I really should be working on "Regression" when I can get these breaks from work. But this bit of fic bit me in the ankle and wouldn't let go, just like one of those dogs that... bite you on the ankle and don't let go. So here you go... the Yorkshire Terrier of my literary efforts.

This fic happens between chapters one and two of my fic "Dark Hero, Lost Jedi", and details Revan's arrival on Taris, as it happened in my AU. If you haven't read that, you might want to do that first, since I've taken a fair bit of liberty with the KOTOR storyline. I'll mention that the copy or Dark Hero I uploaded to kotorfanmedia is tweaked and improved over the original on fanfiction-net. (I'm never happy with my work...) Incidentally, the eight chapters of Dark Hero are really all I'd ever planned. I wanted to leave it up to the reader to decide whether this Revan I've put together could ever be redeemed. Reach out with your feelings!

Disclaimer: Just like with that story, this fic is a derivative work of Bioware's awesome Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic game. All intellectual property belongs to them, I'm just playing with it a bit. I'm not receiving any financial reward for this work, and neither should anyone else.

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Canderous hated standing around.

Unfortunately, if he was honest with himself, that's largely what his job for Davik consisted of. Standing around, looking scary, while someone else did some talking. Even in the cases where those "negotiations" failed and he actually got a chance to use his blaster carbine for something more than a prop, the ensuing exchange rarely lasted enough to be called a fight... really, more of an execution.

Only once during his time on Taris had he had a battle worthy to be called such, soon after his hire, when a rival crime lord had made a determined effort to kill his employer, Davik Kang. It'd been enjoyable – a running exchange of gunfire through Davik's estate, while enemy gang members poured in through the roof. Their bodies had been piled high by the time Canderous was done; and then, for added flavour, there'd been the hits Davik had ordered on a few select government officials afterwards, to drive home the point that taking bribes to keep Tarisian police out of the action was really only acceptable when it was Davik himself doing the bribing. The name Canderous Ordo had spread quickly through the Upper and Lower cities of Taris after that, the name of the relentless and deadly Mandalorian that Davik Kang had managed to hire.

While it was nice to have a reputation, it made it that much less likely that someone would be willing to start something when he was around. Sometimes, success could work against you.

He growled under his breath. Beside him, a Duros twitched nervously at the sound. Canderous ignored him.

Success also sometimes meant too much free time, and occasionally busy-work, which is what Canderous considered to be his reason for being here at that moment. Standing in the main landing bay of Davik's estate in the middle of the afternoon, in his armour and carrying his blaster, waiting for one of Davik's transports to land. Next to a jumpy Duros operating the bay controls. Other than the alien, there really wasn't even anything to look at; Davik's main transport, the Ebon Hawk, was off running sensitive goods to Nar Shaddaa. Other than the field pylons which protected the valuable blockade-runner, the bay was vast and empty. Much like Magnin's head, Canderous thought.

The transport had begun signalling distress as soon as it dropped out of hyperspace. Apparently Magnin and his crew had managed to pick themselves up an unpaid passenger. While the customs officials on Taris were firmly in Davik's pocket – Canderous had been part of the group making sure of it – there was no particular reason why they should see any of the cargo the Exchange had shipped in or off-world. The description Davik had given him had been short on details. Some kind of stowaway on the vessel... one who had been discovered, and then subsequently killed two of the crew.

Canderous didn't quite understand... he thought they had a problem. Call him again when the other two were dead, then it might be worth his time to rescue them. Davik had thought that was an example of Mandalorian humour, and laughed as he dismissed him.

He resisted an urge to tap his foot.

The panel the Duros operated chimed, and the grey-skinned alien tapped a few controls. The entire eastern wall of the bay split and separated into the ceiling and floor, allowing clear view of the city-planet beyond. The tall spires of Taris gleamed in the afternoon sun, tended by hordes of droids working to keep every square centimetre of the Upper City spotless. It was a glorious view, but one largely lost on Canderous. He didn't care much about aesthetics, and unless Kang was making a point with one of the other nobles, he spent most of his time dealing with scum in the Lower City.

Beyond the spires, though, he could see the ship he was waiting for as it swept down from the sky onto a horizontal approach. Cleared by the controller, the clunky vessel rumbled into the bay, engines and repulsors thundering, and Magnin gently settled the vessel down into the area normally occupied by the Ebon Hawk. Magnin was competent enough a pilot, and leastwise smart enough to know that no matter what their intruder had done, it would pale in comparison to what Davik would do if he damaged the transport or its cargo.

