Krev tells himself he's spent past couple of days preparing for his new life. For Mr. Kossar's life. For the life on Coruscant.

But it's banthashit: all he's been doing is travelling down memory lane.

Reading Coruscant news. Looking at his old holopics: he can remember how to get to a few places on them; where to get off the subway and so on. He's been watching fucking holotours.

He can feel the smell of Coruscant in his nostrils: the fake sea and the fake forest smells maintained in the streets. Nobody he knew on Coruscant liked that shit - every single air conditioner was programmed to filter them out. The odor of sweat in Uscru - any sweat you can desire, be it the hot, steamy variety of fucking couples, triples, and groups of all species or the cold sticky sweat of a g-head amid withdrawal. The vague fragrance of the respectable districts - never too on-the-nose unlike those fucking sea and forest mass-emitted shit. The heavy smell of smoke in a hundred-kilometer radius of the Factory District. The sharp stench of repulsors traces - everywhere. Good smells and bad - and you can inhale them all without dying.

Krev can feel them all.

He even toys with the idea of finding on the Holonet that girl he lived with there. It's a shit idea, though - he knows that. Can tell before trying it out, which is unusual for him.

You aren't going anywhere yet, he tells himself. It doesn't convince him.

His new ID - Kossar's new ID - isn't ready. It takes a long time to forge a Republic citizen's passport. But it's being made, so Krev feels half not on Telos already.

You are not done with Telos, he tells himself.

There's still money to be made here.

Alnam Jr. doesn't pester him anymore. One part of Krev is glad. The other is suspicious. Krev as a whole repeats his mantras: the two Alnams don't work with one another, the two Alnams don't work with one another, the two Alnams don't work with one another.

The operation is going smoothly. Agvar and Triskin are regurgitating the old info at this point, but that doesn't matter to both Seps and Reps: they are as willing to grind the leaks now as they were a month ago. The duo doesn't even need to do much at this point: the discussion goes on on its own.

Krev's in two minds on what to do with them when he'll be leaving. They know too much - although not as much as to leave him with no juicy bits to post from Coruscant. He smiles whenever he thinks about it. They do know too much, absolutely, but he's not some holofeature villain. He can't just go and murder two innocent, if stupid, people - he's done one in this year, and enough's fucking enough.

But what should he do?

In regards to Alnam Major: the two idiots can't tell him anything he doesn't know about Krev as it stands.

Alnam Minor, though: they know Krev's face. Sorval does, too, of course, but Krev knows he can rely on the demonman.

Not a huge deal. You can't check septillions of Humans all around the Galaxy - or even hundreds of billions on Coruscant - for Krevness.

Krev can: give the suckers money to keep their traps shut. Bring them along to Coruscant. Just leave them to their own devices.

Every solution is lame. Money won't do nothing - it never buys loyalty in the absence of someone to break an apostate's legs. Taking them to Coruscant may be smarter - this way, Krev won't have to hire anyone else there. Fewer liabilities. But he can do their job on his own once on Coruscant, he's sure: they have prepared the rockbed for him. No reason to hire anyone there at all. And why would they abandon everything and go to Coruscant? Nah. It's easier said than done, anyway - what's with all the IDs and visas.

And leaving them unattended reeks of an oversight even before Krev's done it.

Which brings him to: Sorval. He knows he's gonna need Sorval on Coruscant.

That, he feels, won't be a huge problem. There's a very good reason for the demonman to come there.

He gets a call from Alnam Minor on the thirtieth - early in the morning, when it's the easiest to imagine yourself on Coruscant.

"Mr. Devin, can we meet today?"

"Sure thing. Where do you fancy meeting up?"

"At Forty-Four."

Takes Krev a moment to get it.

"You mean the mall?"

"My first impression of the Telosi bars was not great. I believe, I'd rather stick to ice-cream."

Works for Krev: he lives close to Forty-Four.

All the more time to spend on his almost-Coruscant.

Alnam Minor gives him two hours: that also works.

Krev slips into dozing again, but it doesn't last. The mini-Coruscant doesn't wish to build itself around him. He gets up. Plays some Sabacc while eating his cereals.

