Kyssel Moon, Post-Battlefield

Kanan Jarrus dashed through the debris of the battle. Charred bits of metal pierced the ground while smoke continue to drift upwards, as if the ground was still hissing from the fight.

The Empire had assaulted a brutal ground attack on this Outer Rim moon. Had the fight taken place in space, the Ghost crew might have had the advantage thanks to Hera's piloting abilities and everyone's teamwork. But despite an effective ground strategy, Commander Sato had ordered a retreat before the entire squad was annihilated.

Kanan's brain replayed the images. A thermal-detonator had landed between him and Ezra and ignited, ripping up the ground between them. He had seen Ezra's body go flying through the air just before the smoke clouds enveloped them, tearing up Kanan's eyes and smothering his lungs.

He had distinctly heard Ezra's eager voice calling back to him: "I'm fine! Kanan, secure the transmitter tower!"

It had been almost 24 hours since the battle had ended and Kanan had last seen Ezra. Now the rest of the crew had gathered to exchange updates and offer reassurances. Hera gently placed a hand on Kanan's arm.

"I'm sure Ezra's here somewhere," she tried to comfort him.

"Yeah. Loth-rat's survived worse than this," Zeb added.

It was Sabine who managed to lift Kanan's spirits as she examined the vestiges of battle. "Guys, over there!" She waved a hand and motioned for them to follow her to a pile of broken beams.

Kanan extended a hand. Willing the strength of the Force through his limbs, he channeled his thoughts until the heavy beam began to quiver. The rebel raised his hand upward and the beam lifted itself before landing aside.

Sabine dashed forward and pulled something from the wreckage. Ezra's utility belt and lightsaber were miraculously undamaged. She picked up the belt and extended it to Kanan. The rebel's fingers ran over the smooth metal of the lightsaber.

His friends—no, his family—looked on in silence as a shadow of concern flickered in Kanan's eyes.

"That's a good sign, isn't it?" Sabine asked.

Irregular mechanical burbling interrupted them. Chopper rolled along the ground, gears grumbling whenever his wheels collided with pebbles and debris. A rebel officer in a dusty flight-suit followed Chopper. He saluted to Kanan before speaking.

"Commander Sato sent me, sir. He confirmed that we already combed this area for survivors."

"Did you see a kid out here?" Kanan demanded. "He'd be about fifteen years old. Dark hair, blue eyes. Answers to the name Ezra Bridger."

"Or Jabba the Hutt," Zeb added under his breath.

The rebel officer shook his head. "Sorry but we didn't find anyone with those descriptions." He glanced down at his datapad and keyed in some codes. "I'll send a message to our medical facilities to be on the lookout for him. I'm sure he'll turn up."

Sabine continued to use the scanners in her gloves to search for life when her eyes noticed something on the ground. She bent over and picked it up, careful not to get pricked by the tiny syringe.

Kanan knelt next to her and examined the metal tip. "That doesn't look like a usual stormtrooper weapon," he said at last.

Sabine scanned the metal tip for identification. "It's a tranquilizer dart," she pronounced.

Zeb's bushy eyebrows narrowed. "What do the bucketheads want with tranquilizers? They shook to kill."

"Can I see that?" The officer took the tiny dart from Sabine and squinted. "Uh-oh."

"What do you mean, 'uh oh'?" demanded Hera.

"I was hoping those vultures wouldn't go swarming in after battlefields in this part of the Outer Rim. But they've gotten pretty hungry in their line of work…"

Kanan resisted the urge to seize the man by the lapels. Willing himself to use his training background, he straighten his spine and walked straight up to the man. The newcomer saw the glint of wrath in those cool green eyes and a prickle of fear formed in his stomach.

Kanan's voice was soft and ominous when he spoke. "What are you talking about?"

The man waved his hands madly in the air. "Couple of bandit gangs like to pick through battlefields and sell off survivors. The damaged ones get mended in a hurry and sold off to spice mines for a quick profit. The good-looking ones…" his voice trailed off.

"What?" Kanan rasped.

"Fifteen years old….black market high demand….. nice-looking kids…" the man admitted weakly.

