warning: this chapter contains a vague reference to child prostitution. it also contains a brief, non-graphic assault scene near the end. neither instance is related to the other. please read at you own discretion.

also — this is an extremely long chapter. i debated whether or not i should split it into two, but decided ultimately it did better as one installment. if possible, i ask you to please read all the way through or split this into segments and come back. this chapter is not filler. thank you.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

ARTIE WAITED IN THE QUIET LOBBY OUTSIDE THE HIGH COUNCIL CHAMBER, AN UNCOMFORTABLE NERVOUSNESS COILED TIGHT IN HER STOMACH. MASTER YODA HAD SUMMONED ANAKIN NOT an hour beforehand, just moments after Artie managed to sneak out of his quarters. She'd been only halfway down the corridor when he joined her again and explained in a daze that the Council had, by some undescribed miracle, found the location of Obi-Wan's killer.

So, she lingered. It wasn't necessary, but it made her feel better. Artie wanted to know everything the moment she could. She was reluctant to leave Anakin for very long, anyway. She paced a circle around the small, larmalstone lobby, thinking the Council couldn't possibly take any longer and if they did it couldn't mean anything good. Not two days before, Obi-Wan had been one of the twelve sitting in that room. Artie's eyes felt hot. She imagined his empty seat and fresh tears came at once. She just managed to wipe them away when the door to the Council chambers slid open, and out stepped Anakin.

Artie could not quite decipher the look on his face. He seemed furiously exhilarated and his eyes flashed in the savage way they did when he had a job to do, a job that could not be left undone.

"His name is Rako Hardeen," Anakin said as he approached. His voice came out breathless like he was already miles away. "He's a bounty hunter, and he's still on Coruscant. I'm going after him."

They started forward, to the singular turbolift that came up the spire.

"Are they sending you to kill him?" Artie asked, thinking of their conversation from the night before.

"No," Anakin said slowly. "I'm ordered to turn him over to the clones at the detention center. And I will."

Artie nodded. She should have thanked him for keeping his head, but the words would not form. Mostly she wanted to latch onto him and bury her face in his clothes and never look upon the world again, but the lobby's watchful security holocams meant that would not be happening.

"I'm taking Ahsoka with me," Anakin continued in a way that told her there would be no debate. "We shouldn't be long."

They stepped into the turbolift. Artie's cheeks still felt warm with emotion and she rubbed her eyes roughly with the heels of her hands. She wanted to tear the tumor of grief from its place in her chest. It did not belong there. Why did she feel like it did not belong? There was no finality to this nightmare, no conceivable end to this waking horror that ensconced them all. Them all. No, that was not right. Everyone had moved on just fine. Obi-Wan was dead and the Council seemed perfectly adjusted to that fact. Artie burned with a curious rage she had never felt before. She could not name it.

"What are you thinking?" Anakin asked suddenly.

Artie jumped. Of course, he would notice.

     The turbolift continued its swift, silent descent; in mere moments they would be back in the traffic of the Temple's busy center and all chances of conversation would be lost.

But no conversation came. Artie felt weary beyond measure. She was strangely short of breath, like she'd just run the length of the Temple's entry hall and back. Her shoulders and head ached. She wanted to be carried to her bed in Padmé's apartment and left there, never to be disturbed again. She would never see another battlefield. She would pretend the war was not real. Anakin could be a hero for a cause she had no idea about and she would lay in happy anticipation of his return. All she would know would be whatever thrilling epics he conjured for her entertainment, tales of fierce courage and prowess all tied together with a Republic victory, and Artie would, for once in her life, be innocent.

"Artie?" Anakin prompted again.

"Nothing. I'm tired. I'm fine." She straightened slightly and offered him a smile that under normal circumstances would have gotten her out of almost anything. But it was false now and she was sure Anakin could see. "I'm happy to see Hardeen brought to justice."

