Star Wars: Honey Trap (TheCorsair and Lady Vi)

TheCorsair

TheCorsair

Fruit Bat Vampire
Joined
Dec 17, 2013
Star Wars:
Honey Trap

Turmoil has engulfed the Galactic
Republic. Neris Khan, a Master of
the Jedi Order, has been found dead
in the Undercity of Coruscant. Fearing
that his death may have resulted from foul
play, Master Valis Korrin has asked his
newly-knighted former Padawan to investigate...​
Coruscant%2Bspaceport.jpg


Quentin Hall's boots clicked loudly on the floor of the half-empty starport. He attracted some attention as he walked, entirely because of the uniform he wore. It was Jedi, of course, but of a design little seen in the past several centuries of the Galactic Republic. Black on black, with a black-and-brass lightsaber depending from the belt next to the pouches and other items of useful gear.

Quentin himself, had he been dressed differently, would have attracted minimal attention at best. He seemed to have been designed to blend into a crowd. Tall, but not exceeding six feet in height. Mildly handsome, with a good jawline and hair that was too dark to be called "sandy" and too light to be called "brown". Only his eyes stood out, a pale blue that resembled ice. He whistled to himself as he walked, enjoying the day.

Ahead of him was his destination. An Adastra Luxia-VI yacht. His Master, the Guardian Valis Korrin, had asked him to look into the death of Jedi Master Neris Khan. The autopsy had ruled his death natural causes, due to unexpected heart failure. Master VAlis had been skeptical, but had also been uncomfortable with the attention that Master would bring to the case.

Examining the forensic results in more detail, traces of cilona and ryll had been found in his blood - details that had not been released generally. Neither had been found in sufficient quantities to produce a lethal reaction, but it was felt it would not do to let it be known that a respected Master indulged in deathsticks or spice. But it as a clue, and Quentin had followed it.

Rather than leading deeper into the Undercity, as he had expected, the trail had led up. Up into the spires of Coruscant, where the wealthy and powerful could see the sky and breathe air that wasn't tainted by chemical smog. Up, and through a breathtaking slice of Coruscant aristocracy, through salons and gaming houses, and finally here. An expensive starport and a more expensive yacht.

"Not," Quentin observed to himself, "the sort of thing that I would have expected. Still, as Master Valis taught me, truth is what truth is. Not what we wish it to be."

Despite his confident language, he approached the yacht with a feeling of mild anxiety. This was, after all, the very last lead he had to follow. If this yacht offered nothing, he'd have to admit defeat. So, drawing a deep breath and calming his heartbeat, he toggled the call switch at the access door to the docking slip.
 
The door slid open almost the moment his finger touched the switch. A lesser ship's hatch might have 'whooshed' or made some other noise, but this one was as silent as silk on skin; clearly it was well maintained. Silhouetted in the doorway was a familiar form: a C-class protocol droid. It's chassis was polished chrome, un-dented and unsullied by any residual smog. The droid gave a wobbling bow, characteristic of the model's weak servos.

"Hello Sir, and good evening to you! I am designate De'o, personal assistant to Mistress Ahkaa," The droid said with all the decorum his kind were known for. Backing away from the hatch, the droid motioned to welcome Quentin on board, his metal face unreadable. "Mistress is expecting you, she will be very glad you've called. Please follow me."

De'o bustled inside as though glad to be out of the unfiltered air. Once up the steps, the yacht opened into a fairly standard corridor, decorated to resemble the foyer of an Alderaanian noble house. Though the bulkheads were presumably made of standard materials, they were painted in such a way to resemble white marble. The floors were a rich dark wood without any rugs to hide the lovely grain. Sconces set into the bulkhead gave off a soft glow that illuminated several vases of fragrant flowers. This corridor appeared to run the length of the ship, with several doors on either side denoting separate rooms. At the far end of the hallway, a narrow set of stairs led upwards to the cockpit. One door near these stairs was open, and it was this room that De'o walked toward.

The room Quentin was led to was bathed in natural light. A band of transparent bulkhead wrapped around the parlor along the ceiling, allowing plenty of light without damaging the privacy of anyone inside the room. Though the floors were the same expensive wood paneling, several plush rugs were scattered around the large room. The walls were painted a milky blue so pale it might have truly been white and more elegant floral arrangements decorated every spare surface with shades of green, violet, and white. A handful of comfortable-looking armchairs were clustered on one large rug around a low table. The table held no flowers, but there was a steaming teapot with two cups sitting beside a lacquered black box, beside this tea set waited a carafe of lilac-colored liquor and two stemmed glasses already rimmed with iridescent sugar.

Also near this table was a brocade chaise-lounge and on this Naadia'scha reclined while skimming a datapad.

The woman was small, perhaps 5'2", and as lovely as her ship. Her hair was a few shades darker than the wood beneath their feet, but polished to the same rich glow. It tumbled in curls over her shoulders, artfully arranged to look careless. Naadia's skin was alabaster pale and perfectly smooth everywhere that he could see. And he could see most of it. She wore a simple gown of draped lashaa silk, nearly translucent and soft seafoam green. The material hung loosely over her frame and spilled down the chaise to the floor so that a pair of long, shapely legs were exposed to the thigh. The plunging neckline left her chest bare to her navel, but all the proper bits were covered (strictly speaking). When she looked up, her perfectly-painted red lips curved in a delighted smile and her moss-green eyes danced with a wicked humor. She stood to meet him, gems sparkling from beaded strands that connected her middle toe to jeweled anklets. Naadia moved with the easy, practiced grace of a dancer as she set aside her datapad and walked toward them.

"Thank you, De'o, you may leave us." Her voice was unaccented and refined, clearly through years of practice. Her pupils were noticeably large as she gave Quentin a quick once-over, but she did not slur her words. "Would you care for a drink? Tea, perhaps? I have been looking forward to meeting you, I must say. But I am surprised that you came in uniform. It is your business, of course, but I thought your masters did not approve?"