Silence swirled into the smoke and ashes around them. Kanan stood tall and immobilized as his fingers curled into a tight fist. The members of his crew did not have to be Force masters to sense the waves of anger rolling off of him.

He whirled around and drove his foot into a cracked beam that tumbled to the ground in a thundering CRASH! Chopper zipped behind Zeb for cover.

Hera tried to keep her voice firm and controlled. But even she could feel her throat tightening up as she spoke. "We'll broaden our search."

Kanan turned to her with a hardened face but he nodded slowly.

"Zeb and I will cross-reference our contacts on the Ghost," Sabine suggested. She was prodded in the shoulder by Zeb who jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"We'd better give 'em a moment alone," he said. Sabine nodded. The Lasat and the Mandalorian headed back to the ship with Chopper trailing behind them. Once inside the Ghost, Sabine pulled off her helmet and began to scrub unshed tears from her eyes.

"I hope he's okay," she whispered fearfully.

"Worrying isn't gonna help Ezra," Zeb said. "We don't know for sure if the black market's got 'im anyway. And he's a smart kid. Got by on his own for years before he met us."

Sabine smiled weakly but her eyes revealed fear. "Yeah, but that was on his home world".

Hera remained beside Kanan on the battlefield. One part of her wanted to reach out with both arms and embrace him. But another part sensed his inner turmoil, warning Hera that the Jedi was wrestling with his emotions and had to maintain control of himself before he could proceed.

Kanan closed his eyes and drew in a breath. Wrath brewed in his stomach. The anger was subdued but not fully gone.

Master Depa Billaba had not chastised her apprentice for experiencing fear or anger. After all, Caleb Dume had come of age on the Clone Wars' battlefield, surrounded by bloodshed and terror. But how one dealt with those emotions just as was necessary for survival.

"Your emotions are a part of you but they do not dominate your existence," Master Billaba had taught him. "Learning to accept and then control them is part of your training. Be mindful of it, young padawan. The Dark Side enslaves a man with his own passions."

The Dark Side. Kanan was no stranger to the risks that lurked in that seductive encompassing power. He had chosen to accept his own limits and failures rather than be lured by arrogance.

But now he saw Ezra's face in his mind, the eager smile and the bright blue eyes, and instantly the Force flared up within Kanan. It was agonizing; the thought of his comrade falling into the greedy thieving hands of the darkest souls of the galaxy, of being physically and emotionally abused before they discarded him like a piece of trash.

Oh, the Empire could lock up Ezra and use their gadgets to poke and prod at him while saying it was for "the peace and order" of their government. The thieves and bandits of the universe had no such use for superficial codes. They would devour Ezra alive.

Kanan Jarrus had witnessed too many cruelties in the galaxy to be optimistic. He knew that some things could be broken beyond repair.

He rejoined the crew on the Ghost and after confirming their next destination, went into his room to meditate. Gathering the simmering thoughts in his head, he let them swirl around and then channeled his energies outward.

The bond between master and apprentice was strong and he would use it to find his prodigy. Kanan's connection to the Force skimmed through the galaxy like a shooting star.

"Ezra," Kanan thought. "Ezra, we are going to find you."

A-A-A

Kanan

Ezra tried to pry his eyes opens with his fingers but found it difficult. The magnetic-cuffs kept his wrists shackled tightly in his lap. His skin was clammy and he shivered in the damp room. How long had he been like this?

He had been aware of the agonizing pain, of being torn from Kanan in the blast, and then falling unconscious into the mud. Strong hands had lifted him up but instead of waking up to the clean warmth of a Rebel medical bay, he sensed dinginess and darkness.

The hands had roughly patched up his wounds and then there was a painful prick on his arm. He had succumbed to a drug-induced sleep. Now he struggled to use his voice, which felt sore after hours of silence.

"Ka..nan..."

"Which one, my dears? Look at the teeth in this one, white as pearls! And hasn't he got the nicest hands?"

Ezra's vision slowly began to slide into focus and he was aware of two figures uncuffing someone from the ground. The prisoner started to struggle but one of them pressed something into his arm and the prisoner's body went slack.