Landing struts extended from the bottom of the ship as it touched down with a thunk that sent a slight shiver through the bay floor. The transport reminded Canderous of an Ithorian... a tall bridge module extending out and upward from a long crew area. Underneath it all was slung the bloated cargo area, a long oblong with loading-lifts on the port and starboard sides. It wasn't hard to figure out how an intruder could have gotten aboard, especially if Magnin and his crew were as careless as Canderous expected they were.

It was one of many reasons why Magnin would never get to touch the far more valuable Ebon Hawk, no matter how short Davik was on competent pilots.

The transport's engines were still whining when Canderous started moving toward it. He lifted his wrist-comm to his mouth. "Magnin."

After a second, the pilot responded. "We're here." A dozen metres above him, Canderous saw a hand wave from the transparisteel windows of the bridge. He rolled his eyes.

"I'm here to deal with your problem. Tell me what's going on."

"We don't know how she got on board," the pilot responded. "She probably snuck on when we were loading the cargo at the Iziz spaceport. She's good at hiding... we only knew to look when we saw that our oxygen usage was way up. We found her about two days ago, and tried to restrain her." His voice hesitated. "She... didn't like that."

"Human?" Good, he didn't need any special gear to deal with alien abilities.

"Yeah."

"Okay, where's she at now?"

"Uh... we dunno."

Canderous paused in his stride. "How can you not know where she is? You've got vid-mons in the ship, don't you?"

"Yeah, but like I said, she'd good at hiding, and she's gone to ground now that we've landed. She knows where the cams are, and stays out of view. Two days now, and she never slips up! We'll get a glimpse of her when she comes out to see if either of us have made the mistake of opening the bridge hatch, but other than that, nothing!" Magnin's voice began colouring with a bit of panic. "She's stalking us, man. You gotta get in here and take care of her."

"Fine. What's she armed with?"

"Uh... nothing. She's only in her underthings, which is what threw us off and gave her an opening! She's good with her fists! And... and she might have grabbed something afterwards! She had nothing when she started killing Jofo and Havin... but then... they... they were screaming too much..."

Canderous paused, closing his eyes. He counted to ten, in Basic, and then in Mandalorian. It didn't help. "Let me make sure I have the details straight, here."

"Uh... Okay... "

"Human."

"Yes."

"Woman."

"Yes."

"Unarmed."

"Yes!"

"Wearing just underwear."

"YES!"

"If you're wasting my time, I'm personally going to stuff you into the engine manifold and run a power calibration sequence."

"Don't take our bloody word for it, come on in here and see for yourself!", Magnin snapped over the comm. "But keep your damned helmet on, and your carbine hot! She likes to attack from the shadows."

Grumbling, he stepped forward, approaching the ship. When he was close enough, he nodded at the Duros standing at the security console. The field pylons snapped on behind him, a shimmering blue field surrounding the transport, containing their intruder in the event she managed to slip past him.

"Lower the damned gangplank," he barked over the comm, and they obeyed silently. He began stomping up the metal ramp before it'd even touched the ground, annoyed and impatient, wanting to only finish the pointless rat-hunt and then go find himself a worthy battle.

It was Canderous' opinion that if the ship had picked up vermin, the appropriate thing to do was gas them out... he didn't much care what size they were. But apparently Magnin had been shipping something perishable for Davik, likely spice or some other narcotics, and poison gas would taint the goods. So the crime lord sent him to deal with the problem. Like the Mandalorian didn't have anything better to do. It was like sending a krayt dragon in to deal with wampa rats.

But Davik Kang commanded, and Canderous Ordo obeyed... if he wanted to get paid. And the pay was decent, despite the pointless crap he put up with.

Despite his opinion of the situation, he stepped into the ship cautiously, blaster held at his hip, ready to fire. Even the worst fighter could have a good day, after all, and the best could have a bad one. Carelessness was a quick way to get dead.

The gangplank lead into the ship's common area. It was a compartment slightly larger than the rest, with a holo unit in the centre, some consoles along the sides along with a few chairs and a couch that didn't look comfortable in the least. Canderous' foot nudged a metal cup aside, and he saw that the room had definitely seen a fight. A plate of food had been knocked to the floor, along with a data pad. And though it was difficult to see in the dim light, the rear bulkhead was spattered with a dark substance that he knew was blood.