The words didn't fit right in her mouth. Anakin looked on with sharp frustration and, perhaps more potently, brutal hurt. The turbolift halted.

"I wish you wouldn't lie," he said coolly. "Not to me, of all people. But fine. I guess I'll comm you when we get back."

The door slid open and he stepped through. Artie watched him go, watched him march down the long corridor that fed into the Temple's main hall, his cloak billowing behind him. He did not look back at her.

A lump formed in Artie's throat. They didn't often end on a bad note. They couldn't afford to, not in those times. She wanted to tear after him and apologize and admit, with every sincerity, that all she wanted to do was give up. That losing Obi-Wan was something she could not handle. She wanted to beg him to join her somewhere untraceable and leave the Jedi behind entirely. He'd asked her just days ago what she thought would happen if he quit the Order. Hadn't he? But that had been before. He'd surely want to stay now and see the war through in Obi-Wan's honor. She should want that, too.

So why didn't she?

• • •

ANAKIN AND AHSOKA WOULD NOT RETURN TO THE MILITARY DISTRICT UNTIL nightfall, but when they did it would be with Rako Hardeen.

Artie waited on the main landing platform outside the Judiciary Central Detention Center. She was so rigid it was difficult to breathe, and she had to keep reminding herself not to lock her knees. Part of Artie didn't think it would matter — she felt faint regardless. A pair of shock troopers stood to her left. She'd tried to talk to them but realized early on that they were curiously, almost endearingly uncomfortable with being asked about themselves, so Artie left them alone. She reminded herself that not everyone was Rex.

When Anakin's ship came into view, Artie became dizzy with dread. She could sense his fury before they even touched down. It docked, opened up its belly, and down the ramp came Anakin, Ahsoka, and a restrained man Artie knew could only be Hardeen.

His skin was waxy and shined with sweat; a large red tattoo spread over the left side of his face and eye. He was completely bald, with the faintest of stubble and a nose that looked like it had been broken several times. Anakin drove him harshly forward and Ahsoka marched close after.

"You should be expecting this scum," Anakin said once they were in earshot. Rage flared around him with the beat of his pulse.

"Yes, sir," replied the shock troopers together.

Artie peered closer at Hardeen. Searched his face for fear, for anger, for a hint that he might fight back. What she found was shame, pressed deep in the lines of his ragged face and overflowing in his pale eyes — a kind of inherent sadness that she felt she'd seen before. It was peculiar. It shocked her. Artie was so shocked, in fact, that for a moment she was not angry.

But Hardeen sneered. His face hardened and became inscrutable. "Piece together what you want to say, little girl, and spit it out."

Artie's curiosity dissolved and her cheeks grew red. "You'll rot in there."

The troopers started to drag him away. He threw over his shoulder, "It'll be worth it, Jedi."

Artie's numb shock dissolved. Fierce rage burned through it, that same strange anger she'd felt in the turbolift, the anger she could not name though it felt generations old. Hardeen's back was to her. She started after him.

Ahsoka materialized beside Artie and slipped an arm around her. "Just let them take him," Ahsoka said. Her voice was severe. "I can't look at him for another second."

Artie frowned, but stayed back. Hardeen disappeared inside the detention center. A third clone, this one a gray-uniformed officer rather than a trooper, came out, threw Hardeen a scowl as he passed, and took up Anakin in a conversation Artie could not hear.

She turned to look at Ahsoka. "Are you all right?" she asked. "Did he give you trouble?"

Ahsoka half-shrugged. "I'm fine. He was drunk when we found him, so he didn't put up much of a fight. He was barely conscious."

"How did Anakin do?"

Ahsoka glanced away for a moment. "He was okay. He was . . . like he gets, sometimes. Really angry when we got to the bar, even worse when we found Hardeen. But he handled it."

Artie nodded, tried not to look too relieved. "I'm glad."

"We should head back," Anakin's voice cut in suddenly as he approached them, having finished with the clone officer.