No, Ezra thought in horror. His mind was starting to work again and fear was suppressing the power of the drugs flowing through his system. He could smell rancid pipes and hear echoes bouncing off the walls of the warehouse.

A hairy hand brushed over his cheek, causing his insides to squirm in disgust. A hungry rasping voice spoke up. "This one looks interesting. But remember, I don't care for damaged goods.

Two people snickered behind him. "Whatever you say, Zu Massi. If you don't like this one then we've got a pair of blondes in this corner."

The one named Zu leaned against Ezra again and he nearly gagged from the foul smoky breath in his face. Danger hummed through Ezra's body and he instinctively thrust his hands up.

"NO!"

The Force burst from Ezra's fingertips in an invisible wave of power. It slammed into Zu, sending him skidding back across the floor. He clutched his chest and gasped for air. "What-what was that?" he glared at one of the slavers.

"Must've been a short-circuit in the power cuff," one muttered.

"Forget the kid. What about the blondes?" asked the other.

"Damn the blondes! Damn you dirt-scratchers!" Zu snarled. He rose to his feet and stomped out of the warehouse. The door banged behind him.

"Great. This one's getting to be more trouble than I thought," the first slaver grumbled. He moved towards Ezra with a syringe in hand. The wicked-looking needle glinted beneath the single spotlight.

"Won't…let..you…." Ezra hissed between his teeth.

"Hold him down before he pulls another magic trick," the slaver warned. His partner seized Ezra by the wrists and then yanked them over his head. Ezra struggled in place, willing himself to summon another attack, but he had already exhausted himself from the last struggle. The bite of the needle sank into his arm and his mind clouded over. The darkness pulled Ezra unwillingly into nothingness.

Ezra awoke what felt like weeks later. His limbs ached from sitting still and his tongue felt dry and heavy in his mouth. The slavers were still nearby, speaking in hushed frantic voices.

"...can't keep injecting him every hour. Y'know what Zu said about 'damaged goods'."

"Think the Pleasure House in 45th district will take him?"

"Maybe. Let's see if Bossy Bluehead delivers. The 45th district is a long way from here."

Someone blocked the spotlight, shielding Ezra from the slavers' attention. A sweet citrus aroma wafted over him. And then fingers were touching his chin, gently but firmly, maneuvering his head from side to side. Unlike Zu, the newcomer examined Ezra with professionalism.

He squinted to get a better look. The unique tint of her skin oddly reminded him of Hera and there was no mistaking the twin lekku trailing down her back. But this one was immaculately dressed in a business suit and had a voice that was cool and efficient as a newly-minted protocol droid.

"I don't like the scars," she said in a condescending tone. Silver earrings tinkled softly in agreement.

"They're part of his charm!" explained the slaver. "Besides, the rest of him is in excellent health. He has all of his teeth and no cumbersome cybernetic limbs."

The woman's focus swiftly shifted from the slaver back to Ezra. "Look at me," she demanded. Ezra instinctively did so and found himself looking into ice-blue eyes rimmed with black kohl. Instantly he thought of Hera and felt a stab of longing in his chest.

"Remarkable color," she murmured aloud. The Twi'lek released the grip on his chin and rose to her feet. She paused to smooth out a wrinkle in her skirt. "Sixty five is my proposal."

"Sixty five!" shouted the dealer. "With those eyes he's at least a hundred!"

"I'm sure he's worth every credit if you keep drugging him" she replied dryly. "I'm surprised his brain is still intact."

"And I'm certain the whorehouse up the street from your little nightclub will be very happy to have him instead," the dealer sneered.

"I'm sure they will," she said carelessly. "In the meantime I'll look elsewhere to do business."

The dealer wrung hands in frustration. "Fine! Fine! Eighty five is my final offer!"

The Twi'lek nodded in approval. She removed a stack of credits from a leather pocketbook and placed them into the dealer's hands. He snapped a thin metal band around Ezra's left wrist before removing the magnetic-cuffs.

"Good riddance you filthy scruff-louse," he hissed in Ezra's ear. Ezra was yanked to his feet and nearly shoved against the Twi'lek. His knees wobbled beneath him. Ezra drew in a deep breath as energy started to flow back through his veins.