What could Alnam want today? He visited Sorval - but that was more than two weeks ago. Sorval's side of it was that it was just a formality - which didn't stop him from name-dropping the Besalisk. Will Krev hear Alnam's version today? He'd like to think not. After all, Alnam didn't go to Agvar after that - or so Agvar said. He looked and sounded just the same as always, though, so Krev's inclined to trust him.

Alnam... Alnam is an incredible bore, it turns out. Krev grins: it's as if he wanted him to prove more of a nuisance. But no: he's nothing like his father. He doesn't fuck up so badly all around him are affected. Maybe he took a lesson from his daddy's downfall?

Thinking about Alnam - especially when a meeting with the man is looming over him - is like sitting in an idling speeder. Off and off Krev's mind wanders until it's going full speed.

Suddenly, he realizes, he has a plan. No - not a plan: he doesn't yet have all the details. But he knows what he will do. This knowledge just pops inside his head like a dish that's been cooking for a while and now the timer turns the oven off and presents the result.

He'll tell Alnam Major they need to relocate their base of operations - after the Minor one leaves the planet. Under the pretext of taking a precaution: ongoing RDS investigation and so on. Better to secure the assets before it's too late - even if it's nothing. Sure, far as Alnam is concerned, Krev got a spare hundred thousand - so the relocation costs must be higher than that. Much higher. He'll need Sorval's help making them up - but he'd need his help in any case.

Having a plan - no, knowledge - makes his heart beat a march. Ain't nothing like a drug - that makes it race in a way it never does. Makes you someone you're not, but who is you.

This - this is like becoming someone you're supposed to be.

They'll split the money once they hit Coruscant. The bigger part will have to go into establishing a new leak center - naturally. But the rest they'll split.

Will Sorval agree? He'll want to go, that's for sure. Weaning him from Alnam is the hard part.

Good thing it's not Alnam - nor, let's be honest, even his cause - that Sorval is in it for. He may not care all that much about Alnam's part in Ulmis Systems, but he never cared - all that much - about the whole picture altogether.

Still, Krev thinks, you gotta be careful with it. Best find some more incriminating holopics of Alnam - won't hurt if there are some documents or-

He doesn't recognize what the sound is at first. At first, he thinks it's the fire alarm, but realizes it's not before he finishes turning his head to the oven.

No, it's the doorbell. Who the fuck can that be?

Krev puts his pants on before answering it. Looks back at the terminal: the game is still going on. Well, shit - there goes his rank.

He presses the mike button. "Who's there?"

Nothing but mechanical scratching comes from the speaker. The video: not much better - but the camera was fucked a long time ago.

Krev pushes and unpushes the button several times more. Nothing happens.

The bell rings again.

The scratching keeps coming from the speaker.

The fire alarm inside Krev's head starts buzzing.

You aren't going to get the door with a gun in hand, are you?

Why not, Krev thinks. That's not a bad idea.

He steps away from the door. Picks up the DY from the table. Puts it in the holster first, but then removes it and sticks it under the belt behind his back.

The bell rings again.

Krev opens the door.

A blaster snout is peering at him.

"Hands on the wall," he hears a voice.

He feels the granulated surface of the wall on the skin of his palms before anything registers with him. Anything save for the blaster.

It's Alnam, he realizes when he sees nothing but the wall in front of him. He saw him for a split second. He knows it's him.

Something scratches his back. His own blaster, he realizes. Gone, he realizes.

"... under arrest for anti-Republic libel," the voice behind him says as the hands behind him truss his up.

"It is your fucking old man after all," Krev says. The back of his head doesn't itch no more: it burns.

Now it will burn for real.

"Here is the warrant, Mr. Devin."

A datapad on the periphery of his vision. He can't see shit.

"You will have an opportunity to make acquainted with it at the police station."

"Drop the fucking show," Krev says. Manages on the second try: his mouth is so dry as if he's crossed a desert.

He musters his voice, though. He's scared almost to death - almost. Scared of dying - which he will do plenty of real soon.

The point is, he'd prefer to piss himself after, not before.

