#pedroficnetwork

On the best of days, Din hated Coruscant. He supposed there were nice and shiny layers near the top of the urban nightmare, but the people he normally had to associate with were dumpster trash and gutter scum.  When he first arrived, Din attempted to stay in the middle layer as he visited a couple of reputable coin shops as well as a museum buyer, but they had been suspicious of an armored Mandalorian who had been tight-lipped about the provenance of ancient Ossum Aurodium coins from the Old Republic.  Knowing that word would get around fast, Din made his way to the lower level and the more disreputable establishments before they twigged to his presence.   

Din was walking down a particularly skeevy street where he drew the attention of some painted sex workers.  Until recently he might have enjoyed their attention.  But now, the simple, clean look of a sweet, soft, silver-haired woman held more appeal.  The idea that anyone would call his Marathel a whore when compared to these streetwalkers rankled him.  Still, sex worker or not, they were still people, and potentially useful.   

He was speaking to the prostitute with the fewest misspelled tattoos and the smallest of canker sores on their lip about where he could attempt to sell the coins when he felt the tell-tale brush of a pickpocket reaching into the bag where Grogu was sleeping.  In a flash, Din had slammed the would-be thief against the closest wall. He placed the business end of a blaster against the pickpocket’s skull while pointing another blaster at the prostitute.  “Friend of yours?” growled Din. 

“Never saw him before in my life,” drawled the sex worker.   

The pickpocket turned his head, and there were canker sores on his lip that matched the prostitute’s.  Never saw him before, my ass.  Din pulled back his blaster and thwacked it against the head of the pickpocket, who crumpled into the gutter.  Handing credits to the prostitute, Din muttered, “Get better friends.  And get that lip looked at.  It can’t be good for business.”  As he walked away, he reached into the bag to check on Grogu, who was still fast asleep. 

Din plodded down the deep level city streets through the cold drizzle.  It always seemed to be night down here, and time seemed to have no meaning.  Although Din kept himself covered from head to toe, that did not diminish the fact that he rather liked warm sunshine and would occasionally strip down to nothing and lay on the highest part of his ship just to bask in the sun’s warmth.  It rarely happened anymore, but the pull was always there, particularly when he felt damp and cold all over.  If he ever took up Karga’s offer of that little secluded cabin, he’d make sure there was a high platform with a privacy screen around it.  He wondered how long Marathel could lay naked in the sun before her paler-than-white skin burnt to a crisp when he sneezed, feeling chilled and cranky.  And now I have snot on the inside of my visor.  Fabulous. 

Din was glad he opted to carry the oilskin bag on this venture, and that he’d snagged a blanket for Grogu before they’d left the ship.  At least the kid was warm and dry.  Down the darkened street was a half-working neon light displaying the universal three gold balls of pawn shops everywhere.  Din watched as a brute chucked some skinny ne’er-do-well out the metal door of the establishment, cementing Din’s opinion of ground-level Coruscant activity.  With a sigh, he stepped over the moaning miscreant and up to the metal door that was still filled with the broad shoulders of the Gamorrean bouncer.  Din looked up at him, and the Gamorrean glared down at Din. This continued for several seconds until Din heard a gravelly voice call out, “Dammit, PeeWee, let him in or close the damn door, it’s cold out there!”  Din tilted slightly to look past the Gamorrean’s neck folds into the pawnshop, but he could not see who spoke.  Finally, PeeWee the bouncer stepped aside enough to allow Din to pass silently inside. 

The interior was dim but warm.  Din stamped his feet on the mat and shook some of the rain off his armor.  He stepped closer to the long counter at the back, seeing the highly polished coins and jewels within. Feeling hopeful, Din stood at the counter, looking for whomever had spoken earlier.  Not seeing anyone, he began to to look around the shop until he finally heard “Fucking Mandalorians.  Down here, dickless wonder!” from somewhere around his waist level.  Looking down behind the counter, he saw a — woman? — about the size of a shaved Ewok, but with the biggest beard and eyebrows he’d ever seen on a female of any species he’d ever encountered.  Din tilted his helmet as he considered her.  She tilted her head in the opposite direction, and snapped, “What are you looking at, fuckwit?” 

“I have a coin to potentially sell.” 

“Well, good for you, shitstain.  Whaddya want, a cookie?” 