She filled one of the cocktail glasses for herself, careful not to muddle the sugared rim. As she poured, the scent of rich fruit wafted through the room, mingling with the smell of the flowers. Naadia lifted her glass and inhaled as she sipped. Shimmering bits of sugar clung to her lips for a heartbeat before she licked them away delicately.

"Master Khan had such lovely things to say about you. I am so glad he finally sent you my way."
 
Everything about the yacht, including the droid, spoke of wealth. Wealth, and a familiarity with the halls of power. And Quentin walked the corridors with the easy arrogance of the young Jedi Knight, righteous and filled with the knowledge that the garb of a Jedi was more noble than the richest garments of kings and presidents, and that the serenity of the Force was beyond all measure of wealth. Still, though, he couldn't help but feel impressed by the artistry of the ship's interior. Understated and elegant, it proclaimed wealth by affecting simplicity.

And then the droid led him into the reception room.

Whatever he'd expected from 'Mistress Ahkaa' - a Twi'lek name, by the sound of it - she wasn't it. Slender and elegant and beautiful, displaying the same affected simplicity as her ship, Mistress Ahkaa as a vision of beauty in alabaster and pale green. And she clearly knew it, having arranged herself to display her charms in a subtle yet erotic manner. She rose like flowing water, supple and smooth, and her ornaments made a soft chiming music as she walked towards him and the droid.

"Thank you, De'o, you may leave us."

Her accent was of no particular world, and clearly enunciated to Galactic Standard. And, clearly, she'd imbibed in some mild narcotic or stimulant - her eyes, too dialated for the light in the room, made that clear as she looked him over. In response, he bowed, taking her hand and brushing his lips against the skin of her knuckles.

The touch of her skin was like lightning, and she tasted of honeyed flowers.

"Lady Ahkaa," he murmured, rising once more. "I am grateful for your time."

"Would you care for a drink? Tea, perhaps?"

"Tea would be delightful," he smiled. "But I don't wish to be a bother. I've..."

"I have been looking forward to meeting you, I must say," she continued, pouring a thin stream of pale lavendar fluid into one of the sugared cocktail glasses.

Quentin's ears perked up at that. He'd not reported in any of his findings yet, as reporting a negative wasted time. So... how could she have expected him?"

As the beverage splashed into the glass, the scent of exotic fruit joined the boquet in the air "But I am surprised that you came in uniform. It is your business, of course, but I thought your masters did not approve?"

"The Order," Quentin answered, deciding to temporize and see what he could learn, "rarely troubles itself with monitoring the movements of every Jedi in the Republic." A self-depricating shrug. "Particularly a new Knight."

She sipped her drink as he spoke, and he noticed multicolored crystals of sugar clinging to her ruby lips. As if in response, she gently licked them clean - and either she was trying to attract his attention, or she simply chose to make a sensual production of the action every time.

"Master Khan had such lovely things to say about you. I am so glad he finally sent you my way."

'Sent you my way...?' Curiouser and curiouser. But, carefully now.

"Master Khan was a good man," he agreed. "And a credit to the Order. Did you know him well?"
 
Naadia gestured for him to sit in one of the room's armchairs while she herself sat on the edge of her lounge. Her cocktail was set aside while she opened the lacquer box. Inside were several smaller boxes, each decorated with a gilded design. After another careful considering glance at her guest, Naadia selected one and opened it. The loose tea inside smelled of faintly vanilla and sweet smoke. She scooped the tea into the pot with a small silver spoon and replaced the lid. A single black leaf fell from her spoon, just one, but from the jittering way the spoon tapped the tabletop it was clear that her hand was shaking. Though her polite smile never faltered, waves of dread rolled off the petite courtesan.

"We have been friends for several years. You said 'was a good man'... The past tense is never a pleasant sign." Naadia did not fidget. She folded her hands in her lap, her nails unpainted perfect ovals. "He has not visited in over a week. I do not normally discuss my visitors with clients, privacy is of utmost concern to me, but... Something has happened, hasn't it?"

Naadia could feel the bottom dropping from her stomach. Neris had been more than just a client, his conversation was pleasant and his wit quick. While she made a point not to become attached to her clientele, she was very fond of Master Khan. After all, he was the one to first suggest she branch out into "importing" and he was the one that guarded her from prying eyes. Men died. It was a hard truth but Naadia had endured the sudden death of many clients, several lately in fact. But if Master Khan were to die... well, that was just a hard blow.

"Do you take honey in your tea?" She asked, voice steady as she poured the amber liquid into his cup. Her training would not allow any disruption. A lady of her sort must be the perfect hostess, always.
 
Quentin took the offered seat, uttering an involuntary sigh of contentment as he did. It was almost sinfully comfortable. Settling in, he watched Lady Ahkaa make the tea from a blend of leaves that smelled of vanilla and sandalwood. It was worth watching her, as well. There was no specific form of tea ceremony in her actions, but her movements spoke of an elegance and artistry that she had absorbed into her very bones.

Or was that just his hormones speaking? She was beautiful, after all. Beautiful enough to make the very act of breathing artistic.

But she was clearly nervous. Jedi had that effect on people, from time to time. He could read her nervousness in the subtle shaking of her hand, in the tightly controlled way she breathed. And in the raw dread that surged and coiled in her mind.

"We have been friends for several years. You said 'was a good man'... The past tense is never a pleasant sign."

"Never is a strong word, Lady Ahkaa," Quentin answered mildly. "But, in this case, I fear you are correct. Do you recall when you last saw Master Neris?"

Naadia did not fidget. She folded her hands in her lap, her nails unpainted perfect ovals. "He has not visited in over a week. I do not normally discuss my visitors with clients, privacy is of utmost concern to me, but... Something has happened, hasn't it?"