"Do your job, daddy's boy. Make it quick - I don't have time."

"I will now read and explain your rights to you," says Alnam. His voice travels all around the apartment.

He's looking for something.

Brate's hard drive, what else?

Krev takes his face away from the wall. Turns slightly.

Alnam stands in the middle of his room. Datapad in one hand. Comlink in the other.

Blaster: holstered.

Krev doesn't see Krev's blaster.

Trample the faggot!

Like shit he will. Not with hands tied behind his back.

You're twice as fucking big as him.

Fucking kill him. You don't need hands for that.

Run him fucking over. Throw him at the window. Then boot him in his fucking faggot face. Make it a splash of faggy-red on the transparisteel.

"You have the right to legal assistance," Alnam says. His fucking voice is super unsure. Fuck's he doing?

Krev glances at him again. Alnam glances at his comlink.

Calling his fucking dad.

Kill him fucking now.

I fucking can't, Krev thinks.

Krev tries to move his hands around - just to let the part of him that hasn't given up know they're fucked, both it and him. No luck there - they are fucked.

"You have the right to a state-issued representative. You have the right to choose..."

Why's Alnam so slow to do what he came for?

Maybe he's got cold feet?

Try it, try it, try it - some part of Krev says.

No, fuck that. He won't go down begging. Not this faggot, anyway.

"... the right to choose a state-issued representative from Telos IV or the Republic..."

He didn't kill you at once. He needs something: the hard drive. Or to know if you have copied its contents somewhere.

Yes. You told his dad you did. He's here for it.

And the money. The old man got you figured out.

"Does it get your prick stiff or something?" Krev asks Alnam. "Just be done with it!"

"You are not improving your situation, Mr. Devin. You have the right to-"

The doorbell rings. Again.

Alnam's men? Sorval? Sumar? Alnam's men?

Krev feels the air move as Alnam walks to the door.

He now stands with his back to you. If only your hands were handcuffed in front of you...

"Is that you, sergeant?" Alnam asks.

What the fuck? What-

"Devin, baby, come out," says the voice on the other side. "We know you're there."

This just adds questions. Whatever the answers are, Krev's sure he won't like them.

He turns to Alnam - only to face the blaster. He didn't notice when Alnam unholstered it again.

"Who's talking?" Alnam asks.

"The dead men," says the speaker. "Frosko Baltenyi and Gil the Pugilist. Gil Strago. And Reuben Kirda, a friend of ours. They're coming to take their due, Devin, and what is due to them is you. Open up."

Fuck. Fuck. It's almost funny.

The cavalry has arrived. But it's not here to help Krev.

"Must be humiliating," he says. "That your dad doesn't fucking trust you with a simple task, I mean."

Alnam looks at him, then back at the door.

There's something in his stare... Krev thinks he saw it. Can't tell for sure.

"This is the RDS," Alnam says into the mike. "Mr. Devin is in our custody, and that's not going to change. A police squad is now going up the stairs to assist us."

"Huh, I wouldn't count on that," the speaker answers. "Tell you what, RDS: you got one minute to get the fuck out of here. Keep your hands where we can see them - and we'll let you walk away."

Alnam steps away from the door. His blaster is lowered now - but Krev doesn't rush him.

Alnam brings his comlink up to his mouth again. Looks at Krev.

"Back off into the room," he tells him.

Krev obliges. Alnam stays by the door. Whoever he's calling doesn't respond.

"What are you waiting for?" Krev asks. "Go ahead, kill me. Show your dad what you're made of."

He says it, but a mad, insane hope is already burning inside his chest.

Alnam follows him into the room. "Who are these people?"

"You know that, don't you?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I did."

Alnam's pale. He's pointing his gun at Krev, but he doesn't keep his sight on Krev. No: his eyes are going left and right. Wildly so.

"Ixtlar," Krev says. "The outfit."

"And they want you dead?"

"Fucking bingo."

"Or they are in cahoots with you and want to extract you and make it seem as if you were killed."

What is he on about?

More importantly: is he for real?