Din pulled his chin back.  “If I have offended, madam, I do …” 

“You think you’re special, you nerf-fucker?  I talk to everyone like this.” The creature scratched her crotch as she climbed up to a platform that put her head and shoulders above the counter level.  Thankful that he was wearing gloves, he handed over a single coin to the hairy-palmed woman.  She flipped the coin over, screwed a magnifier into her eye socket, and then scrutinized the coin. She looked up at him, and asked in an infinitesimally kinder tone, “How many more ya got?” 

Din shook his head.  “Only one.” 

“Sleen-shit.  These things are never found alone.  Not in this condition.  These only come from a fucking hoard.” 

“What can you tell me about it?” 

“That it’s obviously never been circulated, it’s the finest quality of this coin I’ve ever seen, and this is the best opportunity you’ll ever have to be rich.” 

“I’m listening.” 

“Have you shown these to any other buyers here on Coruscant?”  Din nodded, The furry woman sighed, muttered some sort of insult that used the phrase skid mark, and pointed a long claw at Din.  “I’m going to tell you a place to go, and you’re going to go right now, and you’re going to sell those coins.”  

“Partial or full hoard?” 

“Full.” 

“Whom shall I say sent me?” 

“Blewogg.”  Din nodded at her.  “I don’t need or want to know where or how you got them.  I’m sure you’re just a prolapsed asshole who got a fantastically lucky score.  You should be sucking the dick of whomever put you in line to get those coins until your tongue falls out of your head and you’re burping sperm into your caf.  I’ll just say … you’re going to make my buyer very, very happy.” 

“And your cut?” 

“I’ll get it on the back side.”  Now that the deal was apparently done, the female’s eyes and tone softened.  “Can I see him? The little Jedi?” 

Din scowled.  “See who?”  Blewogg nodded at the oilskin bag, and the tiny hand holding Din’s thumb through an opening where the flap met the strap.  Din was so accustomed to the grasp on his thumb he hadn’t noticed.  Din looked back at the furry female creature, asking, “You know … the Jedi?” 

“Know of them.  Know the little ones were trained here.” 

“Then you know I couldn’t have a little one in this bag.  The Jedi Purge began twenty-odd years ago.” 

“The little one in the bag’s been little for a long time.” 

Din was taken aback.  He carefully lifted the flap of the bag, and Grogu poked his fuzzy head out.  “You know … His people?” 

“Only ever saw the one full-grown version of him,” she said, pointing at Grogu.  “I never went in the Temple; they never tapped me with having Force powers …. I can only tell if one is near.  But there was one who looked like him.”  Blewogg smiled; at least that what Din thought she was doing, considering her mouth hardware looked more accustomed to chewing rocks.  “Now listen to me.” 

Din had listened, and Blewogg had said some very interesting things, not the least of which was watching out for the osi’kovid from earlier, as well as various vermin sent out by the establishments he’d visited earlier.  Apparently, the skinny guy ousted by PeeWee was a former trusty who tried to get a bigger piece of the action.  Now, Din was continuing down the street, following Blewogg’s directions.  Grogu was ensconced again within the bag, but he wasn’t happy about it, and was chattering, and Din could not get him to be quiet. Even though the rain had stopped, Grogu’s chatter was distracting enough that Din was having a hard time concentrating on listening for anyone specifically tracking him. 

He knew the coins were valuable.  He knew it, but to now know the actual, potential worth of the damned things, Din was now as nervous as he’d ever been in his life.  He thought he had been able to imagine great wealth in his younger days.  When he was running with the mercenaries, they all had dreams of the elusive big score that would set them up for the rest of their days. Xi’an in particular had expensive tastes, and he seemed to remember she’d get him to spend his take on her once the divvy was done. She would have probably set up a crucible to melt the damn coins into bullion as soon as they hit her grubby little paw, thought Din. 

Din felt the presence of followers, both directly behind him and off his right flank.  The one at about his four had fallen into Din’s step pattern. Amateur, he thought.  The one behind him had very light footfalls, but it was hard to tell more with Grogu still making noise.  Din reached behind his cuirass, finding a stash of his seaweed sweet balls, now soft and sticky.  He got a couple loose and shoved them into the opening of the bag where Grogu’s hand was. Din normally didn’t give him these sweets because they tended to make Grogu’s teeth stick together, but that was something Din could deal with later.  Right now, he needed quiet.   

As Grogu grunted quietly in the bag, contentedly chewing on the sweet mass of chewy seaweed he was suddenly gifted, Din realized the four o’clock chump had peeled off and headed down a cross-street.  Nothing wrong with a little paranoia, thought Din.  Not if that paranoia kept you breathing for another day.  The footsteps behind him continued to get closer.  Too close.  The footsteps suddenly picked up in pace and moved up to his left flank, closer to Grogu. 