He moved around the holo unit, and found what he expected. The bodies of the two dead men lay sprawled across the metal decking, arranged beside each other.

His lips curled as he looked over the bodies. The two crewmen had been beaten severely, their faces swollen and bloody, teeth and noses shattered. But that was nothing compared to what had been done to them below the waist. It was impossible to tell the original colour of their jumpsuits from the brown of dried blood. It'd been done with something sharp, but not too sharp. He looked about, wondering what-

Ah, there it was. A table leg. Inventive.

He'd known the whole "we just found her" line was a load of kath-crap. He knew what kind of vermin Magnin hired on his ship. It wasn't hard to figure out what kind of behaviour triggered this kind of... reaction... from a female attacker.

Canderous repressed a growl. He just hoped the mystery woman had kept the honourless swine alive long enough to enjoy her retribution. He also considered again killing the other two when he was done, just on principle.

For now, he had to check the rest of the crew area; and if he didn't find her, he'd have to search the main cargo hold. He wasn't looking forward to that.

Turning to check down the main passageway, he very nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of the female figure that had somehow appeared there. He hadn't even heard her approach – although that might have something to do with her bare feet, not having any boots to thump against the decking. Canderous saw that Magnin hadn't been kidding; the woman was very nearly naked, wearing nothing more than the bare minimum to protect her modesty.

He saw that her hands were empty, and he relaxed his trigger finger where it had tensed at her appearance. He didn't release it, however; the stare she was fixing on him was a little too flat, her face just a bit too expressionless for his tastes. He remembered what Magnin had said about her fists, and though hand-to-hand wasn't going to be particularly effective through his armour, he shifted his weight, making sure he was balanced in case she tried to rush him.

Sizing her up with a practised eye, Canderous conceded that she could have easily have killed the two crew members. Her body was slender but well-muscled, as smooth and taut as a finely-crafted bow, and probably just as deadly. She held herself like a fighter; turned slightly away from him, weight balanced on the balls of her feet. He wondered if she was Echani... she was as pale as one, and he'd been told once that they liked to fight mostly unclothed when fighting hand-to-hand. Which was the stupidest thing Canderous had ever heard of, but that didn't make it untrue. But no, her hair was as black as coal, not as white as snow; and unless she'd gone through the effort of dying her eyebrows as well as her hair, it was probably her natural colour.

She watched him suspiciously, grey eyes never wavering from his, even though his face wasn't visible through his helmet. She didn't move, didn't speak... she could have been a statue, if not for those eyes.

"Well," he commented. "So you're the one who has those fools in the cockpit so wound up."

No response.

"Congratulations on that, by the way, although it's meant a bit of fuss for me, which I could have done without. I'm sure you've figured out by now that you put yourself on the wrong ship. My employer doesn't much care for giving free rides."

Still, she said nothing, just continuing to stare at him. Mute, or mental? Considering her state of dress, he leaned toward the latter. His disappointment became that much more; there was no honour to be had in killing someone who was obviously still in hyperspace.

He tried one last time. "You got a name?"

Nothing.

He growled with frustration. "Listen, I didn't like these guys that much, so I don't much care what you did to them. In fact, it makes me laugh. But I was told to come in here and kill you, and if-"

That got a response. Her expression had changed between the words "kill" and "you" from suspicious to enraged. The next two words were all the time she needed to gather herself and come flying at him.

She'd held herself so still, he'd had no inkling at all for how fast she could move. She crossed the five strides to him in an instant, hissing incoherently the entire way. He tried to bring the blaster to bear, but she was already on him, swinging, catching him across the faceplate of his helmet with a fist. A punch like that must have cracked the bones of her hand, but if so, she showed no sign. The hit rocked him back, but otherwise did little, thanks to his helmet.

He squeezed the trigger on the carbine, unleashing a volley of bolts at her. She dodged neatly to the side, landing another punch on his helmet. When he swung his blaster toward her, she grabbed the barrel, ignoring the burning heat, and guided it up and over her head, sending plasma flying in every direction except at her. Canderous gaped; but then she was hitting him again.

He snarled, giving up on shooting her and just swung the carbine like a club. As soon as he lifted the weapon, she lashed out with a fist with one knuckle extended; it hammered into his exposed, unarmoured armpit, sending a jolt like an electric shock down his arm, almost causing him to drop the weapon. With a battle cry, he bulled forward, bowling into the freakishly-fast woman, trying to use his much larger size to batter her down. She twirled out of the way, spinning a kick into his back which bounced off his armour, knocking him a step forward.