Artie bristled. She really looked at him for the first time since they'd arrived. His face seemed dragged down by shadow, blank and sullen. Not vindicated in the slightest. He met Artie's stare and held it for a moment before turning and making his way back to the ship, leaving her and Ahsoka to follow suit.

• • •

They returned to the Temple, and Ahsoka left them. She did not say much as she went, just bid Anakin and Artie farewell and advised that they try to rest. Artie watched her as she turned a corner toward the dormitories and left her and Anakin alone in the vast main hall.

Anakin spoke up before Artie knew what to do with herself.

"Why aren't you being honest with me?"

His face was expectant — Artie could see the sharp challenge in his eyes, even in the cool darkness. The Temple never truly slept, but it was dim at this hour and foot traffic was scarce and most would be sleeping, or meditating, and there wasn't much Artie could look to as an excuse not to talk.

There just wasn't any way around it.

She hugged her arms around herself. "I'm sorry."

Anakin's brows beetled the way they did when he was annoyed. "That's not an answer, Artemis."

"Don't . . . don't 'Artemis' me, all right?"

Tears filled her eyes unexpectedly and she realized they couldn't keep on like this out in the open. Eyes stinging and warm, Artie turned on her heel and ducked into the closest training room. Anakin followed, and the door slid shut once they were inside.

The room was dark but mostly soundproof; graduating Younglings demonstrated all they'd learned here and the onslaught of simulated battle would be earsplitting without such measures. Artie noticed the sparring floor and thought back to her earliest days as a Jedi when her unorthodox initiation and strange lightsaber were still fresh in the Council's mind. Obi-Wan had helped her through the basics in a training room just like this one and assured her that though these were unconventional times, she had nothing to worry about. She would get used to everything, and everything would get used to her. Her place in the Force could not be contested. It was only a matter of time before she felt like she'd been a part of the Order her entire life.

Artie had never been quite so sure.

"I don't think the Council would have accepted me without the war," she had confessed at random one day.

Obi-Wan's brow shot up. "And why is that?"

"From what Anakin told me, they thought he was too old at ten. I'm eighteen. I didn't grow up here and I'm not one of you. I don't even have a master. But right now you don't need more Jedi, you need soldiers, and that's something I can be. Evidently. Aside from that . . . I don't know what I'm doing here."

Artie remembered Obi-Wan's cautious smile at this. "As far as having a master is concerned, I consider myself responsible for you — and we're peacekeepers, Artemis, not soldiers. Even so, you are completely capable. Trust that the Force has brought you exactly where you need to be." His eyes crinkled. "Let's get back to it, shall we? Your deflecting slash needs work."

That had been two years ago. It felt like the blink of an eye and an entire lifetime all at once.

The memory stung. Artie's skin crawled, all the way up her scalp and down to the tips of her fingers. Artie climbed the stands set aside for onlookers and sat down harshly. She wiped her eyes and kept them hidden in her hands. We're not soldiers, we're peacekeepers. Such a claim was nothing more than dogma, and it did nothing to counter the point she had raised, but Artie would have happily listened to Obi-Wan recite vapid Jedi convictions until Tatooine's suns imploded if it meant he would be with them again.

After a while, Anakin settled down beside her. He sighed, and she did not raise her head, but she knew he was watching her.

"You've helped me so much these past few days," he began. His voice was low and careful. "I want to do the same for you . . . because it can't all be about me . . . but I can't help if you don't tell me what you're thinking."

Artie looked up slowly and met his eyes. They shone like crystals even in the dim light.

"I know," she said, the words hardly forming.

"Don't you want to talk to me?"

"Of course," Artie whispered. "I just . . . I don't know how to explain myself. I don't know how to put into words what I'm feeling."

She understood that to some degree Anakin already knew. He was just giving her a chance to speak for herself. Artie was caught between gratitude and annoyance, because couldn't he make it easy on her and quietly witness and accept all the terrible wishes she hid in her heart?