He sighed. "Yes, ma'am. He passed into the Force, about a week ago. Heart failure, according to the coroner's report." He hesitated, then continued. "He was a Master, and so I have been asked to look into his death. Quietly. To ensure that it was what it seems."

The truth. From a certain point of view. And her response was... interesting. He didn't pry into her thoughts, of course. But the dread strengthened, joined by shades of fear and anxiety. Not proof that she had some knowledge of what had happened, of course. But it certainly constituted evidence.

"Do you take honey in your tea?" She asked, voice steady as she poured the amber liquid into his cup.

For a moment his professional demeanor slipped, and a soft smile of pure delight lit his face. "That would be delightful! Such luxuries are a rare treat, here on Coruscant." His attitude was almost reverent as he took the cup, and he inhaled the vanilla-spice-honey aroma of the beverage before taking a sip. And then another sip. And another, until it took all of his force of will to not simply gulp down the tea.

"This... this is remarkable," he finally said. "I've never tasted a blend... blend... blend like... like... this..." The cup tumbled to the floor, unheeded, as he gripped at the arms of the chair. He felt like he was experiencing vertigo. But, instead of being frightening and disorienting, it was a pleasant sort of dizziness. Thrilling, like freefall or being on a carnival ride. And a tingling warmth spread from his stomach outwards, fizzing in his blood. He was incredibly aware of the feel of the fabric of his clothes and of the chair, of the impact of sound waves and of the subtle and multi-layered scents in the room.

"What..." he said, trying to rise. Air caressed his face and throat, making him shiver with pleasure as his balance failed him and he flopped back into the seat. "What... did... did you... give... me..?" With a few minutes concentration, whatever it was, he could neutralize it. Overcome the effects and purge it from his blood. But...

But he felt so good right now, so good that it was hard to want to concentrate. And Lady Ahkaa was watching him with eyes so green that he could become lost in them. Lost in her, simply by tracing the gentle curves of her body, the swell of her breasts and the smooth planes of her ribs and stomach. By the Force, just the rich oak of her hair could captivate a man for hours...

He shook his head again, tried to rise again and failed. "Drugged..." he grunted. "You... drugged... me..?"
 
The grief hit her like a feather pillow, soft and heavy on her heart. Still, Neris had left very specific instructions and he would want the experiment to continue. Clearly his apprentice thought the same, or why else would he be here? She carefully measured out a small glistening spoonful of honey from one of her many little boxes. Bubbles suspended in it sparkled like iridescent stars. In liquid form merakuya honey looked very much like the mundane variety, save for the scintillation of any crystals that might form. As a dry powder, the sparkle was so much more noticeable. It looked like the dust of violet diamonds, so much more elegant than just goop on a spoon. Still, Neris had insisted on starting with liquid.

She smiled knowingly as he eagerly sipped his tea. Master Khan had warned that his apprentice had taken to the stuff with enthusiasm, but she hadn't expected him to be so... Boyish. It was deliciously unique. Most men postured for Naadia, trying to impress her with their worldly aplomb. None of these serious old men ever stopped to think that she might like a bit of fun.

"Do you like it? The tea is a lovely carrier I think and-" Her smile evaporated as he dropped the cup. He was acting so alarmed that her own calm shattered to a million pieces. Hurrying to his side, she pressed two cool fingers to his throat and felt out his pulse. Nothing unusual there, racing, but not terribly. The pupils of his lovely eyes were widely dilated, but she judged them to be acceptable as well. "Did you take anything before you came here? Stupid boy! Didn't Neris give you instructions?"

Agitated as she was, Naadia's careful accent slipped. She swore under her breath in huttese, the guttural words forcing her breath against the skin of his throat. Master Khan had been very clear with her: his carefully chosen apprentice would come, she was to give him a single gram measure of the more potent liquid honey, the boy was to stay with her and record his experience. After the first gram, a larger dose could be given, if he wished... The knight was supposed to have experience with the stuff, yet here he was panicking over a single spoon!

"Drugged..." he grunted. "You... drugged... me..?"

"Of course not! I gave you no more than Master Khan specified!" She forced his head back and examined his face. No sweat, breathing regular, pulse and pupils acceptable. She considered checking his lap for other symptoms, but the man had been spending altogether enough time ogling her breasts that she would certainly find something. Perhaps he just wasn't accustomed to the liquid form? It did tend to hit much harder than the powder (one reason why she preferred the dust). That must be it.

Naadia made a conscious effort to control her emotions the way her mother had taught her. After so long with the honey, it was nearly second nature to project soft, comforting emotions for her hyper-aware jedi clients. She stroked his cheek and planted a kiss on the crown of his head before settling lightly in his lap. This way, she was close enough to keep him from running off and hurting himself on a table or something. Her mind produced endless waves of calm and languid lust, nothing too harsh against his mind.

"Hush now, you'll be fine. It's just the honey, the same sort that he gave you before." She pet his cheek lazily while her emotions attempted a similar gesture to his consciousness. "The liquid just hits a little harder. I shouldn't have let you drink so quickly, I'm sorry."

The rolling waves of calm care were broken by remorse. She projected genuine remorse for his fear while nuzzling up to his chest and trying to comfort away the initial terror. It was painfully clear that she truly did intend to keep him safe, that she meant no harm at all and regretted his 'freak-out'.

"Forgive me?"
 
He was struggling for control, fighting against the seductive grip of whatever it was that she had put in the tea. And she was close now, close enough for his oddly heightened senses to smell the floral and honey scent she wore, close enough to feel the warmth of her body on his skin. Her voice was music, gently playing the tingling heat in his blood, and she was saying... something.

"Honey..?" he echoed, voice catching as she settled into his lap and caressed his cheek. "Master... Nerrin... said...?"

By the Force, she was making it hard to think. He shifted a little, uncertain if he was trying to shift her off the aching hardness in his loins, or trying to press against her. But either way, he shuddered as pleasure rolled through him. And then her thoughts caressed his, comforting and heavy with a deep, slow lust as she nuzzled into his chest.