He spun, finally having enough space to use his carbine again. The woman turned and ran, and he almost had a clear shot at her back, but his numbed arm fumbled the trigger. By the time he had a flurry of bolts flying down the corridor, she was gone.

He stood in the common room, utterly astonished. He was breathing hard, and he hadn't even scored a hit.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded of no-one in particular.

"Told ya."

He snarled at his wrist-comm, turning it off by banging it against his hip with more force than was strictly necessary. Great... the two idiots were watching him on the monitors from the bridge. He had an urge to find and shoot the camera, but that would just make him look more stupid.

He shook his head, and shook feeling back into his gun arm. "Okay, lady... we'll play it that way."

Bracing his carbine against his hip, he stalked into the corridor, which extended down the length of the ship. Compartments extended off to either side, separated from the main passageway by antique hatches which swung smoothly on hinges, and a control which would "dog" the hatch closed securely, supposedly with an airtight seal. The ship was a ridiculous antique, lacking even the ability to power shut the hatches from the bridge, which was the only self-contained area... passengers were not a priority. Canderous had decided months before he'd never ride this boat anywhere in anything less than pressurized armour.

All the open compartments made his job that much harder... as did the dim, barely-adequate lighting. He'd have to check each space individually, and close it behind him. He grimaced with annoyance.

Moving down the passageway smoothly, he peeked carefully into the first compartment on the right, being aware of the possibility of ambush from behind. The room was packed tight with boxes... probably spice, or Tattooine thrill-sand, or maybe death-sticks. He didn't care. The area had nowhere to hide in, so he shut and dogged the hatch.

One compartment down, seven more to go.

It was then that she fell on him... literally. Like a gymnast, she'd suspended herself at the top of the corridor, hands and feet braced against either side, waiting for him to wander by below. He staggered under her weight, nearly dropping his blaster. Before he could find his footing she'd seized his helmet from behind and with astonishing strength for a human female, slammed his head into the metal bulkhead.

Canderous had been far too close to far too many explosions in his career, and that's what the impact felt like to him. His helmet kept his skull from being caved in, but rang like a gong, the sound and the impact crossing his eyes and sending the world spinning. She tried to do it again; but he managed to get himself together enough to drop his blaster and lift his arms to cushion the blow.

He shoved off the wall, sending them both staggering backwards. She was clutching his helmet like a Mon Calamari snapper, screeching, trying to twist his head clean off, but only succeeding in bending his nose painfully against the side of the helmet. He dropped his left shoulder and drove them both backwards, and was rewarded with a painful wheeze as she was crushed between his armoured shoulder and the bulkhead. And still she hung on; her left arm was snaking about to try to get a choke.

Not having any of that, he threw her over his shoulder, and she flipped over him to land bodily on the floor. So tightly had she been grappling him that his helmet came off with her. Canderous had enough time to blink with surprise before a bare foot came arcing up from her prone position on the floor, catching him straight in the face and rocking him back.

In another demonstration of gymnastic flair, she kick-flipped to her feet, spinning as she landed; and suddenly the helmet in her hands became a projectile. He barely dodged as the battered piece of armour smashed into the wall behind him. But it was a ruse... she spun again, catching him in the ankles as his weight was off-centre, and he fell to the deck.

His carbine was in front of his eyes. Roaring, he grabbed it, bringing it about as he squeezed the trigger. His own blood was up now, and he sprayed the bulkheads with energy, trying to score a hit. She dodged and rolled, sprinting down the corridor, disappearing from sight. The Mandalorian was so furious it took him nearly three seconds to notice she was gone and let up on the trigger. The barrel on the big blaster glowed in the dim light.

He lay on the floor, panting... then slowly, carefully, laboured to his feet. Canderous never moved his hands from his blaster, using only his legs to stand; instinctively, he knew the moment he freed one hand to brace against the floor, she'd be on him again.

Pausing for a moment with his back against the wall, it occurred to him that this was the second encounter he'd had with this crazy, half-naked, unarmed woman with no victor. It was outrageous! With grim amusement, Canderous was forced to admit that, just perhaps, Magnin and Terro had managed to get themselves into something far more than they could handle.