"Try, Artie."

She dropped her head into her palm. "You'll think I'm selfish. And stupid."

"No, I won't. You couldn't be more selfish or stupid than I've already been."

Artie cracked a smile, albeit it was a weak one. A hand went to her earrings.

"I want to give up, Ani. I don't want to fight anymore. I know I've complained before, but it feels . . . it feels so different now. Now that Obi-Wan is gone." She could barely get the name out. "No matter how terrible things seemed, or how afraid I was, I never really thought they would . . . that he could . . . die. Like there was some line everyone knew better than to cross. But now that it has been crossed . . . I almost can't see the point of it all."

Anakin's brow furrowed, but he did not speak. Artie went on:

"I know how it sounds. I do. I know that to be here in the thick of it, in the Order, was my choice. Uniquely so. I don't have any right to resent anything. But Anakin . . . if I had my way, I'd take you and Ahsoka and Rex, if he was willing, and I'd hide us all away. I know how it sounds. But I can't stand to lose anyone else. I don't know what I'll do." She squeezed her eyes shut, mainly to discourage new tears. "You asked me — the other day, you asked what I thought would happen if you left the Order."

"I remember."

Artie opened her eyes. "I think we'd lose the war without you, Ani, and it's not fair. It shouldn't have to be up to you. If I could take the responsibility from you, I would. I'd throw it on someone else's back. I don't care who."

Artie hadn't meant to say that last part and to admit it was horrifying. Her face felt warm with shame, but she didn't take it back because it was true. She would have transferred the burden to anyone — anyone — else.

Artie," Anakin said after a beat, "look at me."

  Her heart hammered, but she lifted her head. 

"Artie," he said again, "I understand how you feel. I really do. I understand wanting to give up. It wouldn't be this way if I could choose a life for you. I wouldn't have you in the way of so much . . . of so much loss. We both know you would have been safer staying with Padmé."

"I said I didn't mind risking my life if I was risking it next to you. That hasn't changed."

A faint, sad smile tilted Anakin's mouth. "I know. I'm still afraid for you, though. Every day. If there ever comes a time you don't want to do this anymore, I'd never hold it against you. You can walk away."

Artie nodded feebly. "I can walk away," she repeated. "But you . . . you agree that you can't?"

"It's like you said."

Artie's face twisted like she felt physical pain. "That's not fair."

"Well, what is fair right now, Artemis?" Anakin demanded. "From what I can see, nothing. So what's it matter?"

Artie huffed and angled herself away from him. "It shouldn't have to be you."

"But it is me."

"I thought you didn't believe the prophecy."

Anakin tilted his head and peered at her with more intent. "The war and whether or not I'm the Chosen One don't have anything to do with each other. I have to see this war through because of my place in it. Because of Obi-Wan's place in it. We were . . . I am good at it. Whatever that means. I can navigate this in a way other Jedi can't. I can't turn my back on the Republic, not when we're this far in, and not after losing Obi-Wan. There has to be a point to it all, for better or for worse. Anyway — this conversation was supposed to be about you."

Artie lifted a shoulder and looked away. She didn't want to talk about herself. She wanted to ask Anakin why he'd mentioned leaving the Order if he had no intention of going through with it. She couldn't, though, because the answer was plain to see: the loss of Obi-Wan had changed everything. To leave may have at one time been feasible. Now, it was absurd on every level.

Despite her grief, Artie could not help but feel slightly cheated.

   She felt her lip curl. "It's just . . . it's just a sithing terrible hand to be dealt. All of this. I don't know what to do with any of it — I don't have the first clue. It's just one insufferable thing after another, and I'm sick of it, and there's no way out of it."

"I know, Artie. But what's our other option?"

Give up, like I said, Artie thought, though she knew better than to say it. She didn't want to start a fight for no reason, especially not then.