"Forgive... you?" he echoed, uncertain if he thought or spoke the words. His fingers gripped the arms of his chair, knuckles whiteding with the strain. He wanted so badly to touch her, to feel the smooth warm satin of her skin and explore the form she so artfully concealed and displayed. But he knew that, if he did, what little resistance he had to the drug would evaporate like the morning dew.

"Master... Nerrin?" he managed, struggling to focus. "But... why... me?"
 
"Why you? I haven't the slightest clue. He chose you specifically, though. He had a few candidates in the beginning, or so he said." She still spoke soothingly, but a little worm was burrowing through her calm. He was not acting the way she had expected, not one bit. She struggled to maintain the soothing pulse of emotion while running through everything the Master had said about his apprentice.

Young-ish (check), gifted (check, from the prodding in her rump, though she had no clue about his force abilities), corruptible without being overtly malicious (well, she'd have to guess there as well.), an "attractive little thing"... She remembered the master saying that phrase specifically. Quentin was attractive, certainly, but "little thing" didn't fit a man several centimeters over his master's height.

Oh, damn.

"Sweetling, Master Khan did send you, didn't he?" Damn, damn and damn again. Naadia let her fingers twine gently through his hair and forced herself to remain composed, but the anxiety was slipping back and making a hard knot between her shoulders. If this was not Master Khan's apprentice... She had just dosed a jedi. An innocent jedi. Somehow she doubted he'd forgive her with just a quick fuck or a fine.
 
"No..." Quentin said, the word escaping as a little moan as her fingers tangled in his hair. "Didn't. Investigating... death. Last lead... here."

It was getting to be too much. She was getting to be too much. She was a bonfire on his skin, her scent intoxicating. All he could think of was her, of peeling away the thin silks she wore. Of tasting her, of that perfect body of hers pressed against his as he moved within her, and his hands came away from the aarms of the chair with a shudering gasp.

And then he pushed her off his lap.

Even as she struck the ground he was rising, fists clenched and eyes closed in concentration. Standing was hard. Not immediately sinking to the ground beside Lady Ahkaa was hard. Staggering, half blind, he lurched away from the chair and crashed into the bulkhead. He clung to it for life as he focused on his breathing, focused on the Force. Within moments, although he could still feel the effects of the drug, he could think clearly once more.

"You said," he began, voice thick with desire. "that... that you thought Master Nerrin... sent me. Why? And... why would he... have sent someone... to be drugged?" He didn't look at her, not yet. He wasn't sure his newly regained control would survive that.
 
Naadia hit the floor with a graceless 'thump'. At least the thick rug provided a little cushion. Very little. She watched in numb horror as he staggered to the wall, fighting the effects as best he could. She fumbled mentally for a suitable lie, something that could satisfy him while leaving her innocent. Though she did have a few ideas, she decided that honesty would be best. It wasn't like merakuya was illegal or anything, and this was just a misunderstanding... Hopefully he saw it that way.

"Master Nerrin has been visiting for years, but over the last year he's only wanted to experiment with merakuya honey. It's expensive and very rare, so he had me procure it for him." The truth, though she omitted her importing adventures. "He thought that it effected jedi more strongly than anyone else, and right now I agree. That spoonful I gave you shouldn't have been stronger than a few cocktails. He said two weeks ago that he had found an apprentice to help. A young jedi knight. He was sending them to me, to test some stupid theory. I... Don't get many jedi clients. When you came, claiming to know him... I thought that you were the one."

She pulled herself up carefully and walked slowly close to him. Tentatively, Naadia touched his arm and attempted to lead him back to his chair. This was bad. Damage control was her first priority, but she couldn't help be fascinated by his reactions.

"Sit down again, please. I wouldn't want you to fall. Would you like some water? The effects can last for an hour or more sometimes, but I don't think it will be so bad." She smiled weakly as a thought occurred to her. "I suppose if you are not Knight Sunfell, I don't know your name. What should I call you?"
 
"Master Nerrin has been visiting for years, but over the last year he's only wanted to experiment with merakuya honey."

"Years?" Quentin echoed, disbelieving. "But... merakuya honey?" He had a passing familiarity with the most popular illegal drugs in the Republic - names, rough effects, and the link. That didn't sound familiar, though. "What's that?"

"It's expensive and very rare, so he had me procure it for him."

It wasn't a complete answer. He could sense that. But, her words were truthful as far as they went. Drawing a deep breath, he tried to clear his mind and allow the Force to flow through him. With the margin of control he'd already achieved, it came more easily. "Why?" he asked, not certain he wanted to know the answer.

Lady Ahkaa didn't directly provide one. "He thought that it effected jedi more strongly than anyone else, and right now I agree. That spoonful I gave you shouldn't have been stronger than a few cocktails."

He shook his head, feeling the effects of the drug beginning to subside as his body - enhanced through the Force - began to metabolize it. Turning, he tried to give her a hard stare, although the effect was muted by her beauty and by the drug, and by his memory of the deep, slow lust that had flowed from her mind. "Why... why did he expect that..." He shook his head. "No, that's the wrong question. What effect did he think it would have, on a Jedi?"

Again, lost in her desire to placate him - he could sense that in her thoughts as well - she continued along her own way of explaining what had happened. He said two weeks ago that he had found an apprentice to help. A young jedi knight. He was sending them to me, to test some stupid theory. I... Don't get many jedi clients. When you came, claiming to know him... I thought that you were the one."

"There are no coincidences," he murmured, quoting one of Master Valis' favorite axioms. "What effect did he expect to see? What was his theory?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she rose and cautiously closed the distance between them. He could taste the fear in her mind, fear of what he might do and fear of what could happen, and feel the shape of her plans to minimize the results. How was he doing this? Any Jedi could sense emotions, but... he'd never been able to achieve this level of detail before.