Glancing down, he saw that his helmet was bent and mangled beyond hope of wearing again. He kicked it angrily, not worried about the noise... he was breathing so hard, they could probably hear him on the bridge. Hefting his carbine, he jacked the power levels up to maximum. He no longer cared about melting holes in the decking and bulkheads – it was far more important that any hit he managed to get would part limbs from body.

Pausing to listen, Canderous tried to calm his own breathing. As he'd expected, he heard nothing but himself, his own breath and blood pounding in his ears. No slap of bare feet against the deck. No shifting of cloth. She'd disappeared again, and the only clue he had was the direction she'd run.

At least he knew that there was no way past him. There were no other passageways but this one; no air ducts or conduits she could fit through. She'd taken some of his protection from him, he'd taken some of her space from her. It almost balanced.

Advancing forward, he was more cautious than he could ever remember having been in any fight in his life. If he hadn't seen her with his own eyes, he'd think she had a stealth unit. If he was as superstitious as some of the old mystics of his clan, he'd think she was a ghost – she certainly had the pallor. A very vengeful ghost. There was absolutely no doubt that she was a warrior. He checked every corner, floor and ceiling, acutely aware that death waited in any unnoticed shadow. Their first exchange had been a test... the second most certainly was not. She'd been sincerely trying to kill him.

He couldn't keep a grin off his face.

Two years of being enforcer to a crime boss had made him soft. He'd forgotten what a real fight felt like. This was a story he'd be telling people about for years, and she was an enemy worthy of the title. Assuming he survived to tell the tale... which wasn't the certainty he'd arrogantly thought before he'd begun.

He crept along, commando-style, checking each room on both sides carefully, always taking care to keep the central corridor in his peripheral vision so she couldn't slip by without his notice. The Mandalorian kept his back to the wall at all times, and cautiously closed and dogged each hatch after checking the room it opened into.

Each step reduced the amount of room she could be hiding in. Each step raised the hair on the back of his neck. He wondered if she was doing it deliberately... drawing out the tension, letting him get jumpy.

Why did Magnin keep the transport so damned dark? It's not like the engines on this miserable boat were so ragged they couldn't power a few Force-damned lights!

Three rooms left to check... then two. A fifty-fifty chance. Canderous moved forward, finger poised on the trigger of the carbine.

Something metallic reflected a sparkle of light onto the bulkhead in front of him.

How in the Sith had she gotten behind him? He turned halfway, bringing his blaster around... and then began swinging it desperately back, as he realized just what a colossal mistake he'd just made. Whatever she'd tossed to distract him made a ting sound as it bounced off the deck... a coin, piece of jewelry, or utensil. He ignored it; of far more concern was the glint of metal that flashed in her hand as came around the corner, screeching a war-cry.

He got a good look at it – a steak knife, or something like one – as it flashed through the space his eyes had occupied a millisecond before, narrowly missing the bridge of his nose. Half a dozen more stabs and slashes came at him in the blink of an eye, targeting his eyes, neck, underarms – any place his armour didn't cover. Each cut pared individual cells from his skin. He had a microsecond to reflect that she was probably used to a longer weapon... if she'd had a sword, he'd be in pieces at her feet.

His blaster thundered, but was out of position, and the bolts passed under her arm to splash against the rear bulkhead. Molten durasteel spattered against her back, but she'd accomplished what she'd intended; he got a mouthful of her hair as she spun into his grip, tasting the cloying bitterness of... kolto? He didn't get a chance to analyze, as her knife slammed into his right wrist, not piercing his gauntlet but knocking his grip off his weapon, and then her elbow struck the carbine itself. Suddenly Canderous found himself holding nothing in his left hand but the power pack/auxiliary grip, snapped free of the weapon. The carbine clattered to the floor long enough for her to kick it, disappearing into the depths of the ship.

Oh, he was well and truly pissed off, now.

Roaring with rage, he slammed a meaty fist into her shoulder, pulling a cry of pain from her and staggering her. Dropping the pack he seized a hand around her throat, and lifted the woman entirely to slam her against the wall. Her icy-white skin, flushed with exertion, began turning purple as she struggled against his grip. He leaned in, pinning her knife-hand against the bulkhead while he squeezed with the other, snarling and spitting in the damnable harpy's face. He twisted away from her knees to the groin; she pounded him in the face with her free hand, but he took the hits gladly, sending the pain to a far-away place, only caring that this demon-woman died now.