"There's been a mistake," be blurted out. "I'm not a slave! I've got friends looking for me—"

"—and I'm sure they'll pay handsomely if they are your friends," she remarked. "In the meantime, consider yourself a full-time employee of the Jewel Garden."

"I'm not working for anyone!" Ezra exclaimed.

"Correct. Now you work for me." She held up her datapad. "That cuff on your wrist is linked to my records and accounts. If you try to leave the planet then the Imperial Security Bureau gets contacted and brings you back kicking and screaming."

Veins of energy roiled within Ezra, pushing the drugs away from his mind. His brain began to swim with options. He was smart, he could find a way out of this...right?

Focus. Concentrate.

Kanan's voice echoed in Ezra's ears, instantly calming his thoughts. He had no idea where he was. He had no contacts, weapons, or money. He was lucky to have gotten out of the hands of those slavers and they had mentioned a 'pleasure house' nearby. If he fell into the wrong hands again—no, he couldn't let that happen again.

I've got to play it cool, he told himself. At least until I know where I am and what I've gotten myself into.

He quietly followed the Twi'lek out of the warehouse and into daylight. Fresh breath filled Ezra's lungs as he examined his new master.

She may have been of the same species but there was little resemblance to Hera. The woman's skin was a deep rich blue; the color of Lothal's sky on a hot summer day. Silk gray trousers outlined long elegant legs while a matching jacket hugged the tall slender body. A lavender scarf trimmed with glass beads was wrapped around her head.

If the sight of a sapphire-colored Twi'lek was enough to stun Ezra then he was nearly knocked over from the city sprawled out before him. A labyrinth of walkways was spread out beneath Ezra's feet and skyscrapers glistened in the twin morning suns. Holographic images played Imperial news across towers while red and black banners of the Empire's crest hung from everywhere.

"Where are we?" Ezra blurted out.

"Iolanthe," replied the Twi'lek. The word rolled off her tongue like a sip of fine wine. Eye-oh-lahn-thee.

Iolanthe. This was a core planet and one of the first stronghold operations of the Empire. Ezra was definitely in deep waters.

A speedster was parked outside the warehouse and being guarded by a broad-chested man in a brown tunic and work pants. Coming closer, Ezra couldn't tear his eyes away from him. The man's skin resembled semi-melted wax that had hardened before taking proper shape. Bumps and grooves of multiple scars ran down the man's neck and into his shirt.

If the man was annoyed by Ezra's stares then he didn't show it and merely responded by examining Ezra in return. "This is him?" he asked the Twi'lek.

"This is him." The Twi'lek settled herself into the front of the speedster and motioned for Ezra to sit in the back. Seeing his hesitation she added, "It's a long walk to the club".

"How do I know this 'club' of yours isn't like those warehouse creeps?" Ezra demanded.

"It isn't," she said. "You have my word."

"That's not reassuring."

"The boss always keeps her word." The man grunted impatiently. "Now get in."

For a moment, Ezra contemplated running in the opposite direction. Then the chill of the metal cuff on his wrist reminded him of his situation. He reluctantly slid into the other seat.

"Take us home, Hogarth."

"You got it boss," the man said in a gravelly tone. The ignition roared to life and the speedster took off. Shining white buildings and endless roads skimmed beneath Ezra's feet as wind whipped though his air.

A-A-A

Iolanthe, 22nd District

The building was situated between two official government structures and instead of sleek paneling on the outside, boasted twin doors carved of rich brown wood. The sign overhead read The Jewel Garden in Basic gold lettering and four leafy potted plants decorated the doorpost. The two stormtroopers guarding the door looked out of place.

The Twi'lek gave them a cool nod and walked inside, followed by Hogarth and Ezra. The soldiers didn't even give Ezra a second glance as he crossed the threshold and walked down a corridor. The hallway soon opened up into a large room that caused Ezra to stop in his tracks.

He had never seen such elegance before in his life. The floor was marbled white and gold beneath thick velvet carpets. Silk drapes were pulled back from tall arched windows, letting the late afternoon sunlight spray out onto the floor in pink and yellow beams. Frosted glass tables and cushioned chairs sat in half-arcs around a small raised stage. A tiny maintenance droid made soft humming sounds as it pushed itself back and forth along the floor.