"Now that's not fucking bingo. Why would they do that? I mean, right now? Could've done that any other fucking day. Listen, if you're gonna-"

"Or they want to extract you and make it seem as if you were killed, but are not in cahoots... To interrogate you... No."

Krev tries to angle his shoulders a little less painfully. "Care to explain why? I mean, your train of thought?"

Keep him talking. Maybe they won't storm the apartment with an RDS agent inside.

Because by now, it really looks like Alnam has no clue of what's going on.

"They would need to take you away," Alnam says absent-mindedly, still jerking off his comlink. "It would be better to do it quietly, and then dump-"

Another buzz from the doorbell.

Alnam makes a lax motion with the muzzle of his blaster at Krev. Goes to answer the door.

Shit. Think. He's not working with them. Not working with his old man.

But the old man still got you.

"Come on, RDS, we're waiting! Get the fuck outta here!"

"Are you really going against the Republic, Ixtlari? That's a good way to end up with a Gamorrean dick up your ass on a prison asteroid. Ever heard of Black Blarth?"

The Ixtlari laughs. "You sure talk the talk. But you're gonna be dead all the same if you don't skedaddle."

"Listen," Krev says, "please, agent, just uncuff me before you go. And give me my blaster back."

"Is that Devin I'm hearing?" another voice comes through the speaker. "How do you do, you fucking cocksucker? How are you enjoying your last fucking moments of breathing?"

Alnam cuts him off. "You two - shut up and listen up. The only people getting the fuck out of here will be you. I won't lie to you: I will come for you anyway. But first I will take Devin to his cell, so you got yourselves a few hours of leeway."

More laughter. "Alright. You made your choice, RDS."

Krev sees the door panel burst into sparks before he throws himself down on the floor. He doesn't hear the door opening or Alnam falling: just the pulsing of a heavy rifle. His right shoulder and arm feel heat passing above them. He looks up - to see myriads of glowing orange dots on the transparisteel of the window. The glow slowly fades away as they cool down.

More fire comes. Krev tries to get away from it, but it's coming from all directions. He turns his head left and sees a storm raging where the door used to be. To its left, the bathroom walls give way to blaster fire, bits of plastcrete flying all over the place.

Serious fucking artillery, he thinks. Broke through two walls.

The lights in the bathroom go up for a second - the wiring must have got busted. The lights of the rifles don't stop, though.

All of a sudden, the door ceases fire. At first, Krev thinks the concentric blue circles travelling towards it are just colored flashes, a retinal glitch. Then he gets it: they are stun blasts.

Whoever's firing through the bathroom stops, too. Krev raises his head a bit and sees that Alnam is still alive: lying on the floor between the bathroom wall and the apartment's, holding the blaster with both hands.

"What the fuck is it, Bermy?" comes a voice from outside the apartment. "Fuck, they got an EMP or some shit!"

"It's just a stun gun," another one replies.

"Oh yeah? Why does it itch so fucking much, then?"

"It's just a stun gun, for fuck's sake! Get over it!"

Alnam uses the pause to crawl behind the bathroom corner. Not much is left of it - or of the bathroom in general. Krev hears water warbling.

"What the fuck are they?" Alnam either whispers or rasps. "Armor. I put five shots into him. He shrugged them off."

Krev manages to relocate himself closer to his terminal - and to Alnam. The terminal is dead, and smoke is rising from it, mixing with the smoke of the window shades burning on the floor. He sits up and pushes with his legs until the terminal covers him.

Jackshit that's gonna do.

The air smells of burnt plastic and dust. Krev finds a spot on the terminal base he can lean against with his shoulder so that his arms don't hurt so bad.

Never thought he was gonna go like this. But - it is a bad day, ain't it?

The Ixtlaris' swearing outside. How many? Two - at least. Now would be the time to try and do something about them and probably die in the process. Why isn't Alnam doing that?

As if a response to Krev's thoughts, the handcuffs unlock. He can't hold a grunt when he brings his arms forward.

"Here," Alnam tells him, but Krev just sits with his back to the base, enjoying his body once again being his. For the last time, most likely.

"Here," Alnam prods on.