She had other plans, of course. He dimly felt her heel slam into his knee with enough force to feel right through the poleyns of his armour. The second registered a bit more. And, why yes, he was very aware of the third. A nerve strike, like what she'd done to his arm earlier, sent a bolt of lightning up to his hip. It broke through his blood-rage and staggered him. Then her free fist was arcing in with what must have been every last bit of her remaining strength – he heard bone crunch, though he couldn't tell whether it was from her hand or his face. Perhaps both.

Canderous reeled backward, but she didn't pursue. He found himself braced against the other bulkhead, the two of them glaring at each other from opposite sides, barely two paces separating them. His knee was hurting so badly the rest of his leg felt numb; she was holding her throat, struggling to breathe, eyeing him carefully through locks of space-black hair stuck to her face by sweat and blood.

"Who are you?" he demanded, trying to buy enough time for his regeneration implant to do something – anything – about the damage he was taking. But he also wanted to know. He'd never fought anyone even approaching her in all his decades of war and combat. She was young, perhaps half his age... but if he'd met her under any other circumstance, he would have adopted her into clan Ordo without a moment's thought.

She did not respond. He refused to believe she wasn't intelligent. Every second of battle up until now had proven otherwise... feral instinct only went so far. But still she said nothing, grey eyes glittering at him, looking for any opening to finish the fight.

Determined to try to keep some of the initiative, he tried to step forward, but his damaged knee would have none of it. He staggered back against the wall. "L'kelliha sorric Mand'alor!" he cursed.

"Re khallah yo terr ut ghur'nis!" she choked back, her damaged throat barely able to form the guttural language.

The words, the first she'd spoken, caught him off guard. A traditional curse from a Mandalorian honour-duel... Your knife will split and shatter! It was a phrase he'd not heard since well before his people's defeat at Revan's hands. Canderous froze in shock.

His pause was very nearly fatal. Her hand was a blur as it slashed forward and downward, and he felt the exposed skin of his neck part before the edge of her knife. It was just as much fright as years of combat experience that helped him jerk sideways, just barely avoiding a fatal hit to his carotid. The point still sliced him, and then sank into his shoulder, just above his clavicle. The serrated edge caught on the durasteel of his armour, his own motion pulling her forward and driving the blade deeper. He howled with agony. Desperate, he struck the inside of her arm, knocking it away, the knife pulling free in a spatter of blood.

He hooked his good arm around her head, barely keeping his balance on his injured knee in order to bury his good one into her gut. That got a groan from her, but she managed to slip from his grip and roll away, taking her knife with her. He couldn't give chase, because his leg was threatening to give out under him.

There was another pause in the action, and they were back to staring at each other across the corridor, except they were both in worse shape than before.

In Canderous' case, much worse. Blood was sliding down his chest from his neck wound, and his implant couldn't even begin to keep up. The situation had slid far beyond challenging and well into the realm of frightening... he faced something far worse than death: failure.

His only consolation was that it was starting to tell on her, as well... she laboured to breathe, and her neck was becoming a mass of purple bruises. The mysterious woman's endurance and prowess were almost superhuman, but she had limits, and she'd reached them. They were both on the ragged edge, and they both knew it. The next exchange of blows would be the last.

Canderous could see her closing down. Some people cowered from a challenge like this... others filled with heat, fighting with dire rage. And then there were those like her, whose blood seemed to turn to ice water. Her face went flat, and the grey eyes she watched him with were the equal of any of the most Hoth-cold killers he'd ever met in his long career.

By Mand'alor, what a woman!

His advantage in weaponry and armour hadn't given him victory. His rage and brute force hadn't given him victory. Canderous had to fight smarter, if he was going to walk away from this.

Suddenly he had an idea, and he fought down the urge to even blink at the epiphany, not risking the chance of any body language tipping off this glorious opponent.

Stepping backward, his guard up, he tried to edge into the room where his carbine had flown. He saw her grip on her knife tighten, and her lips pulled back in a silent snarl as she realized what he was doing, and she moved toward him by millimetres, looking for an opening to stop him.

He managed to just get through the open hatch, and she followed patiently, likely realizing the open room would suit her fighting style far better than his. He moved his leg behind him to take another step... and his injured knee flamed into agony, collapsing beneath him, sending him tumbling to the floor...

The woman leaped at him, seizing the opportunity, her knife arcing through the air toward a very terminal terminus located roughly in the vicinity of his skull.

Just like he'd planned.