"I wish it felt different," she muttered. "Hardeen being locked up doesn't feel like closure."

"You don't have to tell me that."

"Why would he still be on Coruscant? Ahsoka said he was drunk when you found him — why wouldn't he have gotten off-planet first? He should have known people would come after him. I don't get why he didn't put up a fight."

"He probably got carried away. I'm sure he was pretty pleased with himself after the fact."

Artie pressed her thumb against her lips, shook her head firmly. "Hardeen couldn't possibly be that stupid, not in his line of work."

"I don't understand what you're suggesting, Artie."

She almost bit back but stopped herself short. What was she suggesting? She found she couldn't quite say herself. Things felt strange, had felt strange since she looked into Hardeen's pale, disheartened eyes, and she wanted to understand why.

"It just seems . . . it just seems too easy."

Anakin had his eyes locked on the floor between his boots. Artie wasn't positive he was still listening, but a few silent moments later he whispered: "I thought that, too."

And then they both went quiet and stayed quiet. What else was there to say after that? To insinuate? Artie couldn't bring herself to wonder any further why Hardeen's capture was so simple. She couldn't delude herself, or try to delude Anakin, into thinking anything different than Obi-Wan was dead, and it was final.

She couldn't be so cruel.

Artie dropped her head against Anakin's shoulder. He put his hand on the small of her back and they sat there until Artie began to fall asleep.

"We need to go," Anakin said gently.

Artie opened her eyes. She sat up and nodded drowsily and let him lead her out of the training room.

The Temple hall was still dark, quiet, deserted, and remained that way until they reached the Accommodation Sector.

"Yours or mine?" Anakin asked.

"Mine," Artie said. "Yours is so messy right now."

"What? Hey — when am I supposed to clean? If we're on furlough I'm not using up time tidying."

"You say that every time."

"All right, next time we're off I'll spend it all cleaning. We can meet up and shake hands at the end."

Artie's nose wrinkled. "No, no. I didn't mean that."

"I didn't think so."

They came upon and slipped inside Artie's quarters. They did not speak for the rest of the night, just buried themselves within one another and stole what sleep their minds and bodies would allow. There was no telling what terror the next day might bring.

Artie knew all they could do was wait and face it as it came.

• • •

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW YOU'VE BEEN FLYING WITH IT IN THIS CONDITION," ARTIE DECLARED two days later, up to her elbows in a Delta-7 light interceptor. She lay atop a mechanic's creeper and stared hard at the Aethersprite-class starfighter's underbelly, trying hard to spot what was preventing the built-in astromech attachments from hooking up to the main system.

"I didn't notice anything until yesterday," defended Caleb Dume somewhere to Artie's left; she could not see him from underneath the fighter.

"Your navigation is shot," Artie called, "and it's a miracle you haven't come out of hyperspace on the other side of the Outer Rim yet. Seriously, why not just tell Master Billaba you were malfunctioning?"

Artie wheeled herself out from under the docked starfighter and sat up. Caleb lounged on a nearby supply crate, one leg dangling free while the other was drawn up so he could rest his chin on his knee. His brown hair was cropped short save for the long braid that hung over his shoulder, and his dark eyes watched her closely. Caleb was Master Depa Billaba's student, Artie knew, and though apparently young for a Padawan at the time of his selection, had a profound connection with his teacher. Artie liked him very much; when he spoke he tried to sound seasoned, but she could tell he was naturally sweet — she could tell that despite it all, he was mostly just a curious thirteen-year-old boy glad to be at his Master's side.

"Because I didn't notice it 'till yesterday," Caleb insisted again. "Some coordinates wouldn't triangulate no matter what I did."

Artie conceded with a nod. "I'm happy to help, don't get me wrong, but why'd you come to me?"

Caleb half-shrugged. "I dunno. General Skywalker always says you're good at this sort of thing. I thought I'd ask you before I bothered any of the engineers."