Din spun to his left, tucking the bag with Grogu under his swirling cape, right hand pointing his favorite blaster right at the wimpled forehead of a blue-skinned portly nun. The nun stopped in her tracks, her red eyes bulging and a noise that sounded like eeeep escaping from her throat. Din hurriedly stowed his blaster, muttering apologies.  The nun’s elaborately shaped coif trembled.  She squeaked out, “I’m late for Vespers!” 

“Why are you out here by yourself?” asked Din, looking up and down the street.  “I thought you had to travel in pairs.”   

The nun looked down and put her hands up her voluminous sleeves, putting him in the mind of Marathel.  “There’s not enough of us to do that anymore.” 

“I would be happy to escort you, Sister.”  Even though Blewogg made the point very strongly that he should not deviate from his path to the coin buyer, this was a nun, for Frith’s sake, and his mother would smack him a good one if he was discourteous to a nun.  “It’s not far, is it?” 

“Just up the street,” she said, and Din nodded.  He extended his arm, indicating that she should walk slightly in front of him, just off his left side, so that he was closer to the gutter.  He adjusted his visor to better see in the low light levels.  Grogu was quiet in the bag.  A couple of passersby were on the other side of the street.  Din flipped his cape off his right shoulder to show off the blaster on his hip, just in case anyone got any ideas.  

It was, of course, at this exact moment when someone on a speeder coming from the opposite direction leapt at Din like a Kowakian monkey-lizard, attempting to collar him to the ground. Din pushed the nun forward to keep her out of the fray, using the momentum of his assailant to throw him into the grated window beside him.  The assailant bounced off the grate, and Din threw him to the sidewalk, placing his boot on the attacker’s neck.  “… Coins …” rasped the attacker. 

“Nope.” Din punctuated his reply with a blaster hit to the attacker’s forehead.  Din sighed and stowed his blaster.  He looked quickly in the bag, and Grogu grinned at him with seaweed-covered teeth.  The nun was cowering by the wall on her knees, frantically fingering her prayer beads as she whispered to herself.  “Sister …” Din reached out his hand to her.  “I’m sorry about that. Let me help you.” She stared up at him with her red eyes, her headgear trembling, but she took his proffered hand and let him help her up.   

The nun put her hands back in her sleeves and they set to walking again.  “Do things like that happen…” she began, just as three large burly types came running from a side street. Din shoved the nun forward again, and he turned and got off one shot from his blaster, only winging one burly type as the three of them hit the one of him, launching them all through the plate-glass window of a store that specialized in sexual aids and pornographic holovids.   

As Din crashed into the rack holding the latest and greatest of lubricants, he managed to grab the shoulders of one of the thugs and did his best to flip him over, which worked well enough to send the thug into the air-driven condom display, deflating all the sample condoms.  Do people still use those? wondered Din as he continued to slide along the smooth floor, aided by the fact that he had burst several bottles and sachets of lube under his back as he went.  In the bag that he clutched to his chest, Din could hear Grogu making a distinct wheeee noise as he slid to a stop against a rack of holodiscs, labeled “Sexy Stormtroopers Shoot Their Loads”. 

And probably miss, Din thought as he leapt to his feet and promptly slipped on the lube track he’d left on the floor, accidentally blasting a hole in the ceiling.  Oops.  He rolled out of the lubricated path and tossed the bag containing Grogu at the counter clerk, who had been leaning up against the counter, disinterestedly tapping on his holopad.  “Get down, you osi’kovid!  And keep an eye on the kid!” 

The clerk never looked up but caught the bag in one hand, gave a thumbs-up to Din and said, “Gotcha covered, grandpa.”  The clerk then disappeared behind the counter. Din sighed and returned his attention to two of the three thugs who were bearing down on him.  One peeled off to go around him, and the other pulled a blaster and got off two shots, one shot missing Din entirely and the other bouncing off his beskar.  Din returned fire, and the thug yelped as his kneecap was blown away, then was silenced by a shot to the face.   

Din heard running steps behind him, and as he turned, the second thug hit him across the helmet with a … what the shab? … a meter-long, double-ended, bright pink silicone dildo that featured heavily sculpted veins and a fist at each end.  “SERIOUSLY?” shouted Din as he snatched the dildo from his assailant’s hands, giving him a healthy whack across the chops with it and knocking him to the ground.  Din, tired of this nonsense, shot a whistling bird point blank at the nitwit on the floor, and his face disappeared behind the small explosion. 