Her hand was gentle as it touched his arm. The drug was beginning to leave his system, clearly, because he didn't immediately feel his control turn to jelly at her mere proximity. "Sit down again, please. I wouldn't want you to fall. Would you like some water? The effects can last for an hour or more sometimes, but I don't think it will be so bad."

Nodding agreement, he allowed himself to be led back to the chair. Her fear eased, slightly, as he did. And then it hit him. "Water would be good," he said, carefully taking a seat. "And... this honey of yours. It, that is, somehow it strengthens your connection to the Force."

It was a statement, not a question.

She smiled weakly. "I suppose if you are not Knight Sunfell, I don't know your name. What should I call you?"

"Quentin," he said. "Quentin Hall. Formally 'Sir' Quentin Hall, but..." He peered up at her. "Sunfell? YOu were expecting a Jedi named Sunfell?"
 
Naadia glanced at the low table, her eyes landing first on the rimmed cocktail glass before shifting to the empty teacup. The glass was rimmed with honey dust, her own little indulgence. It was perfectly harmless, but given how he was struggling... She chose the teacup. A carafe of clean water waited on a side table across the room. Her hips moved invitingly as she walked away from Quentin, the drape of her dress left her back bare to the curve of her ass. Not that leaving so much skin naked made much of a difference. Naadia's dress was so close to sheer that it took pathetically little imagination to 'fill in the blanks'.

"Somehow it strengthens your connection to the Force." He was probably correct, she mused while filling the teacup. The carafe she carried back as well. A single teacup wasn't much water.

"That makes sense. Nerrin kept saying that it would 'Shake the council from their cushions' if his ideas were correct. He said it would re-energize the order, or something silly like that. Here you are." She offered him the cup with a polite smile. "Sunfell is the only name Nerrin ever gave me for his apprentice. It's entirely possible that I have the name wrong, he only mentioned it once. Do you know him?"

Out of habit, Naadia perched on the armrest of his chair rather than return to her own seat. Her long legs crossed daintily she waited with the water to refill his cup, looking very much like some slaver's fantasy woman.
 
Quentin found himself staring as Lady Ahkaa swayed over to the low table - the arch of her back, and the way it flowed down to meet the gentle swell of her rear was like a fine sculpture. But, he was pleased to note, none of his interest was the drug-laced near-uncontrollable lust he'd felt. No, this was simply (well, mostly simply) the admiration any healthy heterosexual human male would feel for someone with her graceful lines and practiced sexuality. And the fact that he was a Jedi didn't keep him from wondering what it would be like to slowly peel that sheer mint silk from her naked body.

But, it did keep him from acting on it. Duty is a mountain, death a feather - another of Master Valis' aphorisms.

"That makes sense," she said, responding to his speculations about the effect of the honey. "Nerrin kept saying that it would 'Shake the council from their cushions' if his ideas were correct."

Curious now, he leaned forward. Her thoughts weren't as sharp in his mind, now, clear proof that his Force-heightened metabolism was dealing with the honey. "Did he say what his ideas were?"

She returned with the water. "He said it would re-energize the order, or something silly like that. Here you are." She offered him the cup with a polite smile.

"Thank you," he murmured, taking the teacup and downing the water at one go. Hardly mannerly, but heightening your metabolism was thirsty work. "Re-energize the order, hm? And... you are certain he said the Knight you should expect was named Sunfell? Did he give you a full name?"

"Sunfell is the only name Nerrin ever gave me for his apprentice," she said, refilling his cup and perching on the edge of his chair. Her proximity, and those long legs of hers (made to appear longer by the way her dress rode up as she sat) was mildly distracting. "It's entirely possible that I have the name wrong, he only mentioned it once. Do you know him?"

"His apprentice..." he glowered, sipping at the water. Then he thought, furiously, for several minutes.

"I know her," he finally said. "Jedi Knight Linora Sunfell, Master Neris' recently knighted apprentice. She's a... friend of mine." He stumbled ever so slightly over the word friend. "This is bad. This is very bad."

Rising, he returned the cup to his accidental host. "I'll need to return to the Temple right away, and make a report. Please don't attempt to leave the planet - your testimony may be required."


"How long has he been in there?"

"Nearly half an hour."

A pause. "Bastasi! You know what this means, don't you?"

"We have to assume we're compromised."

"Deal with them."

"Them?"

"Yes. She's not the only source we have for the product, and she's a risk now."

"I'll see to it."
 
Her? Well, it certainly wouldn't have been the first woman Naadia entertained, but she was a little irked that Neris hadn't warned her. Women required a different approach, a firmer touch. She noted the tiny pause before he called the knight his 'friend'. Curious, but irrelevant. He probably had some rivalry with her or something equally silly. She took the cup from him, frowning as he stood.

"Testimony? Are you insane? I most certainly will not bring evidence against a client, dead or not!" She hopped off the edge of the chair, all seduction vanishing from her mannerisms. "My clients' privacy is exceedingly vital to them, and my business. If word got out that I was blabbing to the Jedi of all people... Look, it's terrible what happened to Neris, it really is, but..."

Naadia was interrupted by a soft chiming sound. A wave of confusion rolled off her, followed swiftly by alarm. She grabbed Quentin's arm, her grip surprisingly strong as her manicured nails dug into his sleeve. Through unseen speakers, her droid's voice issued their only warning.

"Mistress, several security droids are targeting the ship."

The yacht shook violently and flashes of red light danced over the viewports. She was thrown, stumbling into the jedi as the teacup fell from her hand and shattered on the floor. Another shot rocked the vessel and the cocktail glasses and carafe were knocked over as well. The room smelled of imported rum and narcotic honey but the air vibrated with Naadia's unshielded horror.