The room was empty except for two other Twi'leks. One had a pale blue complexion and was sitting in a corner playing a zephyr-harp. The other had skin the color of emeralds and was filling a vase with flowers while singing cheerfully to herself. She looked up from her work when everyone walked inside.

"Tamar!" chirped the green Twi'lek. She set down the flowers and rushed towards them. "How was town?"

"Same as always," replied Tamar. She sat down in a chair and removed her shoes. "This is our new busboy," she gestured to Ezra. "Make sure he's cleaned up and ready for tonight, Nava."

Nava clasped her hands together and examined Ezra. Her face was all dimples and cheekbones with golden eyes that twinkled with optimism. "He's so handsome!" she exclaimed.

The Twi'lek of the wintry blue skin approached too. She was even taller than Tamar and had an air of graveness about her. "He has interesting eyes. I think he will learn quickly."

"He has a name." Ezra finally found his voice.

"Which is?" Tamar demanded. He bit his tongue. Iolanthe was no place for Ezra Bridger. But Tamar appeared to be no fool and would likely laugh in the face of "Jabba the Hutt".

"To know someone's name is to know their essence; to be able to control them," Kanan had taught Ezra. As a Loth-rat he was used to pulling up various names to suit his needs but for his master, a hidden Jedi, names were a matter of life and death. The Empire was well-aware of this power too. They had stripped soldiers of their names and heritages and replaced them with indistinguishable codes to make them compliant.

Seeing Tamar patiently waiting for his response, Ezra decided that he wouldn't give her the full satisfaction of owning his identity.

"If you don't have a name then the boss will give you one," Hogarth warned him.

"Kay," Ezra heard himself say. "My name is Kay."

"Welcome to the Jewel Garden, Kay," said Nava cheerily.

A-A-A

The rest of the afternoon passed in a whirlwind. Ezra was whisked away up a flight of steps and into a refresher where he gratefully scoured his body of sweat and grime. He made generous use of the brightly-colored soaps heaped in glass jars to lather up his hair and even scrubbed vigorously behind his ears; something his mother had always chastised him for neglecting.

"You look better already," smiled the pale-blue Twi'lek. She had given him a white cotton robe to wear after he had dried off and carefully mended his cuts and bruises. Then she handed Ezra a bowl of soup. He slurped it down hungrily, teeth tearing on the chunks of meat and vegetables.

Ezra stopped halfway through long enough to wipe his mouth with the back of his wrist. "I didn't get your name".

"Miri." Her voice was soft and even as a bell's chime when she spoke.

Ezra was about to ask Miri another question when Nava dropped a stack of clothes in his lap. "Suit up, Kay."

"Are you serious?" He looked at them in disgust. The clothes reminded him too much of an Imperial cadet uniform; dark blue creased pants and a close-fitted gray jacket with an upturned collar.

"If you don't cooperate then the boss will get mad," warned Miri.

Nava batted her eyelashes playfully at Ezra. "Do you want some help getting dressed, Kay? I don't mind."

When she unexpectedly reached a hand out to Ezra's chest, he jumped back. "No! Okay, fine! I'll get dressed by myself!"

He snatched the clothes and shut the screen, fully aware of Nava's soft giggling in the other room. Sure enough, he felt stiff inside the clothes and immediately began fidgeting with the collar when he came out.

Then Nava dumped gel into his hair. He protested, he squirmed, but she successfully combed it back and slicked if off his forehead. A tin of makeup followed and he was so close to make it go flying out of her hands. Nava just dabbed enough of something flesh-colored onto his cheekbone to hide the parallel scars on his face. (If only she knew that he had gotten those badges of honor fighting the Grand Inquisitor!)

When Nava took out a gold earring Ezra knew this was the last straw.

"Relax, Kay. It's a clip-on. Besides, if you don't cooperate-"

"I know, I know," he grumbled. "The boss will get mad."

Nava grinned. "I knew you'd catch on. Now hold still." Ezra scowled but did as he was told. There was a soft pinch on his right earlobe and then it was over.