Hooking his toe under the hatch door, he used all his strength to swing it at her. Woman and door hit each other with a sound that would have been more appropriate from two starships colliding. The metal hatch bounced back open, but the underwear-clad amazon was stopped in mid-air. Blood leaked from her nose and forehead, and her eyes rolled back in their sockets as she fell. Landing on her knees, she tipped forward, like a felled tree, to sprawl across Canderous' bad leg. The knife clattered across the floor to the other side of the room.

He had enough time to draw a breath before he felt her move again.

By the Force, she was still fighting!

Blood ran down her face, but her arms were under her, and she was groggily trying to lever herself back to her feet. Canderous swung a foot, catching her along the temple. She was smashed back into the door frame, and flopped bonelessly to the deck.

For long moments he lay there, panting. He felt as if he dared not even take his eyes off her, else she'd get back up and come at him again. And if she did, he wasn't sure what he could do about it. His strength was spent; his arm and shoulder were in agony. He risked a glance around, but couldn't find his carbine.

After a moment he judged it safe enough to try to stand up. Canderous pulled his leg out from under her and staggered to his feet, feeling as if he'd just finished a combat drop from orbit. With nothing but his own underwear. Glancing around, he saw he was in the transport's galley.

Hmph. So this is where she got the knife.

Leaning against the counter, he tried to pull himself together. He watched the body on the floor carefully, and noted that she was still breathing. He felt an odd surge of relief, though he didn't quite understand why.

A whooping echoed from down the hall, and Magnin and Terro rushed into view, their faces lit with delight.

"Sith spit, that was an epic fight!" Terro crowed. "Ajuur could never hope to stage something like that!"

"You had us worried for a few moments," Magnin commented more calmly, though he trembled with hidden fear. Canderous fought down disgust.

"Get me a towel or something," he ordered. Terro ducked away, returning a moment later with a cloth of some sort, tossing it over the fallen form to the Mandalorian. It was clean enough for Canderous' purposes, so he took it and pressed it against his neck wound, staunching some of the bleeding.

"I've never seen anyone fight like that," Magnin commented. "Who is she?"

"Good question," Canderous conceded.

Magnin bent down to examine her, and she twitched, moaning softly, still unconscious. The pilot nearly flew into the far bulkhead, so quickly did he jump away. "She's still alive!" He pulled a blaster pistol from his hip, and pointed it at her head.

Enraged, Canderous strode forward, reaching over her to seize Magnin's wrist in a grip that promised to crush bone. He twisted the pistol to point toward the ceiling. "You touch her, and I'll finish what she started!" He shoved, and the pilot stumbled away, clutching at his weapon-arm. "Get some restraints, you clanless filth, and bind her... if you can manage that much!"

The two weaklings slunk away to obey, to Canderous' mild regret... he really did want an excuse to kill them.

As he stood guard over her, he finally had a chance to truly look her over. Despite her words to him, she was no Mandalorian. She certainly had the body of one of his people's warrior women, taut muscle stretched over a lithe frame; but she had no clan tattoos visible on any of the considerable amount of skin she had on display. That skin was also far too pale to count her among his people... so pale, it brought him to mind of one of the followers of the Sith.

He shook his head. She was no Dark Jedi. If she was, he would have known for certain... for the two or three seconds he would have survived.

Frowning, Canderous realized that the minimal garments she wore were actually Republic medical issue. And though four days living in the ship without facilities had left her ripe – and the blood and sweat of their little contest hadn't improved matters any – he could still smell the sour, lingering odour of a kolto bath.

A madwoman, escaped from some treatment facility? She'd fought with skill and cunning... rage and almost reckless guile, yes, but she was no ravening animal. She spoke Mandalorian... a captured slave during the war? Some of the clans did that.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

He was spared further speculation as Magnin and Terro arrived with a pair of manacles, and Canderous stepped aside to allow them access, though he kept careful watch on both of them. They quailed briefly before touching her; but in the end decided – sensibly – that the terrifying and unconscious stranger was still far less frightening than the terrifying and very-much-awake enforcer.

In short order, their troublesome package was bound, hand and foot. It wasn't nearly enough as far as Canderous was concerned, and they added a third cuff to tie her hands and feet together behind her. It was then that he felt like he could draw a normal breath.

"Mister Kang, sir!" Magnin jumped nervously to attention.