"They have fired, Mistress. I was able to bring shields online to escape-"

"Take off, De'o! Get us away!" She ordered frantically before Quentin could object. Her bare feet suffered a few nasty cuts on the broken glass as she tore away from the Jedi and ran to the cockpit stairs. At the door, she gave the knight a particularly scathing glare. It night have been a frightening look, if it came from someone bigger or wearing more clothes. "This is your fault, isn't it? Did you lead assassins here?"
 
"No," Quentin answered calmly, "I am not insane. I appreciate your concerns abiut client confidentiality, but a Jedi Master is dead - and deadin a way that calls the Order itself into question." He met her gaze unflinchingly. "Imagine what would befall the Republic if..."

There was a chiming sound, and Lady Ahkaa gripped his arm as her droid uttered its warning. And then the ship rocked under multiple blaster impact. She stumbled into him as he fought for balance, and the discordant sounds of shattering glass and the mingled scents of honey and spiced rum filled the air. "What was that?" he demanded, even as the droid supplied the answer.

"Take off, De'o!" she shouted pushing him away as she ran towards the bridge. "Get us away!"

"What?" Quentin demanded, stunned. "No! Countermand that!"

She glared at him. "This is your fault, isn't it? Did you lead assassins here?"

"No!" he snapped back, following in her wake. "If there's an assassin here, it's the woman who fed a Jedi Master a drug overdose!" He shoved past, intending to stop the droid's launch by brute force, if necessary. Apparently, however, the gravatics and inertial compensators of a Luxia-VI were top of the line. He hadn't felt the launch, but the view from the canopy put them at a half-kilometer above the Coruscant skyline and rising.

"Great," he said, blowing air out and trying to sound positive. "This works. We can just head for the Temple and..."

"Mistress," De'o interrupted, "there are six sensor contacts on an intercept vector."

Quentin eyed the screen, then stared out the canopy. After a moment, he said something quite unbecoming of a Jedi. "Headhunters," he grimaced. "Z-95s. De'o, I need you to transmit..."

"All communications frequencies are being disrupted," came the smooth reply.

Quentin said something else unbecoming of a Jedi. "Great. Just great."
 
"Oh for... First off, it wasn't an overdose. It's impossible to consume enough pure honey to kill you and even if it was, that was a tiny dose! I have more than that in my morning tea. It's not my fault you have the constitution of a new-hatched pylat! And secondly, I thought you asked for it!" She snapped, taking a moment to stare out the cockpit at the city. All sorts of lights and displays were flashing their incoherent warnings. It was horribly irritating and did nothing to soothe her terrified anger. "Don't act like you didn't like it, anyway. That was not a lightsaber poking my hip."

She crossed her arms under her breasts, still huffy but too nervous to press the verbal attack. Quentin's swearing made her more anxious than ever, though she couldn't comprehend his comments about 'zee ninety-whatevers'. Clearly it was a sort of ship, but that meant nothing to her. What did have meaning was the lack of communications.

"E chu ta..." She murmured, drawing a scandalized look from De'o. Well, as 'scandalized' as a droid could look. "They don't want to talk, do they?"

She took a deep breath that only shuddered a little. Her bare arms wrapped tighter around her chest, pulling the fabric out of place until it was almost indecent.

"Can you evade them?" She numbly asked the droid.

"I can try, Mistress, but evasive maneuvers would be most unsafe at this altitude. As it is, we have likely been flagged for unlawful take-off without proper clearance." De'o sounded almost like he was scolding her for the hasty retreat. "Too many marks against my piloting and I might be scrapped! Or have my software wiped. Both would be most unpleasant."

"I wouldn't let them do-" The ship rocked as scarlet lightening ripped across the viewport and interrupted her. A glancing blow, but a shot fired none the less, and this close to the buildings? "We have to go, this is bad..."
 
"Asked for it!" he snapped, completely skipping over the fact that she thought he'd been talking about himself. "Asked for it? What kind of dealer simply assumes that..."

She turned to stare out the window. "Don't act like you didn't like it, anyway. That was not a lightsaber poking my hip."

"Has nothing to do with this!" he continued, not bothering to deny that he had found it enjoyable. Truth is truth, and all that. So, fuming, he stared out the window as well and tried to make the best of the situation by speculating that they could simply head for the Temple. But the arrival of the six starfighters and the fact that they were jamming communications shattered that particular idea. He swore, and Lady Ahkaa drew a deep breath that made her chest do interesting things to the sheer fabric she wore. Scarlet lightning rippled across the windows as the deflectors shimmered under a glancing shot. "We have to go," Lady Ahkaa observed, "this is bad..."

"Really?" Quentin observed dryly, before spinning to face the droid. "Move."

"Sir?" De'o asked, sounding slightly confused.

"Give me the controls," he expanded, taking the co-pilot's seat and examining them. "I'm a trained combat pilot, and a Jedi, so unless your programming is military-grade, I suggest you shut up and hand over the controls."

The yacht rocked under multiple blaster impacts, sending coruscating lightning along the deflectors and causing warning lights to flare and blink on the console. "Now!" Quentin snapped.

"Mistress..?" De'o asked, voice hesitant.
 
"I am not a 'dealer'. You think I'm some dark-alley spice vendor? Oh, please. Forgive me for thinking that the strange jedi on my doorstep was the strange jedi due for a paid appointment later in the evening. How completely unreasonable of me! Next time I'll be sure to ask for three forms of valid identification!" She continued swearing under her breath, slipping expertly between huttese and ryl. De'o's whining frayed at her nerves and all she wanted was to send them both tumbling from the airlock. It seemed like a bad idea, though.

"Give him the controls. If he wants to play flyboy, let him." She dragged her hands over her face and a smudge of soft violet pigment drew over her cheekbones and ruined any illusion of calm. "If they try to blame you, at least I can say you weren't flying."

The droid scrambled out of the pilot's chair, clearly relieved. Naadia herself slipped into the copilot's seat, though it was more for stability than to offer any help. Truthfully, she could barely land the thing. A dogfight seemed utterly ridiculous. The lovely woman wasn't even certain the copilot had any controls of their own. Flying the Luxia-VI was a single-person operation.