The screen door slid open with a wooosh. Tamar stepped into the room and without a word, motioned for Ezra to turn around. He reluctantly stood in front of the three-way mirror.

He was startled by the slim teen in the gray jacket scrutinizing him. With his hair slicked back from his face and the thin gold hoop glinting in his right ear, Ezra felt conscience of himself. But Ezra Bridger wasn't staring back. That young man had been covered up along with his twin scars. Kay of the Jewel Garden was examining the sharp young man in the mirror.

Instinctively his shoulders squared back and his spine straightened.

Nava and Miri smiled in approval while Tamar merely nodded.

A-A-A

Three Twi'leks, a scarred-up human, and a Padawan-in-hiding walk into a bar, Ezra thought. It sounded like the start of a bad joke.

Nightfall appeared on Iolanthe and dozens of guests were filling up the club. Dressed in a deep green gown and white gloves, Tamar was greeting them at the door and directing them to tables. Ezra noticed that half the crowd wore the subdued black and gray uniforms of Imperial officers while the other half boasted the elaborate and expensive wardrobes of politicians, businessmen, and high-ranking ladies.

He stood in a corner with his hands clasped behind his back and his ears cocked attentively. If he was careful, he might be able to eavesdrop in on some Imperial information that could be useful to the Rebel Alliance.

"Ah, my dear Tamar!" boomed a robust voice. A barrel-chested Imperial officer with a head of silvery hair and a beaming smile strode across the room to her. The officer brought her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it. "You have never looked lovelier".

"You are too kind Commander Lin." She smiled graciously at him. "And your tan suits you well. I take it your stay on Naboo was a pleasant one?"

"Pleasant as one can be on business," he admitted, releasing her hand. "But traveling can be so tedious! Naboo certainly has its gifts but none of its theaters are as charming as your dear little club."

"Then my 'dear little club' will see to it that your return home is well-celebrated." Tamar waved a hand to Hogarth. "A bottle of our best Correllian champagne for the Commander."

Hogarth uncorked the bottle and filled a tray of glasses. "Take this to the Commander's table," he ordered Ezra. The Padawan did as he was told and carefully carried it over to where Commander Lin was talking enthusiastically to several other guests, including two nearly-identical Imperial officers with brown hair.

"Sir, we have completed our prototypes and are awaiting your approval," one began.

"Later, later," he declared impatiently. "Your beacon devices won't be in full production for a while. For now, I insist that you brilliant young scientists enjoy yourselves this evening." The commander brightened up when Ezra set down the drinks.

Ezra noticed an affluent-looking diplomat at the opposite end of the table. He made sure to walk around and carefully set down the man's drink before slowly straightening up. In a single smooth stroke, Ezra's fingers pilfered the man's jeweled badge from his lapel.

"Thank you, young man," said the diplomat. The brown-haired Imperial officers gave no such thanks and merely sipped their drinks. Ezra nodded in obedience and left the table, badge curled tightly in his fingers. Hope rose up in him. If he could pawn the badge for credits, maybe he could buy his freedom from Tamar or hire someone to help him escape.

He had just returned the tray to Hogarth when Tamar appeared at the bar. "Kay, come to my office right now."

"But I haven't finished the drinks," he said.

"Now," she insisted.

Hogarth shrugged at Ezra, who followed Tamar down the hallway and into well-lit room. She shut the door and leaned against the desk. Tamar picked up a slim metal rod and tapped it twice on the floor.

"Give it back," she demanded.

Ezra widened his eyes innocently. "What?"

Tamar's hand lashed out. WHACK! The metal rod cracked Ezra on his backside. He staggered back, breath knocked out of him, too stunned to respond. Then the flare of pain hit his skin.

"Kriff! Are you crazy!?" he shouted.

Tamar snatched his chin in her fingers, nails digging into his skin. Her eyes hardened into chips of ice.

"No, Kay. You are the crazy one to use cheap parlor tricks in my club," she hissed. "Unless you want Imperial officers to shut it down and send us all to slave labor camps and whorehouses then you will return Governor Hawthorne's badge. Now."

