I sat on the floor and stared blankly at the empty bag I held, paying attention neither to the damp salt-air blowing through the open doors, nor the chill it raised on my skin. A neat stack of possessions, all of which I had worn and used, but none of them mine, was settled next to the foot of the bed, and each item brought a flash of memory:

...A duster, leggings, and ubese shirt in mottled green:

I crawled through the grass on Rori, the reek of muck and mire and singed flesh in my nose, dragging his motionless form behind me. He'd taken a shot to the head and one to his side, and the Rebels were still firing at the faint depression left in the grass. I wondered how his cover had been broken, whether they'd hear me moving over their blaster fire... whether he was just stunned or worse.

I spied the gleam of some feral animal's bright, wide eyes through the tall grass, and squeezed off a quick shot on my silenced spraystick, sending the panicked creature bounding towards the camp of Rebels. I heard their fire tracking the movements of the poor animal, and the body I was carrying emitted a faint but very fluent curse. I quickly lowered him and fumbled with my medkit.

?He's going to be livid when he realizes I left my post,? I thought to myself, pulling out an advanced wound series and a stimpack. I noticed how the streaks of green and yellow left on my medical whites caused me to fade into the foliage; I knew he'd also be angry when he saw how badly I'd damaged the uniform.

Maybe the headache he was waking up with would keep him distracted.

...A silver bustier and a matching skirt:

?Turn around,? he chuckled, and I obliged with a pirouette, letting the silk skirt flare. ?I like the look, though it blends with your skin too well. You look nearly naked.?

I smiled patiently, made a show of cringing, and folded my hands modestly, earning a cool laugh from the man. ?You'll wear it anyway. No one will be so gauche as to comment on how I display my property for this reception, though I'm sure the paper-pushing noncoms will find it an amusing distraction from Lord Vader's upcoming visit.?

He reached for the skirt, grabbed a handful of the shining fabric, crushed it between his fingers, and I watched his lips curl into a little moue of disdain. ?Have my dress uniform prepared in ten minutes, and assist me in bathing when you are done.?

I nodded, curtsied, turned away, hearing him mutter about Imperial grey.

...An intricate arrangement of red ribbons:

I wondered how I was supposed to wear the crimson ribbons dangling from his forefinger. ?Stop smirking,? he snarled in response to the skeptical expression I wore. ?It was to be a reward for completion of your studies, but I can use it to leave you bound on the balcony to dance in a hailstorm until you re-learn your place, twi'lek.?

I dropped to the floor, kowtowing and whispering an apology for the disrespect. ?I'm sure even a brainless alien like yourself can figure out how to put these on. The cantina girls in Kaadara are wearing these now.?

He dropped the ribbons on the floor. ?I expect to see you dancing in this within half an hour,? he answered, sneering as he glanced through the window, obviously noting the stormclouds gathering in the late afternoon sky above the balcony. ?Outside, where I can see.?

I had been offered residence in a small complex outside of Bestine, only a short walk up the blistering dunes to the Imperial base that overlooked the city. I'd been stationed off planet for a week, where they'd run me through all tests imaginable. I still don't know what the results of those tests were, just that I saw a lot of arguing made silent by the permaglass barrier between the testing chambers, with a black-uniformed officer brandishing a datapad at a team of white-uniformed medic.

I guess the test results indicated that I wasn't suitable even for drudge work in the barracks, because they told me I was free to find whatever employment I could until otherwise informed, but that I had to check in every week with the technicians in the city medical center.

Even after they finished the first set of weekly tests (which mostly involved a surgical droid passing a series of scanners over me, drawing a vial of blood, and obtaining a sample of my skin), I spent all day in the hospital. The staff quickly realized I had a medical background, and obviously the prejudice against non-humans didn't extend too far into the frontier worlds of the Outer Rim when there was tedious duties involved.

I was set to work mixing pharmaceuticals for stims and wound packs, and it was a measure of their trust that they even let me work with the neurotoxins used in minute amounts for their emergency anaesthetics.

The building was sunk slightly in the ground and dark, lit only by the glowlamps on the tables and around the bar, and the faint gleam of a skylight set in the wall; it was dim and dusty, but not as hot as the ground-level buildings surrounding it, and the air bore a trace of spice and alcohol. The buzz of crisp-accented conversation, polite arguments, laughter, hushed whispers, and the raspy voice of a chidinkalu horn warbling out a jazzy melody greeted me.

I stood there a while and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. Men and women of various species sat at tables, both uniformed and casually dressed, some in armor, some wearing dusty farm-rags, some slurring their speech and others talking in crisp cadences. A few tired-looking human women wearing enough to earn them a fatal sunburn outside alternately wiggled, danced and brought drinks to tables.

I took a step further into the room, trying to find the tall figure of Doctor Vandris, and almost tripped over someone sitting on the floor. I looked down, crouched to offer my apologies.

Dark eyes blinked up from the black-tattooed face, and a broad grin settled on the man's mouth. ?Bout time they sent another dancer in here,? he drawled lazily, ?Was getting tired of these ones. No grace, you know. Humans.? He tossed a few credit coins to one of the tired-looking women, laughed and stood up, taking my hands and pulling me to my feet, making as if to spin me in the opening steps of a formal dance.

?Oh - no - I'm sorry, sir, I'm not an entertainer. I'm just here to??

?You should be, honey,? he leered, ?Rather watch you.?

I just looked at him for a few moments. He definitely had a theme going with the black color: He was wearing all black, his hair was black and fell straight and glossy to the middle of his back, and there were peculiar little black horns poking through the crown of his hair. He stared back. Carefully released my hands and stepped away, stooping to retrieve a laser rifle from the floor next to a glass of something strong smelling with ice. Sweat beaded on his brow.

