depends on it."

Carth Onasi sat in the Beks' lounge and winced as a highly excitable teenage Twi'lek screeched, "Aw! C'mon, Rhyska! Put it into high gear already! You're killin' me!"

All around them, members non-essential to the swoop race had been milled about. Grounded. Even Gadon Thek was sitting in the lounge at his personal table surrounded by his guards, all of them cursing at the news holo of the swoop race.

Most everyone in the room was rooting for Delis and were less than pleased when their favorite had been overtaken by the Vulkars' top racer.

As he watched Rhyska's first official race, he wondered if he should just crawl under a rock. She didn't have the worst time, but she was so far down from the top she might as well have been.

A smack to his injured shoulder had him biting back a curse as Mission pointed to the holo and said, "See that, Carth? What'd I tell ya? That's a definite improvement over her practice runs."

"And yet nowhere near where we need her to be..." Carth muttered dejectedly. All around him, he could feel the stares of certain Beks. Leaning in towards the teen he asked in low tones, "Should I be worried?"

Mission blinked in confusion and looked around. "About what?"

"They don't look too happy."

The teen snorted and waved them off dismissively. "They'll get over it. Gadon gave Rhys his blessing. Those swoop crazy chubas aren't gonna mess with you. That'd be like them sayin' Gadon was wrong to let her ride in your place. And nobody who wants to live is gonna piss off Zaerdra." Mission flashed a quick look at the Bek leader's table before whispering conspiratorially, "I heard she once bent some moon-brained idiot into a pretzel for talkin' smack about Gadon."

Carth glanced over at Gadon and his entourage. As if aware that she was being spoken of, the violet Twi'lek looked in his direction and flashed him a glacial look. Nodding, he replied, "Wouldn't surprise me."

"Anyway, don't be such a downer, Carth," Mission chided. "Rhys is doin' the best she can."

His gaze flicked back to the holo where Rhyska waited for the pit crew to refuel and tune her bike before heading back for her second run. "I know she is, but we just can't afford to lose."

"I got a hundred credits that says she's gonna win," the teen announced as she swiped two shots of juma from a considerably cleaner and newly healed Felize as the Vulkars' former kitchen wench dropped off drink orders. Mission flashed the waitress a smile and handed Carth a shot.

"Are you even old enough to be throwing credits around like that?" he grumped as he eyed the shot warily.

Mission shook her head at him and snorted. "Credits are credits and this is the opener of the swoop season. Ain't nobody gonna say no if I wanna throw some credits around."

Carth arched a brow as he watched the Twi'lek knock back the shot and sigh. She gestured at the bartender for another one. "Look, if this was a race on how to pick a lock or rob a corpse, she'd win hands down. But this is about racing," he shook his head. "I just don't see how she's going to pull it off."

As another waitress came by and dropped off Mission's second shot, the teen announced, "Big Z put credits down on her, too."

Carth groaned and before Mission could down her second shot, he snatched it from her and knocked it back, following it with his own shot.

"Jeez, geezer! Can't you order your own juma?" the teen demanded.

A mild fire burned its way down his throat as he pleaded, "Just promise me we aren't going to have any Exchange thugs coming after us..."

"You gotta have a little faith, Carth," Mission said, as she pilfered her neighbor's drink and downed it. "Everything's gonna turn out okay. You'll see."

"Sure, kid," Carth muttered in chagrin. Why do I always end up in a no-win situation? Sighing heavily, he turned his attention back to the swoop race. "Whatever you say..."

Bastila was ready the second time the swoop bike took off. Hovering just behind Rhyska, she placed her hands on the woman's shoulders and anchored herself.

Just as they came upon the first jump pad, Bastila reached for the tendril of power that she had felt within the woman earlier and was surprised to find that slip of power reaching out to her as well. As she made contact, a stream of unconscious thoughts poured into her...

Fast, so fast...Damn, this suit's so uncomfortable...Why are there no comfortable suits when the fate of the galaxy is at stake?...Can't miss any jumps...Left, left, farther left... Stupid helmet!...Too far over... Shavit!...Missed one...Can't slow down...Carth's gonna kill me...Stupid suit...My underwear's riding up...Ignore it...Focus on the flying...Just keep flying...I wonder if this suit makes my butt look big...Gah! Screw the galaxy!...Blast it! Missed another jump...Focus! Gotta stay focused, Nevar...

Bastila gasped as the connection between them snapped. The swoop bike slid over the finish line and she hissed in agreement, "Yes, please. Bloody well focus!"