Tamar shoved Ezra back against the wall. His knees were shaking and his heart was banging back and forth against his rib cage. She had smacked him. He could never recall his mother hitting him like that. Oh, he had gotten a small slap on the wrist once in a while, but never anything humiliating as this. And no matter how frustrating missions or training became, Kanan hadn't dared as lift a finger to Ezra.

She had replaced her mask of the ideal hostess and was reapplying makeup in the mirror. "Go wash your face," she ordered him. "You look like a terrified toddler."

Ezra put a hand to his face and was astonished to find it wet with tears. He bolted from the room, feeling sick, confused, and hurt all at once. He made it to the refresher and instantly splashed cold water on his face. He hated this place, he hated Tamar and her nasty demands and having to pander to Imperial officers.

Ezra banged a fist against the sink. "Karabast!" he cursed.

"You can't afford to get cocky here," Hogarth spoke up. He was leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. Ezra realized that the lights in the bar were much softer. They hid most of Hogarth's scars.

"I, I just didn't think it would matter," Ezra heard himself say.

"Everything matters," Hogarth said. He handed Ezra a towel, who accepted gratefully and scrubbed at his face. "I know, I know. Tamar isn't an easy person to work for. But I'd rather be under this roof then have the heels of the Empire on my neck."

Tamar's threats swirled around in Ezra's head. "Unless you want Imperial officers to shut it down and send us all off to slave labor camps and whorehouses…"

When Ezra was fully composed he returned to the table. Everyone had risen from their seats and Governor Hawthorne appeared to be examining around his chair for something. Ezra lightly tapped him on the shoulder.

"Pardon my intrusion, Governor," he said in his smoothest voice. "I found this on the ground. It must have fallen off and gotten kicked across the room". He handed the badge to the diplomat who beamed with delight.

"Thank goodness! And here I was so worried that I had lost it." The governor pinned his badge back on and nodded to Ezra. "Tamar is fortunate to have such a dedicated staff." The Governor removed a credit piece from his pocket and extended it to Ezra, who accepted eagerly.

"Oh yes. She's fortunate all right," Ezra chimed in, slipping the credit into his pocket.

"I must agree with you, Governor. This fine young man knows how to show proper respect," replied Commander Lin.

Ezra felt the charade improving and managed a little bow. "It is my honor to serve." The lie rolled off his tongue smoothly as he helped the officers into their coats. And much to his surprise, Commander Lin handed him a credit piece as well.

"For your service to the Empire," he announced proudly.

"Not a bad joke after all," Ezra grinned to himself. The rest of the night past swiftly in a blur of music and drinks. While Ezra was kept busy going from table to table, his ears tuned in to the sound of Miri playing the zephyr-harp on the stage. Nava accompanied her on a double-reed flute. The music send soft shivers down his spine and made him think of the wind blowing through the tall grass of Lothal.

Lothal. Ghost. Space. Kanan. Everyone. Family.

When the last guest had finally left and every bottle of Correllian wine emptied, Ezra sat down in an empty seat and fingered his money. His joy was cut short when Tamar sat down across the table from him.

"Money on the table," she demanded. It took every ounce of self-control for Ezra not to throw the credits in her face but he gritted his teeth and did as he was told.

Tamar removed the credit that Governor Hawthorne had given Ezra. Then she placed a finger upon the credit from Commander Lin and slid it back across the table to him. "You earned that one," Tamar explained.

He eyed the money and then Tamar warily. ""Are you going to hit me again?" he asked.

"Have you done anything to deserve punishment?" Tamar responded.

"I don't think so."

"Then you have your answer, Kay."

Ezra quickly picked up the credit piece before she could change her mind.

A-A-A

Author's notes:

Iolanthe is Greek for "violet" and inspired by the Gilbert and Sullivan opera of the same name.

The Twi'leks all have Hebrew-based names. Tamar is "date tree", Nava is "beauty", and Miri is "bitter". Fans of Star Wars Rebels will notice its similarity to the name of Ezra's mother, Mirah. Miriam is another name based on the same word. Hogarth's name was inspired by the hero from The Iron Giant.

Reviews are always appreciated and unlike Imperial credits, remain steadfast despite the intergalactic rate of exchange.