Krev looks at the gift he brings. It's his DY-225.

"You'd be better off wasting me right now," he tells Alnam. "Maybe they'll let you go then."

He doesn't know why he's saying this. To repay for Alnam's goodwill, perhaps?

"Take the fucking thing, or I may."

Krev looks in Alnam's eyes as he picks the blaster up. The weight feels good in the hand. So does the old, worn-out plastic of the handle. Krev's hand remembers it - and it remembers Krev's hand: the sweat-stain imprint matches his palm.

Shame it'll do fuckall against the Ixtlaris.

They're an awful tight fit behind the terminal, Alnam and Krev. Not that the terminal will protect them against the howitzers the Ixtlari boys are packing.

Krev peeks around the corner of the base. All he manages to gather before he draws his head back in is the open door and a puddle of water spreading from the fucked-up bathroom. He tries to recollect if he saw any movement beyond the door, but all his mind is capable of is wondering why the puddle looks so much like oil.

I've been drinking this shit for years, he thinks. Well, not anymore - at least, that's something good today has brought.

Alnam next to him is shaking. The face's focused, though. Grabs his gun with both hands.

"Whichever one of you cocksuckers shot at me dies last!" one of the Ixtlaris proclaims.

Krev considers another reconnaissance, but another bout of hellfire swallows the room before he gathers up enough courage. Blaster bolts further fuck the window up, some making new craters in the transparisteel and some landing in the old ones. And some - some are hitting the terminal behind Krev's back. He can feel them all as if the terminal was a part of him.

The next moment, he finds himself prone on the floor. Hell if he can tell how he ended up like this. But: the blaster's right in front of his face, the sights just as right in front of his right eye, and his trigger finger's on the damn trigger.

The space of the corridor flashes up with mad lightning: four hundred strikes a minute. The lightning reflects off a shiny piece of ceramisteel in the doorframe.

Off a shinguard.

Krev knows not to shoot as soon as he aligns the sights with it. Catch his breath and all that. Still shoots. Misses. Shoots again. Misses. Red flowers bloom on the wall behind, one to the right of another. Krev shoots again. The ceramisteel mirror jerks up. The barrage of laser doesn't even hiccup. It goes higher - something explodes above Krev's head and something light but unexpected falls on his back, making him plant another flower on the corridor's wall - and then lower. Pain stubs Krev in the back of his left thigh. He curls up in a ball of electrocuted flesh.

His eyesight grows red. He claws at his chest, throat, then chest again. Then he remembers how to breathe. Construction dust feels sweeter in his lungs than the smell of vormurs.

He lies coughing, now painfully aware of every hot chunk of plastcrete biting into his torso. The cannonade has subsided, it seems.

"I'm hit!" somebody screams. Alnam? No - the voice's coming from outside.

"Don't be a pussy, Thedul! It's just a handgun!"

"My leg's all fucked, I'm telling you!"

Krev uses the pause to survey the room. The mattress half-hangs off the bed. The bed itself stands askew. The bathroom door has been shot out of its frame and now rests on one of the bed's corners.

And behind the bed, Alnam takes cover.

Krev slithers to the wall, more crumbs scratching him through his wifebeater. The terminal: all gone. Parts of the carcass still stand, but all the stuffing has been fused into the wall under the window.

He looks at the door. No motion there.

His position isn't bad - or wasn't. Now the Ixtlari knows where Krev is. Hugging the wall may buy him a few moments - but that's about it. You'd better roll away from it and hide behind the bed.

Those fucking death cannons shred walls into crochet, though. What good is a bed?

Krev almost starts crawling ahead to get past what's left of the terminal when the corridor belches another portion of laser. This one lasts for only a few seconds, but Krev's stopped in his tracks.

The fire in his thigh grows hotter. It calls for his hands to check how bad the damage is, but they're too damn busy holding the blaster.

Krev catches Alnam's frantic gesturing with the corner of his eye: three fingers and then one pointing at the terminal. Looks like it's not the first time Alnam's doing this shtick - he shows no signs of stopping, either. Krev jerks his head towards the terminal. Alnam violently nods.