Din looked up to see the third thug standing next to the now-limp condom display.  The thug looked at the armored Mandalorian, covered in glitter lube, gripping the enormous pink dildo in one hand and a blaster in the other, and said, “Fuck this.”  Grabbing an extra-large variety-pack of condoms, the remaining thug leapt out the window and into the night. 

The nun timidly stepped up to the broken window, and then frowned deeply at Din.  Din looked down at the dildo in his hand, grimaced, and hid it behind his back.  “I think I’m safer by myself, Mandalorian,” she scoffed, turning away.  As the nun walked off, she called over her shoulder, “I’ll pray for you.” 

“Thank you, Sister,” said Din with a sigh.  Stepping over the two bodies, Din made his way back to the counter, laying down the giant dildo.  He looked over the counter to see Grogu happily singing brbb-brbb-brbb while hugging a heavy-duty black vibrator taller than he was, buzzing at full speed and wriggling across the floor.  “Grogu!  Put that down!”  He glared at the clerk, still disinterested in the chaos around him.  The clerk looked up from his holopad, shrugged, and took the black vibrator back from Grogu, who chittered angrily at his new toy being taken away.  The clerk hefted himself up and plunked Grogu and the bag down on the counter.  Grogu cooed and went to play with the pink dildo, but Din grabbed him and replaced him in the bag.  “Sorry about the mess,” muttered Din. 

“No worries, grandpa, boss got insurance. By the way, the hatch is in that corner.”  The clerk pointed to the far corner which was inhabited by off-line low-end pleasure droids. 

“Hatch?” 

“Auntie Woggy called.”  It took Din a moment to realize that the clerk meant Blewogg, and that this was where he was supposed to find the passage that would lead him towards the coin buyer.  “Not a blood relation.  She married my uncle.” 

Din nodded.  “Well … lucky for him.”  He sighed again, looking around at the enormous mess.  “So does that lube come without glitter?” 

Marathel was unable to measure the passage of time.  She slept some, sang to herself some, but mostly was simply still.  Fennec was nervous enough without her adding to it, so Marathel did her best to remain quiet.  She felt quite certain that where they were going was a closely guarded secret, and she was accustomed to those. 

Marathel was unable to read, but she could count.  She made up games in her head where she tried to count all the blue buttons, or all the green lights.  There were more green lights if she lay in her right side, but more blue buttons on her left side.  However, there were more flashing green lights on her left side than her right, which she supposed evened things out.  The flashing lights blinked at different speeds, so Marathel gave them names and imagined their conversations back and forth, which amused her to the point of laughing out loud, prompting Fennec to ask what was wrong with her.  Marathel answered, “Just tickling my brain,” which earned her quite the look from Fennec. 

Marathel had dozed off again, purely out of boredom this time, and when she awoke, Fennec was gone.  Marathel looked over at the medi-droid, but it was silent and apparently turned off.  Unfortunately, Marathel desperately needed the necessary, or vac-tube, or whatever the thing was called.  She pulled herself up, accidentally removing some of the sensors attached to her in the process.  The medi-droid blared into life, sounding an alarm that startled Marathel nearly out of her skin.  The medi-droid came over and pressed her shoulders back down to the cot, its extra arms reattaching the sticky sensors to her skin.  Marathel could hear running footsteps coming towards the room.  Fennec slid to a stop in the doorway.  “Marathel!  Are you all right?” 

Marathel, wide-eyed, replied, “I don’t think I need the necessary anymore.” 

Fennec smiled wanly.  “Well, get ready to hang on; we’re about to drop out of hyperspace.”  Marathel looked blankly at her.  “We’re almost there, and the ride might get bumpy, okay?” 

Marathel swallowed.  “Okay.” 

“Just … just keep hanging on, Marathel,” said Fennec as she left the med-bay again. 

Marathel couldn’t answer, so she just nodded and closed her eyes.  How did I go from throwing a rock at a metal man to … here?  Never in any possible dream that she could come up with did she ever think that she would be flying through the infinite darkness in a metal box to people who could potentially reverse what the Elders did to her.  That she could be redeemed from her Belwhyn state.  