Canderous glanced up to see his employer standing in the corridor. Davik stood with his hands behind his back, gazing downward at their guest. Canderous knew that as Davik's supposed bodyguard-slash-enforcer, he should be objecting to his boss' presence in a potential combat area. But at the moment he was simply too tired to care.

At least the man had had the sense to wear his armour, although Canderous often wondered whether a blaster to the chest would be preferable to being seen in that ridiculous purple getup.

Davik nodded to the trussed body on the deck. "I see you have the situation under control. Well done. I'm also pleased to see none of the cargo was damaged."

Magnin winced, but subtlety was lost on Terro. "Thank you, sir!"

"Now... who let her on board?"

They both blanched, but Magnin at least had an answer on tap. "Jofo and Havin were the last to board, sir. Jofo was the one securing the lower hold, which is where we think she snuck in."

Davik raised an eyebrow. "Really, now? Too bad the little lady here killed them in particular. Well... I suppose they paid for their mistake."

"What about their pay? Since they're not... not... uh..." Terro's voice petered out as he saw the look Davik was giving him.

"Start unloading my cargo," the crime lord growled. The two crew turned pale, and then scurried off to obey.

The remaining silence stretched out. His boss looked the big man over, obviously noting how much of a mess the old soldier was.

"You didn't kill her." Davik finally stated.

"No, I didn't." It didn't quite come out as a challenge.

Davik didn't respond, just staring at the unconscious figure on the floor. Some of the blood from the gash on her forehead was spreading across the deck, but it had slowed to a trickle, despite how much a head wound would normally bleed. It was probably a lingering effect of the kolto in her system. Canderous was faintly envious... it taking most of his strength to just stay steady on his feet. His regeneration implant was beginning to catch up, now that he wasn't expending himself or taking more damage. But he'd lost a lot of blood... he needed a medpack, or preferably a medbay. The gash on his neck was still leaking, dripping down his chest and making him itch under his armour.

"Good work, Canderous," the other man finally said. Canderous' eyebrows rose in surprise. "It's obvious this is no ordinary stowaway. I'm really quite curious where she came from." He glanced at the Mandalorian. "She spoke to you...what did she say?"

Canderous had no desire to explain the nuances of what she'd said to him. Honourable combat and the precepts of the duelling circle were beyond the reach of this man. "Nothing important. A generic insult."

"Hm. Well, I'm sure we can convince her to be more talkative once she wakes up."

Canderous began to feel ill as she saw the lecherous way the Exchange boss looked at the insensate stranger, and it had nothing to do with his wounds. How could he not have thought this through? He'd wanted to keep that snivelling pilot from taking the kill of this wondrous woman, this angel of death, and not thought beyond. Despite the blood and bruises, the sweat and stink, she was still beautiful... he should have realized Davik would notice.

"You're going to have a hard time keeping control of her," Canderous pointed out. He knew he was effectively arguing for her death; but that was probably more merciful and honourable than anything the crime lord had in mind.

Davik frowned again. He didn't like his underlings questioning him, and Canderous was probably one of the only people in his employ who didn't give a damn. The Mandalorian knew he was going to stretch Davik's tolerance beyond the breaking point some day... but he didn't much care about that, either, so long as he got a good fight out of it.

Davik smiled suddenly, though there was nothing pleasant about it. "Let me worry about that. Risk is part of this job... and I think the payback will be worth it."

He gestured, and a Duros thug behind him came forward with a neural disruptor collar. Canderous' hands tightened into fists at seeing such a worthy warrior humiliated in such a matter, but intellectually he understood the necessity. He wasn't sure he could handle her again if she got loose. The other trash Davik hired as muscle wouldn't even slow her down.

"Get yourself cleaned up, Canderous," Davik ordered. "I'll be bringing in Zelka Forn to look at her. When he's done he can check on you, if you need it."

"I'll be fine," he grated.

But Davik had already turned away, Canderous forgotten, interested only in his new toy. Canderous' fists shook as he clenched them, as he watched the Duros and a Rodian pick up the limp form and carry her away. He wanted his carbine. Wanted to kill them all.

He wanted to kill her. He should have done so before Davik arrived, his own curiosity be damned. It was what she deserved; it was the least he owed her. An honourable death at the hands of a fellow warrior, not to be delivered as a plaything to an ostentatious swine on a backwater planet.

Davik would break her, just like he broke all his toys.

He nearly staggered as the weight of his sin settled upon him. For the first time in his life, Canderous felt burning regret for having won a fight.

What have I done?

(finis)