Maybe he's not wrong. Here in the open, they'll get Krev sooner or later - and it'd be easier to join Alnam if he goes behind the terminal and not in front of it, where the bathroom door lies.

Alnam shows him one finger. Then two. Krev braces himself. Tries to ignore the pain.

Alnam's three fingers shoot upwards. Krev rolls left. It's taking him ages, the thigh and debris and all, but he reaches the spot behind the terminal base before more fire rains down on the room. Something hits the darkened frame of the base as more shots fly over Krev's head. The bathroom door. Some new holes in it, looks like. None in Krev, looks like.

The hail stops, and he looks out of his non-cover. Look at Alnam: he's moved on - now hiding at the corner of the bathroom. The bathroom's fucked: Krev can see through it.

He sees alright. He sees an armor-clad fucker: ceramisteel pauldron and parts of helmet. He shoots four times. Behind all the broken walls, he can't see what it does - but he can't see the fucker either now.

New signals from Field Commander Alnam: three more fingers in the air and one pointing behind the bed.

"Fuck," one of the Ixtlaris shouts, "we're wasting fucking time."

"No shit we are!"

Alnam's stuck with his index finger up, listening.

Krev's willing to listen, too. As long as there's a brief respite, he is.

"Go in."

"Fuck that shit! You go in! My fucking leg still fucking hurts!"

No it doesn't, Krev registers a dull thought. Mine does.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Your armor is fine!"

"It must be the kinetic impact."

"Fucketic fuckpact, my ass. Okay, okay. I'll go in."

Alnam gestures at him, but Krev shakes his head. He tries to tuck himself between the terminal and the wall - so that the carcass and the bathroom door give him some cover. There's too little space for him there, and his cover is shit - but he won't move from this position. Fuck those Ixtlari fucking shits. He's done running away from them. Won't play a clown for them running when there's nowhere to run.

He'll stay where he is, whatever Alnam thinks about it. He'll stay where he is - and if he's lucky, fuck an ankle or two up.

"You're gonna die, you fucks!" an Ixtlari screams. "We're going in! Fuck you!"

Alnam's jittering gets blurred. The entire room does - Krev's brain only keeps the doorframe in focus.

There he comes - a machine, a death construct of some lost civilization. Each step is like a transport ship crashing on the planet's surface. The armor glitters in the fitful lights of the blaster cannon. He takes up the entire doorframe - he's like a gas. Krev can't see his head past his death-holding hands, but he can imagine the helmet made in admiration and mockery both of a millennia-old war hero or criminal.

And Krev shoots. No missing now: there's nothing left but his target.

The reptilian shape stops - but only for a moment. Its fire-breathing maw bobs left and right, seeking prey. Then it starts spewing again.

But then it stops.

"Ahh, you piece of fucking cunt!" it says - and turns back into a Human.

Krev shoots on. The Ixtlari flinches and swears every time a blast hits him. Doesn't prevent him from doing quick maintenance of his gun, though: the ceramisteel holds.

"Thedul, this fucking thing's fucking jammed! Gimme yours!"

"What the fuck! Just come out of there, man!"

"I can't turn fucking around!"

"Just go on, man! It gets wider-"

"Some fag's shooting me! I can't-"

"Back off, then!"

Krev keeps pulling the trigger. The ceramisteel holds.

"Suppress them, you fucking mongrel!" the Ixtlari screams. "Suppress fire!"

Krev doesn't hear Thedul's response. He focuses too hard not to hit Alnam, because that's when Alnam throws himself down at the feet of the ceramisteel colossus.

Krev aims higher. Alnam starts firing up. No stun banthashit - honest plasma now.

Shot from two angles now, the Ixtlari drops his gun and brings his hands up, covering his face.

A few shots get themselves absorbed by the armor. Then Alnam's blast takes the Ixtlari in the underarm - where there's no armor.

The cursing gets cut off - easy to believe Krev went deaf.

The bathroom and apartment walls catch the Ixtlari's mid-landing. He doesn't move anymore - but Alnam puts another blast - this time, under the helmet.