Her head was spinning and she felt faint. During their connection, Bastila could feel the energy being drained out of her. She eyed Rhyska warily. It's like she's a bloody siphon! Turning to the holo board, Bastila's irritation and worry disappeared and was replaced by satisfaction. It worked! They had rocketed up the list and found temporary respite in the number seven slot. Not bad for having missed two jumps, Bastila mused. Next time, we won't miss any.

Vin stared at the unlikely racer in shock. He'd never seen anything like it. Ought ta yell at the racers a little more if this was the kind of turnaround he could expect. Nodding in approval, he turned back to the job at hand and directed his pit crew to check the engine and refill the coolant while the underdog wandered off to the refreshment area.

Pulling her helmet off, Rhyska wiped the sweat from her brow and tore open a hydra shot, downing it hungrily.

Something's different, she mused to herself. Rhyska liked to think she knew herself pretty well. Knew her strengths, her weaknesses and prided herself on her ability to adjust accordingly to the situation at hand.

She had been pretty confident in her ability to navigate the swoop course. Deep down she knew she could beat the Vulkars' top time. What she couldn't factor was the number of times she'd have to run the course. She knew that chances were slim that she'd win it in three runs, but she had to try.

Her gaze flicked warily to her bike and the mechanics working double time to get her race worthy. With the Beks' accelerator gone, Gadon had decided to hedge his bets. He had kept his promise and let her ride in the race, but he'd given his Beks the better bikes.

She signed heavily. Honestly, she was just glad her own bike hadn't overheated and exploded. Ending up as a smudge on the track wasn't her idea of a good time.

But she had to admit, that last run was like nothing else. If pure exhilaration could be bottled and sold, Rhyska could almost swear it had been running through her veins when she raced through the course. She felt unstoppable.

It wasn't an unwelcome feeling, but she couldn't help but wonder where it had come from. She had been a bundle of raw nerves and then—serenity and utter certainty. She was sorry the race was over. It was an amazing feeling to bask in.

An announcement sounded overhead and the swoop board changed as new race times were processed. Her dramatic climb had been spotlighted, but her attention was caught by the lead Vulkar who had beaten his previous winning time.

Another Vulkar had claimed second place dropping Delis to third and Shandi to fifth. So much for keeping second place, she thought wryly.

A sharp whistle caught her attention from across the swoop pit. Her eyes settled on the Vulkars' lead racer as he and his pit crew began yelling obscenities across the way. Rhyska arched a brow at several of their rude gestures, but otherwise ignored them. Instead, she tapped on her com unit and said in a low tone, "You ready. Big Z?"

The sound of an irritated Wookiee trilling in her ear made her grin. "I'm in position. Hurry up so we can get your friend and I can eat. My stomach is growling," the Wookiee grumbled.

Rhyska grinned. "Desperately hungry Wookiee eats Vulkars and gets indigestion...can't have that."

"I don't eat people! Not even annoying ones," Zaalbar retorted. As an after thought he growled, "Okay, maybe I would if I were starving and they were the only edible creatures left on the planet—but I'd rather it not come to that."

In the distance, she watched the Vulkars' racer mimic a blaster with his hands. Slowly, he pointed it at her, aimed, smirked like a bastard, and fired. The sound of their laughter wiped the grin from her face.

The Beks' head mechanic caught the gesture and flashed her a weighty look. Probably thinks I'm gonna bolt, or something.

"I hope you're ready, Big Fella. 'Cause it looks like the Vulkars want to start the party a little early."

"Good," the Wookiee trilled. "I'm bored."

Bastila watched the scene in silence. The Bek pit crew disappeared as soon as the bike was tuned. Left to stand alone, Rhyska wordlessly put on her helmet and hopped on her bike.

Bastila wondered who Rhyska was speaking to on the com unit. Maybe it was Onasi? He was certainly a tall fellow. And then it occurred to her that as unpleasant as Captain Onasi had been aboard the Endar Spire, he wasn't exactly a cannibal. If not Onasi, then who? And then all questions were swept aside as Rhyska rode her bike back to the platform and pumped herself up for her final run.

Coming up behind Rhyska, Bastila took a deep, calming breath and settled her hands on the woman's shoulders. As the swoop signal went from red to yellow, Bastila began her battle meditation, funneling all her energy into Rhyska.

And then the light went green.

Author Note: Many thanks to the awesome Bryn for smackin me with her grammar stick. I always need it. I did a little more editing and spicing up. So now, hopefully the Bek mechanic seems more alive.

To the readers who have been wondering what the heck happened to me...A godzilla-sized virus ate my computer...and then it died.

To old readers and new, feel free to flame or praise, as the mood suits you. Constructive, of course. Let me know how I'm doing.