?Hey, aren't you the one that was on the holone-?

What's with these people?

My voice was quiet as I tried to figure out what was wrong with him and what he was talking about. ?I'm sorry. I came from the medical center ? I'm just looking for Doctor Vandris, they need him there.?
?Yeah... Okay.? The tattooed man looked relieved and he held up a calloused hand, turning around. He pointed to a nearby table at which a tall, skinny man sat slouched in an ill-fitting white coat. ?He's in here all the time.?

?Thank you, sir.? I stood on my toes and kissed the tattooed face on the cheek. There was a muffled thump behind me as the black-clothed man sat heavily on the floor, swearing in some language I couldn't understand.

?Doctor Vandris?? I called quietly, heading towards the white coated figure.

Rolling over, I realized I was on the floor, somehow half under the table, dazed and deafened by the roaring of the concussive blast that had knocked me down. I saw the trousered legs of Dr. Vandris propped against the table, crawled forward a bit to look up and see whether he was all right.

Fire was licking over the table, and the abandoned comlink was still flashing insistently in a pitcher of burning jawa beer. But I didn't see the top half of Dr. Vandris anywhere. Nor did I think my limited medical training would do much for what was left of him.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, nauseated by the smell of sweet smoke and hot metal, and retreated back under the table. There were hoarse shouts, the crackling sound of flames eating away at the cantina walls. Some weak moans and whimpers.

?Finish it up! We gotta get out of here before they call in reinforcements!? one of the figures screamed. He wore some sort of heavy armor, looked to be ceramic, maybe composite, all black. His voice was distorted by the full-face helm he wore, and he was spraying fire over the entire cantina.

?Cool it, it'll be a while," one of the other figures growled, gauntleted hands twitching on a laser rifle. "We got some people starting fights in another part of town, and we got a riot staged outside the Prefect's office. We can finish off the loyalists here and be back in Anchorhead before they get here.?

I watched the man, who in turn watched me, the display of a data terminal between us. The screen cast a corpselike blue glow over his pale features and the crisp uniform he wore; it was obvious that, despite being stationed on Tatooine, he didn't see much of the suns. Most humans on Tatooine were normally quite brown.

His stare sharpened into a glare as his eyes followed my lekku, the tips of which were twitching idly, tapping back and forth, back and forth, on my shoulders. A nervous habit of mine, I guess. I'm not usually even aware of it.

Permitting himself a sigh of disgust, exasperation, the man pushed himself to his feet. ?This is quite irregular,? he declared.

I looked up at him, letting my eyes focus about mid-chest level on him. ?Sir.? It was respectful and neither agreed nor disagreed, and he could take it how he wanted.

?The number of charges that could be levied against you, starting with your unauthorized removal of medical components from an Imperial medical facility . . . ? He recited a litany of offenses I'd apparently committed when I'd flung the pilfered vials of toxin towards the invaders, with spectactular results. I'd been expecting chemical paralysis, not a mass of blistered, bloody death.

I hazarded a quick glance up at the man's face, which was pinched with disgust. I'd seen the expression before. ?Stupid twi'lek? was usually the next phrase uttered by someone wearing that face. However, he simply finished his speech with ? . . . the number of civilian casualties is regrettable, but as one stupid alien, yourself, was the sole survivor, the report making the rounds on the holonews places all blame squarely on the insurgents.?

Clearing his throat, the man continued: ?However, one of the ... rebels... was apparently the son of the Regional Governor, which places all of us in an awkward position. He is, of course, humiliated that his family harbored a traitor to the Empire, but neither will he allow the matter of his foolish offspring's demise to pass unnoticed. Somehow, he has become aware that a twi'lek employed in our medical facilities obtained an amount of a venomous agent intended for ... classified purposes.?

I looked down, deciding against arguing that the vials had been with those marked for use in emergency anaesthetics, and hadn't been sealed up or classified or anything of the sort. A thought crept along the pathways of my mind: Someone put those there intentionally.

?He is also aware that said twi'lek was sent to the cantina on an errand, and that his son died as a result of this venomous agent, and that said twi'lek miraculously escaped death. Thus, he has called for the termination of this twi'lek.

?I concur.?

My lekku curled tightly around my shoulders, I held myself motionless, and stared into the man's flinty, steel-grey eyes.

?However, despite my recommendations,? he sneered, ?I've received orders that indicate that such is not to occur. The Empire apparently thinks a worthless alien like yourself has more value than the wounded pride of a politician with his career in shambles. We cannot, of course, let your transgressions go unpunished. You have been 'terminated' ? from employment at the medical center. ?

I stammered something, I'm not even sure what, it might have been a disbelieving laugh. Whatever it was, it elicited a cold laugh from the human.

?Your resistance to that venom, particularly when it destroyed everything living in a most impressive radius, is doubtless why you are not scheduled for termination. Even aliens have their uses, and fortunately for you, you have already been conditioned to loyalty to our ideals - your records make that quite clear. We have some ... assignments... for you to complete.?

Eyebrows arched quizzically, I coughed, then managed a single word. Not the brightest remark, but I was still stunned by the entire conversation. ?Uh - assignments??

?It is expected that some targets of interest will be visiting Bestine within the week. You'll find the descriptions in your datapad.?

?Sir??

He looked impatient, but obviously realized my remark was regarding his expectations. ?It is an embarrassment to have a ragged band of scum holding our township hostage. Our bio-engineering teams expect to have some chemicals rather more subtle tested and monitored, and we expect to have the insurgents removed. Preferably with a minimum of loyal citizens being harmed, of course.?

?Where . . . ??

He smiled mirthlessly. ?Even terrorists need to relax with a drink occasionally. Figure it out.?