"I suppose if your theory about merakuya and the Force is correct, you should be thanking me." She shifted in her seat and fidgeted with her dress while Quentin took the helm. It was then that she noticed the cuts on her feet for the first time, the observation drawing a new string of vibrant curses. Naadia pulled her legs up and began examining the cuts for any slivers of glass. The position was most unladylike though her evident flexibility was notable. "We're going to need every edge we can get. If you could refrain from damaging my ship, I would be grateful."
 
De'o clambered out of the pilot's chair, and Quentin occupied it. "All right," he breathed out, "let's..."

"I suppose if your theory about merakuya and the Force is correct, you should be thanking me," Lady Ahkaa grumbled, slipping into the copilot's chair and examining her bloody feet. Quentin concentrated on the controls and the readouts, trying to ignore a significant length of quite attractive leg.

"Thank you?" he answered, disbelievingly. "You drug me up, without even asking my name - and I'd think even a dark-alley spice vendor would ask for a name- and you want me to thank you?"

Even as he bickered, he reached out with his senses and felt the swift-moving currents of the future. Throwing three switches in rapid succession, he sent the yacht leaping straight up two hundred meters, allowing a volley of blaster bolts to futilely slash the air beneath them.

"We're going to need every edge we can get," she rejoined. "If you could refrain from damaging my ship, I would be grateful."

"Working on it," he grumbled. The Headhunter pilots hadn't been expecting that particular move, but they were already moving to compensate. Breaking off from the same plane, they took on an aerial hexagon formation. Quentin had seen it before. It was a pursuit formation, designed to box in a target that was being pursued.

He grinned. They were good, but there was an obvious counter in a gravity well.

"Hang on," he said, grabbing the yoke and making a few adjustments. "This may get a little bumpy..." And with that, he brought the ship's antigravity fields to maximum power.


To the Headhunter pilots, it was as if the yacht disappeared. Suddenly and completely unaffected by Coruscant's gravity, the yacht hurtled west and up at a over five hundred kilometers per hour. Then the main drives flared, adding another 800 kilometers per hour or so of acceleration.

The only sign of their passage was a sonic boom, and the plasma trail left in their wake.


"Yee-haw!" Quentin laughed as the yoke shuddered in his grip, watching as the plasma contrail died away. They'd already breached the planetary mesosphere,a nd another minute or so would put them in the exosphere. It was wildly dangerous, of course - without a filed launch corridor, they could have plowed through any number of unsuspecting ships. But the Force had allowed him to chart a safe course.

"This is a nice ship," he grinned, making a minor course correction. "Big as is it is, I'd expected something more... sluggish. But his handles nearly as well as a snub fighter..."

A blinking light caught his attention, and the elation on his face died away. "Kriffing sithspit," he growled without heat. "They're back on our tails. And they're faster than us." He glanced at the woman in the copilot's chair. "Whatever did you do to get this kind of hardware thrown at you?"
 
"I had a name..." She mumbled grumpily while drawing a particularly long shard from the ball of her foot. "It's not my fault it was the wrong one. You could have introduced yourself, you know. Or do you always have women welcoming you in with open arms?"

His warning was not a moment too soon. Had Naadia not gripped the chair when she did, the poor woman might have been tossed across the cockpit like a ragdoll. Or in De'o's case, a tin can.

"Oh my!" The droid tumbled into the wall, bounced off, and reeled backwards until he fell down the stairs with a very loud crash. Naadia's head whipped around just in time to see a chromed foot fall out of sight. She sighed, heavily, and gave the whooping knight a disapproving glare. Or rather, she tried to glare. He had a wonderful, youthful smile full of childish glee. Any wider and his face might have split in two and she found herself smothering a grin of her own for a too-brief moment.

"I don't know! Couldn't they be after you?" The worry was seeping into her voice, though he could doubtless feel it through the force as well. Hopefully he hadn't felt her reaction to that adorable smile. Cute or not, she was still upset with him and did not want to stroke his ego right now. "Until you showed up it was as calm as death. The only unusual event in the last month was Neris' missed appointment. And now his apprentice I suppose, but I didn't expect him, er, her, for another few hours."

Of course, there was the matter of... Her stomach fell. The dead master's portion of the last shipment was still boxed up and waiting in the master bedroom. He had never picked up his share, but the several million credits were in her account. Naadia had never asked, but she suspected that Neris was buying on behalf of someone more important. Who? And why in the seven black stars would they try to kill her rather than just send a new courier? Had Neris himself been stealing to fuel his 'experiment'? That would certainly earn his own murder, but... Why go after her?
 
"I suppose they could be," Quentin agreed, throwing the yacht into a series of evasive maneuvers. The Headhunters were within four hundred kilometers and closing fast, putting them amply in range of the tri-blast cannons on the snub fighters. "But if they are, it's because I'm investigating the death of Jedi Master Neris Khan... hang on!"

The scaffolding of an orbital stardock came into view. He jinked hard, sending the yacht into a spiraling course that took them through the dock structure. Twice they blasted through apertures with a scant meter's clearance on all sides, and three times he barely dodged workers and work droids who - naturally enough - had no reason to expect a yacht in their section. Reflexively he tried to kick in the afterburners as they cleared the far side of the station, only to be reminded that he wasn't flying a ship with afterburners.

"You remember..." he added. "The Jedi Master who died of a drug overdose? So, even if they were after me, they'd probably have come for you anyway."

He sent the yacht spiraling back towards Coruscant, hoping they'd assume he was still making for deep space. Then he had to jerk the nose up hard as crimson blaster bolts bracketed space beneath them. "Damnit," he muttered, "I was hoping they'd be green. Anyway, time for plan b..." Accessing the navicomp, he selected a destination at random and began the process of calculating the hyperspace translation calculations. "We'll jump out of here, then make a second random hop once we arrive, then make our way back. Best case, those Headhunters aren't equipped for lightspeed. Worst case, we lose them with two random jumps." He shot her a grin. "Looks like you're stuck with your strange Jedi for a while longer, Lady Ahkaa."

