Woman without a Country

Atton walked slowly to the Nar Shadaa cantina. He could feel eyes on him as he made his way through the quad. He wondered what he looked like to them. He wondered what he looked like to himself. There was no glass here for him to see a reflection.
He entered the cantina, and looked around. The bartender was new to him, a Human male who had seen better days a long time ago. "What do you have back there?" Atton asked him.
"Stuff to drink," said the bartender shortly.
Atton grinned. Bartenders always knew when trouble walked in. "Got anything green?"
The bartender frowned in surprise, and pulled out a bottle of startlingly green spirits. "Is this what you wanted?"
"Perfect! Pour me a glass." Atton slid over a credit chit. "I guess the last owner left you her notes."
The bartender took the chit without looking at it, and poured the drink into an oddly shaped glass, then dug out a perforated silver tray and set it on top of the glass. Then he placed a pyramid-shaped block of sugar on the tray, and poured sparkling white wine over the sugar, melting it and adding them both to the green liquid in the glass. The drink seemed to coalesce and merge, forming a cloudy mixture that settled into a strangely forbidding misty green.
Atton took the drink with a happy sigh, leaned against the bar, and sipped it while he watched the people in the cantina. There, a Twi'lek man was auditioning dancers; beyond them, some aliens were crouched together whispering in their guttural language and glancing around nervously. Closer to him, two Humans were sitting together, counting their credits; on the other side, Pazaak players were busy stealing each other's credits.
The door to the cantina opened, and two Twi'lek women walked in. What little clothing they wore was all black leather, skintight and decorated with glittering gems and embroidery. Their brain-tails flickered gently at each other, in the silent Twi'lek language. Without seeming to look at him, they approached.
Atton looked them over. They were beautiful, like all Twi'lek women were. Their skin was a lovely shade of blue, their wide eyes dark and beautifully painted, their lips full and generous. "Sisters, I take it? So, do you two work here?" he grinned.
"We are dancers, yes," said the first one in her soft voice.
"Slaves once," said the other, "but no more."
He could see their brain-tails moving, and knew they were speaking to each other, saying more than just the words that he could hear. "Fascinating," smiled Atton, and finished his drink, setting the glass down.
"Do you seek something?" asked the first one. "Entertainment, perhaps?"
"Perhaps we can provide what you seek," said the second, her voice low and seductive.
"Actually," said Atton, unable to stop his smile from twisting darkly, "I'm here to be a distraction. In the event that certain parties tried to harm someone I care about by striking at her companions."
The first Twi'lek shook her head sadly. "We wish only the Exile," she said softly. "Submit, and we shall harm no one."
"Resist," said the other, "and we shall destroy you and seek other bait."
Atton laughed, a very dark and lovely laugh that made the Twi'leks stare at him. The Twi'lek man was scurrying his dancers out of the cantina, and most of the other people were also moving out of range or leaving the cantina altogether. The bartender was long gone. Atton moved his glass from the bar to the lower counter, and hoped it wouldn't get broken in the fight. He turned back to the Twi'leks, and pulled out a pair of short, black blades from the hidden sheaths in the back of his jacket.
"Sith blades," said the first one, as they drew their own swords.
"Are the stories of you true, then?" asked the second. "Does the beautiful Jedi know of them?"
Atton snarled. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood, or I'd cut your eyes out for looking at her."
The Twi'leks separated, trying to flank him. "Is it possible," said the first one, "to offer a deal to you? Perhaps some arrangement can be reached?" She attacked as she spoke, but Atton blocked her easily, with unexpected speed and skill.
Atton shook his head. "You've already given me what I want."
The Twi'lek looked at him, confused for a moment, distracted by his words.
Atton's blades were short, both for concealment, and for his personal fighting style. He didn't need reach or strength, not the way he fought. Before the first Twi'lek had a chance to react, he was in close, his knives flashing. "You've given me a chance to remember," he hissed. "I'd forgotten what it felt like. Holding the blades." He drew back, blocked a series of blows from the second Twi'lek, and watched the first one fall to her knees. "Feeling the shock of blade against blade, the softness of flesh around the steel."
The second Twi'lek looked in horror at her sister on the floor, and her brain-tails twitched in agitation.
She was distracted, long enough for Atton to strike again. "I'd forgotten," he whispered, "the warmth of an enemy's blood spilling out over your hands. I'd almost completely forgotten." The second Twi'lek fell as well, and Atton felt the familiar, peculiar vibration of the ground beneath his feet that only happened when a body hit the floor.
They were still moving. Badly wounded, but alive. He watched them in silence for a moment, thinking. He looked down at the blood on his hands, watched the drops fall from his fingers to the floor. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it, and walked behind the bar to wash his hands. He wiped his blades clean on a bar towel, and threw the blood-stained towel in the trash before sheathing his blades again. He helped himself to their weapons and whatever credits they had on them, and left them alone on the floor, to die or recover as best they could.
Atton needed to warn his friends of the danger that they were in, and he ran as quickly as he could back to the Ebon Hawk.
He caught up to Bao-Dur, who was returning from his visit to Vogga the Hutt, just in front of the landing pad.
"What's up, Atton?"
"The bounty hunter truce is off," Atton explained. "I'm pretty sure they all know the Exile is meeting with Visquis. That means we're the only targets left."
Kreia, sensing his agitation, met them just outside the ship, followed by Visas. "The Quarren will not reveal his information to the Exile before their meeting is complete."
"Yeah, but they're going to be coming after us first."
"Will the Exile be in danger?" asked Visas nervously.
"The General can take care of herself."
Atton turned, to see a crew of Duros crossing the bridge to their landing pad. "Yeah, I think we're the ones in trouble, not her."
They'd heard of the clan of Duros bounty hunters, working together to gather enough money to buy a new homeworld. There were about eighty of them, all carrying blasters or heavy rifles. Their leader spewed a long diatribe at them, and motioned threateningly with his blaster.
"My Duros isn't that good," said Atton. "All I caught was 'very,' because he repeated it about seventeen times."
"I think he wants us to hand over the General to his collection of poorly trained bounty hunters," said Bao-Dur doubtfully.
"Right," said Atton. "Which one do you want?"
"I'll take the stupid one who decided to threaten us instead of shooting when he had the chance."
"Right. Anyone else want to claim any specific ones?"
"I will take the ones that try to run," said Kreia with a smile. "Come, children. This is no time for holding back. If you wish to continue serving the Exile, then those that stand against us here must die. None must escape to tell tales of what happened here."
The Duros leader fired, but Bao-Dur's shields were already up, and the blast dissipated harmlessly. He returned the shot with a blast from his heavy rifle, and the Duros leader staggered.
Following Kreia's lead, Visas and Atton unleashed the Force on the main body of bounty hunters. The Duros twisted and shrieked in agony as the blasts arced from victim to victim. Kreia flung hapless Duros from the platform, and they fell screaming into the lower levels of Nar Shadaa, to land hundreds of stories below.
Bao-Dur shot the Duros writhing in agony on the floor, while the three Jedi kept the rest of them incapacitated or helpless.
"Isn't that power supposed to belong to the Dark Side of the Force?" asked Bao-Dur idly, after all the Duros were all dead.
"Nonsense," said Kreia sharply. "Is your gun evil? Power has no ethical value, it is the user that gives it the trappings of good or evil. Seal the ship, we must go to find what has happened to the Exile."
Atton felt it, just as she said the words. "What – something's happened to her!"
"She has been rendered unconscious, but is otherwise unharmed. We must hurry, before that changes."