Krev can't process what his eyes just saw in time: Thedul starts shouting.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuckers! Fucks!"

His cannon joins him. Krev only sees the sheet lightning in the corridor: the second Ixtlari's body blocks the bigger picture.

"Fuck! Bermy! Fuck! Fuck!"

The halo around Bermy subsides. Shouts and shoots still rage in the corridor, but none are aimed inside the room anymore.

They grow lower and lower until Krev hears the elevator doors click twice.

And then, there are no more sounds.

"What the fuck? You think he's gone?" Krev asks.

He tries to get up. The wall supports him - unlike his left leg.

Some picture: Alnam shoves the armored corpse aside as he rolls from under it. Krev sees Bermy's back: all charred and molten. Not even Ixtlari armor withstands Ixtlari cannons.

Alnam makes his way over the remains and looks out of the room. His back is a prime target. This thought appears in Krev's head and he notes it and puts it away with neither surprise nor consideration.

"Where's your comlink?" Alnam asks, turning back.

Krev nods at his room.

"You are still under arrest, Mr. Devin."

"You have an extra pair of handcuffs? The first one's fucked, I'm afraid."

"I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of that asshole."

"Maybe even a few of his friends."

"Perhaps. We'll need the firepower to get to the police station."

"And then you'll arrest me."

"I already have. Let's get out of here now. Can you walk?"

Krev can - as long as there's something to hold to. Alnam checks Bermy's gun while Krev navigates the room - it's fried, either by them or by Bermy's friend.

Krev doesn't think what his next action will be as he paddles towards the exit. The combat's still on, far as he's concerned. He'll go into it and think later - if he still can.

The apartment building is uncharacteristically quiet. Krev's apartment is now a gaping, smoking hole in the corridor's wall - other flats didn't seem to suffer as much, but Krev can see an odd blaster mark on their doors. The corridor is empty - will probably stay this way for a while.

"Is there a roof access?" Alnam asks.

"Well, I guess. It's fucking useless unless you have an aircar waiting there."

"If I had a comlink-"

"Seeing as you don't, the roof isn't an option."

"What's your plan? To wait here?"

"No. I'd bet there is at least one cocksucker who's called the cops."

"That's what I'm hoping for - as should you if you don't fancy dying today."

Krev wipes his brow. "These fucks found me because of the cops."

"Yes," Alnam says - much to Krev's surprise. "Because of one cop, not the entire force."

"You severely underestimate your father's abilities," Krev tells him, limping towards the stairs access.

"What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"I'll tell you if I survive."

Krev shoots the control panel, and the door slides open. His thigh has gone numb, but now that he sees all the steps, it starts burning again.

"My speeder's in the lot," Krev says. Almost half a flight is left behind.

"So is mine."

"No thanks. We'll be taking mine, since it's mine, not rented. I've lost enough today."

Alnam snorts. "I'd say you have more pressing concerns than your speeder."

Krev doesn't reply. The first flight's over.

They go in silence. Krev strains his ears trying to get the picture of what's going on back up on his floor. There's hope the Ixtlaris won't attempt another assault there and, therefore, won't discover their escape route - but then, they're gonna be someplace else.

Pain spreads from his thigh down to his calf and up to his butt and waist. His hand still clenches the blaster - too tightly for any handgun instructor's liking.

"Need help?" Alnam asks him, but Krev doesn't reply - only eight more flights left.

No one in the garage. Can be hiding behind aircars or pillars, though.

At this point, Krev doesn't care. Too focused on one thing - keeping himself upright.

"Where's your speeder?" Alnam asks.

Krev can't answer: there's stamping behind their backs.

"They're here! Here, lads!" he hears someone shout.

No zigzagging - not on his leg. He just stumbles on. The space behind him explodes with blaster fire, but not of the upper-floor magnitude. No full-auto this time. Krev points his hand over his shoulder and shoots back a few times.

He gets to a control panel on the wall one-third of the way into the garage. Nothing looks quite as it should now: everything is fuzzy. He barely recognizes the hand that pushes the EMERGENCY RE-FIELDING button.