Artie tried to hide her smile with a shake of her head. "General Skywalker is better at tune-ups than me, you know."

Caleb shrugged again. "Maybe. He's way too busy, though."

Artie laid down and slid back under the fighter. "Mm. That he is."

She tinkered for about twenty more minutes before locating a sizable cluster of corroded wire that could have been the cause of the problem. Before she could remove it, however, something pulled her swiftly out from under the starfighter once again.

"Hey!" Artie cried. She looked up.

Anakin peered down at her, one foot on the edge of the creeper. His mouth was hard and displeased.

"Afternoon, Caleb," he said without a glance at the awestruck Padawan. "Can I steal General Adhara for a second? Sorry. I'll have an engineer from the five-oh-first finish the job."

Caleb stared, wide-eyed, and nodded. "Yeah — yeah, sure. Of course, General. I'll, uh, I'll just . . . I'll go . . ."

He bowed quickly and hurried on his way. Artie watched him with some amusement.

"They'd be less intimidated if you just smiled now and again," she said, laughter in her voice. "You're so stern. Isn't that ironic?"

"I have bad news." Anakin loomed over her.

Artie deflated, her good mood a thing of a distant past. She sat up. "What now?"

"It's unbelievable." Anakin offered a hand and pulled her to her feet. "You won't believe it."

"Well kriff, spit it out then."

They were walking quickly, now, towards the shallow end of the hangar. Artie's heart thumped madly in her chest and she could not combat her mounting dread.

"Hardeen escaped," Anakin said. "Last night, with Cad Bane and that Separatist operative Moralo Eval."

Artie seized his arm. "No!"

"That's not even the worst of it. The Council had a bounty on them all, but they lifted it an hour ago."

"What? Why would they do that?"

"No idea. It doesn't matter. I'm done sitting idly. I'm going after them myself."

Artie tightened her hold on him. "Ani, they could be anywhere. You have no clue where to start — "

"Yes, I do. Chancellor Palpatine was the one who told me the Council lifted the bounty — I was just with him. Someone tipped him off and said the escapees were headed for Nal Hutta."

This did not make Artemis feel any better. In fact, it inflated her unease even more.

"How in the galaxy did the Chancellor get a tip? Why wouldn't he share it with the Council?"

"Because he shared it with me. Master Windu thinks taking off the bounty will help lead us back to Eval's operation, which is just a stupid, lazy excuse not to — "

"What operation?"

Anakin looked at her impatiently. "There's been talk of a plot against the Chancellor's life. Moralo Eval is supposedly the mind behind it. I don't know what Bane or Hardeen have to do with it, but it doesn't matter. I'm stopping them, and I'm making sure Hardeen gets what he deserves. I don't care what the Council thinks is best — they're wrong."

They'd come upon one of Anakin's cruisers. Artie suddenly understood that he meant to leave immediately. She was saddened and, perhaps to a greater extent, annoyed.

"I suppose . . . I suppose I'll see you, then," she said. "Whenever I see you."

Anakin's face changed. Equal parts hopeful and uncomfortable. "Chancellor Palpatine cleared you to come along. Ahsoka's on her way. It's just — "

"What? I can go, too?"

"Yes." Anakin seemed to wince. "But Artie . . . it's Nal Hutta. It's the Hutts, it's . . . it's Lysander's territory. I can't risk him getting to you again, not after what happened in Zygerria."

The risk hadn't even crossed Artie's mind. She considered it, then said: "I don't care. I want to help."

"What about his bounty on you?"

"He rescinded it," Artie said, "after Zygerria. I checked."

And she had. There was no record of her in the Bounty Hunter's Guild, no mention or whisper of the 25,000 credits Lysander had once promised for her capture. He had kept his word.

"Well, if you're sure . . . then please come with me. I want your help."

Artie reined back the need to touch his hand. "Always."

"Once Ahsoka gets here, we'll go. Thank you, Artie."

"Of course."