Fennec had attempted several times to convince Marathel that none of it was her fault.  There was nothing that she could do that deserved the punishment she endured.  Marathel would sometimes half-believe it, at least for a short time.  Fennec also tried to convince Marathel that she should not feel guilty that she was able to escape her certain death, leaving the others behind. Fennec had also done some digging and had received the same information as Din: The New Republic was highly unlikely to intervene in the fate of Marathel’s kinswomen on her planet, despite the degradation that the women were forced to suffer.  The laws of one planet could not supersede another, especially one that was considered a primitive culture.  If there had been anything useful on the pkanet, the Empire would have exploited those resources long ago.  Same shit, different day, Fennec had said to Marathel, and Marathel agreed with that, even though she had no knowledge of what the Republic or Empire were. 

The mercenary brought his ship out of hyperspace, and Fennec could finally see where they were heading: an old Outer Rim-style space station with six Star Destroyers tethered to it, like petals on a daisy.  Oh, kriff.  Oh, kriff, kriff, kriff.  The Modifier caught Fennec’s eye and said, “no, it’s not Imps, just … Imp adjacent.  But mostly repurposed for the Republic.” 

“Mostly?” asked Fennec. 

The Modifier shrugged.  “The Imps had better medical technology.  More knowledgeable people, more resources.” 

“Well, that’s nice and all,” drawled the mercenary, “but I just need to know where to dump the bloody broad so I can book it.  Imps make me nervous, adjacent or otherwise.”  

Fennec sighed and went back to Marathel.  Marathel was not a seasoned hyperspace traveler, and Fennec wanted to make sure she was doing okay.  The ship was shaking quite a bit, and Marathel had enough to deal with, without motion sickness as well.  Marathel was lying prone, gripping the edges of the cot, her eyes shut tight, her mouth silently moving.    “Are you doing okay, Marathel?” 

Keeping her eyes closed, Marathel muttered, “Shhh.  I’m counting.  Fifty-seven, fifty-six …” 

“You can count?” 

“Of course, I can count,” snapped Marathel.  “You can’t weave or knit if you can’t count.  Fifty-four, fifty-three …” 

“But why backwards?” 

“It keeps me from vomiting sometimes.  Fifty-one, fifty …” 

“Only sometimes?” 

Marathel took a deep breath as the ship stopped bouncing and flew more smoothly.  “Oooooooh.  Goodness.  No, not always.  The Bounty Hunter hates vomit, I found, so I kept trying not to, but …” 

Fennec smiled.  “You got to learn a lot about him in that short time.” 

Marathel shrugged.  “It was just the three of us, all day … all night.” 

“How many days on your planet were you together?” 

“Seven, I suppose.  On the third and fourth days the Dahls rose to mate.  The eggs come four days later, so that morning I collected the eggs and went immediately to the Hold. I don’t know how long I was in the Hold before I was taken out by Olba and the others.”  Marathel’s lips started quivering, and tears spilled over.  “Olba’s dead now.  Tymfy, too.  They must be.  I don’t even know who the other two were.  They died to help me.  Others, too, probably.” 

“I’m sorry, Marathel.” 

“How do I live with that?  How do I keep breathing?” 

“By living in a way they would be proud of you.  They wouldn’t have brought you out if they didn’t think you were deserving of a better chance.  You had an opportunity, and thanks to those women, you were able to take it, and you wouldn’t be here now.”  Marathel shook her head, and Fennec sighed.  “Marathel, I’ve met someone like you so many times.  People who’ve lived your life, and I’ve yet to meet a single one who deserved what they endured.” 

“Not even … what I did to Din?” 

“What you did to him?  What could you have possibly done to Din?” 

Marathel swallowed.  “Din was … he said, several times … that I didn’t consent the times we … the Dahls took over my mind.” 

“It sounds that way, from what you’ve told me.” 

“But that would mean that he didn’t consent either.  The first time.”  Marathel turned pink. 

Fennec frowned.  “Marathel … be that as it may, that doesn’t mean that you deserve the death penalty.” Fennec was quiet for a moment.  “You weren’t in your right mind.  Din’s a big boy.  It’s unfortunate, the situation you found yourselves in … but you didn’t quite know what you were going to do, did you?” 

“No, but … now that I can think on many things, my actions were … not surprising.  I should have known better.”  Marathel sighed shakily.  “There are many things I understand better now, as if… I needed to get far away to see better.” 

“You’ve not told Din everything, have you?  There is so much you haven’t told him.” 

“No.  And I’ve been lying to him as well.” 

Oh, honey, thought Fennec.  “You need to have a heart-to-heart with him.” 

“Heart-to-heart?” 

“You need to … you must tell him.  He told you he loves you. Whether you say it back is up to you, but he probably deserves to hear from you whatever it is you’ve been keeping from him.” 