He'd meant it as a joke. But, looking at her in the copilot's chair, he found that he was actually sort of glad for the excuse. Suppressing the rogue thought, he grabbed the hyperspace controls.
 
As Quentin skillfully pulled the ship through the maneuvers, Naadia sat perfectly still in her seat. Her knuckles were white from gripping the armrests and her eyes showed several millimeters of terrified white around the green iris. Occasionally a tiny gasping squeak escaped her lips, but for the most part she was admirably silent. Once the ride turned back toward the planet she became aware of a burning sensation in her lungs. Apparently breathing was still required when one was in mortal peril. Her chest heaved rapidly, half from her panting breaths and half from the pounding of her heart.

"Do you always fly like this?" She said with weak humor. "If so, I forbid you to touch the controls once we're safe... Lands below... After this I need a very stiff drink."

She gathered the remnants of her dignity and was quite pleased to realize that she had neither wet herself not started crying. The jedi tapped away at the navcomputer, somehow while still pulling them through dizzying jinks and jukes. If the force could grant this sort of piloting skill, why weren't her jedi clients more adept lovers? The thought was so ridiculous that she giggled out loud. It might have turned into a full laughing fit if their pursuers hadn't chosen that moment to begin firing wildly. Most of the shots went wide, flying harmlessly into the distance, but at least one struck a building in the distance. Naadia cringed to think of any poor sould that might have been hit. Just as Quentin keyed the last few digits, the ship rocked and shuddered. She smelled ozone and smoke, the ship chiming warnings about shield failure.

"That one hit... but..." She leaned over, shaking visibly, and read the damage report. It was mostly gibberish, but she figured most of it out. "It's not bad, just hit it. No breaches or anything serious. "
 
"No," Quentin assured her, "I don't always fly like that. Sometimes, I'm reckless." A quick grin, before he realized that he was showing off and should behave. "Seriously, though... I was trying to lose them. After all, who would have expected that?"

With that he powered up the navicomp, remarking on how she was stuck with her 'strange Jedi' for a while longer. And then, as he reached for the drive lever, the ship shook and shuddered and warning lights flared across the displays. "What was that?" he asked, hand locked on the control. "What happened?"

"That one hit... but..." She leaned over, shaking visibly, and read the damage report. "It's not bad, just hit it. No breaches or anything serious."

He shook his head. "No such thing as 'not serious', not in a starship." One-handed he worked the yoke, desperately evading tribolts. "But, we'll have to risk it. Hang on!"

The lever slid back smoothly, and the stars in the canopy lengthened into streaks before being replaced with the swirling tunnel-like effect of hyperspace. Settling back, Quentin breathed a sigh of relief. "There, that's done. Looks like we'll be translating out in..." he checked the navicomp, "three days. Somewhere in the Expansion Region, along the Corellian Trade Spire."

With that observation he turned, catching one of her shapely calfs in his left hand and lifting her foot into his lap. "Here, let me look at that."
 
"That wasn't reckless?" She asked incredulously. The flash of his smile told her that he was kidding, but... He flew too well to be new to this sort of insanity. At least the chase was over.

The stars stretched into a hypnotic tube of light and Naadia exhaled in relief. She allowed Quentin to take her leg, paying more attention to the whiteness outside than the way her foot rested on his thigh. The muscles of her leg were firm and toned; the skin smooth, soft, and tight. Her feet were carefully manicured and the nails lacquered with the same clear polish on her fingers. Up close it was clear that her jewelry was made of tiny silver chains and delicate filigree to hold the gems. The anklets' clasps were tiny green leaves that twined with each other like vines. After a second or two she seemed to realize the unladylike way her legs were spread. Though Naadia didn't blush or feign embarrassment, she quickly turned so that both of her feet were pointed in the same direction.

"Three days is an awfuly long time. I'm afraid you won't be able to contact your masters until then." She wouldn't be able to cancel her appointments either. Luckily, she was fairly certain that she only had personal appointments scheduled. Mother would just have to wait for her weekly call. "The hypercomm system has been down for months. I meant to have it repaired, but I so rarely take long voyages that it just kept slipping my mind. We should have more than enough provisions, at least. How bad is it?"

She gestured to her foot, indicating the various cuts. It took a surprising amount of self-control to keep herself from pressing her foot against his groin. Quentin was young and attractive, and Naadia's training was strong; she was far too used to seducing the men around her.
 
"Well, there's reckless and there's reckless," Quentin admitted. "I'm a Jedi, remember? Part of our training is learning to use the Force ti anticipate things that will bge happening." A shrug. "I've also done this sort of thing before. Experience helps."

The topic turned to how long the trip would take. The revelation that the hypercomm was down was disappointing, but not distressing. They'd just need to locate a functioning one once they returned to realspace, that's all. He would have liked to wrap matters up today, but a few days more wouldn't matter.

"How bad is it?" Lady Ahkaa asked.

"Not bad at all," he commented absently, admiring the smooth curve of her calf and thigh. "Quite nice, in fa..." His words cut off as, embarrased, he forced himself to examine the dashes in her feet. "Not too bad," he decided, gently probing the edges of the cuts with his fingertips. "Not too good, either. We'll need some antiseptics and bandages to dress them, to make sure they don't get infected. Bacta packs would be better, if you have them."

With that, he cupped his hands around her feet, studying the wounds through the Force. Her body responded to his subtle manipulations, injuries growing warm as blood flow increased and white blood cells and antibodies and platelets flowed more swiftly and accurately to their duties. Finally, releasing a breath, he dropped his hands. "That will help, too. But you should stay off your feet, at least until we get them sutured."
 
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