The next moment, a force field appears right before him, cutting the garage in two unequal parts. One last step - more of a one-legged leap - and Krev passes through it.

Blasts of energy hitting the shimmering blue screen make the most satisfyingly impotent sound.

The original force field in the far end of the garage blinks and then goes out for good. Who's gonna tell if that's a generator failure or intentional skimping? After all, why keep the clean air in a supposedly breached module? At least, the system doesn't check if the area's air-tightness has really been compromised.

They've got a few minutes, Krev thinks, before the poisonous atmosphere fills the entire garage. He'd better hurry: his aircar is good fifty meters away still.

Shots stop drumming on the force field. He turns to see why.

The Ixtlaris: three of them. Only one armored and with a big gun. The other two wear regular jackets and fire normal-sized weapons.

All three are firing at Alnam.

Alnam's hiding behind a pillar. Krev doesn't see his blaster anywhere. He sees, though, that Alnam isn't getting out of this one: he's toast as soon as he peeks out from the pillar - or as the Ixtlaris get closer and surround him.

Isn't that a good turn of events? Let them have him. One man fewer who knows what Krev's been up to.

Let Alnam Major's schemes bite him in the ass at that.

The Galaxy itself brought Krev a gift.

Don't be a fucking retard, he tells himself. This right here is a one-in-a-lifetime offer. Don't you dare fuck it up.

It sounds right. Unquestionably right.

Krev has no doubt of that as he takes a step through the force field.

Some people he knew could shoot putting just a hand through the screen. He never grasped how to do it: the electrifying touch of the field makes him spasm.

So he takes a full step. It almost doesn't hurt.

The fucking Ixtlaris got bold without anyone shooting at them. They're almost on Alnam - just some ten meters away from his pillar.

Krev doesn't aim - with a target that close, he can't miss even in his present state. And he doesn't. All of his shots hit the armored fucker: the first one turns him a bit, and the following ones he catches on purpose, giving cover to his comrades.

Krev keeps shooting. Then the trigger sinks into the body of the blaster. Ammo's out.

Something hits him in the stomach. Throws him back. The hairs on his head stand up when he passes through the force field. He breathes in the foul air of Telos.

He doesn't attempt to stand up, but someone is pulling at his arm. Krev half-assedly points his blaster at whoever that is.

"Come on," that whoever tells him in Alnam's voice.

Krev doesn't protest. He just coughs.

He is in an aircar - fuck if he can remember how he got in. His leg hurts so bad he reaches for the door handle to get out.

The aircar shakes slightly when the blasts hit it. It's airborne, Krev realizes. He sees the Ixtlaris getting advancing, but then the speeder turns away from them and speeds up.

He passes out. Comes back to his senses when Alnam hits something. Then his lights go off again.

He wakes up. He didn't expect that.

His leg is itching like mad. He wants to scratch it, but someone grabs him by the hand.

"Let bacta do its thing."

Krev looks left. Alnam's sitting there. The speeder isn't moving.

"Where did you get..." Krev starts. "This ain't my speeder."

"Nope."

Krev moves his leg as much as the leg room allows. It doesn't hurt - but the itch is almost worse. Fighting vertigo off, he looks down. Oh, nice - he's still holding the blaster. Let it remain so for now.

A pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his pants. The day ain't so bad, after all.

Krev bites one off out of the pack. Holds the blaster between his knees as he takes the lighter out of the same pack and lights the cigarette.

Here's the lung-killer he can get behind.

He offers the pack to Alnam. "Mm?"

Alnam accepts it. The lighter doesn't want to work in his hands, so Krev has to help him.

"Popped your cherry today, soldier boy?" he asks, striking the fire.

Alnam glances at him. "No."

Krev shrugs. Simply enjoying the simple pleasure of smoking is simply more than fine with him.

"I take it," he says when too little is left of the cigarette to pretend otherwise, "we aren't at the police station."

The street outside looks as generic as a Telosi street can.

"We aren't," Alnam replies. "Not until you told me everything. Focusing specifically on your dealings with my father."

Krev sighs.

"Well," he says, "I suppose there's no way around it."