Marathel said quietly, “I know.”  She held up her hand, where the synth-blood was flowing into her vein.  “But first …” 

Fennec smiled.  “But first. Remember, you don’t have to say anything, no matter who asks, or what they ask.” 

Marathel nodded.  “I don’t know anything.”  She shrugged.  “That will be easy to remember.” 

“It’s a good thing Din is the one who found you … he’s about as socially awkward as you.” The women chuckled.  “We should be landing soon.  Let’s get you shifted to the gurney.” 

The mercenary’s ship landed in a bay in one of the Star Destroyers.  Upon landing, the Modifier let her know that the large ships were permanently tethered to the former space station, forming a super-station that served as a new home for thousands of Empire refugees, as well as for-profit research facilities… and other activities. There were a lot of Imperial sympathizers on the station, but for the most part, the political factions aboard all had the same priority: money.   Fennec was mercenary enough to know when it was prudent to keep her mouth shut, and she felt that Marathel would play her part well. 

The Modifier left the ship with Fennec and Marathel, but only stayed long enough to hand the women over to the Reconstructionists.  Thirty seconds later, the Modifier and the mercenary were gone, and Fennec was left standing in the presence of a blonde human female and an Omwati female, resplendent with pale blue skin and white feathers on her head.   

The Omwati tilted her head towards Fennec.  “Greetings.  You are …?” 

Fennec nodded.  “Fennec Shand.  This is Marathel.” 

The blue-skinned woman leaned over Marathel, who looked up at her with curiosity instead of fear.  “Hello, Marathel.” 

“Hello.  What … what should I call you?” 

“Eliadu is my name.  My cohort here is Cieroprac.  You are … an interesting woman.” 

Cieroprac came forward, addressing Fennec.  “We must discuss payment and treatment,” she said.  “Come with us.” 

Fennec had hoped she would never see the interior of a Star Destroyer again, even a heavily modified one as this seemed to be.  Instead of a maze of hallways, the interior seemed to have been transformed into large open bays, so much so the place resembled a large city shopping district.   

“This ship has the highest concentration of medical research and technology.  Its use during the Rebellion was far more … nefarious,” said Eliadu in a quiet voice.  “It’s not ideal, but the Empire did a lot of genetic work.  We were only able to get into this work — into this facility —because we pledged fealty.  We’re trying to make it right now.” 

Cieroprac pressed a bio-lock, opening a door and ushering them all inside.  “And that’s all well and good, but the only thing that can keep us doing this work is money.  Cash.  Do you have it?” Fennec pulled out half of the coins she took from Din.  Cieroprac shook her head. “What are these?” 

“Ossum Aurodium coins, from the Old Republic.  These are museum quality.  Worth thousands,” said Fennec. 

“And useless to us.  We said cash.” 

“There are more where these come from,” insisted Fennec.  “If you can tell me what kind of figure you’re expecting …” Cieroprac named an astronomical amount.  Fennec managed to keep her cool and said in an even tone, “What I have is worth that and more.” 

“Then you need to go exchange the coins for that amount and come back,” replied Cieroprac. 

“Our transport has left, and Marathel is in no shape to travel…” 

“Leave one coin, and the knife,” Eliadu interjected.  “You can take the public transport on Ship 2 to go sell the coins, and we can begin.” 

Cieroprac turned back to her associate with a sigh. “Eliadu …" 

“Marathel needs our help, and she can’t wait for her companion to return. We must start now if Marathel is to have a chance.” 

Cieroprac closed her eyes and took a breath, as if this was a continual argument between the two. Fennec remained silent.  The coin was nothing to her.  The knife was a recent gift from Boba, but knives could be replaced.   However, leaving Marathel alone with strangers … can she cope with that? Meanwhile, Marathel’s mouth had gone dry.  Fennec would have to leave her alone to make this happen.  She had so little strength left, so little courage, and she was terrified of being by herself in such a strange place, but she looked to Fennec and said, “Go, Fennec.  Get what they need.  This is the way.” 

Fennec squeezed her hand. “I’ll be back as quickly as possible. You can do this.” 

“Yes, I can.  Even if I can’t, I can,” said Marathel, smiling weakly.   

“Too right, you can.”  Fennec left. 

Marathel was alone.  Taking a breath, she looked at the exotic looking Omwati, her blue skin, her feathers, and said, “Well.  Now what?” 

Eliadu took Marathel’s hand and smiled down at her. “Now we begin.”