He watched her for several moments, expression neither happy nor sad. He said, with the hushed caution of someone handing over secrets of war, "I love you."

Artie answered with the required impassive visage of one receiving such secrets: "I love you, too."

And then Ahsoka arrived. And then they were off.

• • •

NAL HUTTA WAS A LAWLESS MESS OF A PLANET, ONE ARTIE WAS NOT THRILLED TO STEP FOOT ON. SHE, ANAKIN, AND AHSOKA touched down a little while later on the outskirts of Bilbousa Bazaar, a place Artie remembered Lysander talking about. The atmosphere, despite being dubbed "breathable," stank of pollution and organic waste, the air like walking through a giant's hot, fetid belch. The ground squelched beneath her boots as they left Anakin's ship and the ramp lifted back up and sealed them out. They started walking.

"I don't get it," Ahsoka said. "Why would the Chancellor think the prisoners are here? It's so predictable."

Anakin glanced back at them, gave his Padawan a funny look. "Yeah, maybe, but what have I taught you is the first step to tracking down a lowlife?"

"You start at the saloon," Ahsoka said resignedly.

"You start at the saloon," Anakin echoed.

On a different day, Artie might have smiled at the exchange. Watching them interact endeared her, no matter how simple. She liked seeing how they were away from Coruscant and the Temple and the Council — how they had become more than just teacher and student. Anakin and Ahsoka were friends. They were raising each other. So, on a different day, Artie might have smiled.

Right then, though, it was impossible.

She was too busy worrying about Anakin. It seemed to take up most of her time in recent weeks. She had recalled not long into their journey that Nal Hutta was Gardulla the Hutt's homeworld — the Hutt who had owned Anakin and Shmi before Watto won them in a bet. It was a secret Anakin had shared with Artie, a simple one she coveted deeply, that he suspected he had been born on Nal Hutta. He was only three when Watto acquired him, after all, so it wasn't an outrageous idea. His mother had never specified where he was born, Anakin guessed because the greater question had always been how he was born in the first place. It was Shmi's greatest question, anyway. Ultimately, Anakin had told Artie, it was good he ended up on Tatooine; Gardulla had built around her name a particular market niche for young boys, a possible fate Anakin had described flippantly while Artie laid awake that night, plagued by terrible ideas of what that would have meant for him.

And now he walked that very planet without pause. Without a moment's consideration.

All in Obi-Wan's name.

More than it moved Artie, it concerned her.

• • •

PERHAPS "SALOON" IN A SINGULAR SENSE UNDERSOLD THE LUSTY, STINKING ENVIRONMENT ONE could find in Bilbousa Bazaar.

It was nothing if not active; one bar would never have sustained the boozy patrons Artie observed as they came upon the bazaar's main square. Life-forms of every stature stumbled in and out of the various, slimy saloons, gambling halls, pawnshops, and brothels that lined what could loosely be called a street. Everyone was shouting and everyone was speaking a different language, and this grating, chaotic cacophony of voices set Artie's teeth on-edge.

"Well," Ahsoka said, hands on her hips, "I guess we can take our pick."

Artie shook her head. "No one's going to talk with three Jedi pressing them at once. I'll go in there," she nodded at a seedy little bar to her left, "and see what I can hear. You two try another place."

Anakin cast her a wary look. "Be careful."

"Always am."

She broke off from them and made her way into the saloon. The fetid air was made worse by warm bodies gathered in too-little space, everything greasy and humid and so heavy each breath Artie took felt labored. She darted deeper inside. Most of the patrons ignored her and the ones that did not spared her a glance and little else. Mostly, they were all watching a Twi'lek with deep green skin. Her clothes were abnormally scarce, even for a dancer. Her neck and ankles were bloody beneath thick shackles.

Artie could not help but stare. She could not help but stare and think about how narrowly she escaped a such a life. Seeing it there, up close, brought tears to her eyes.

The Twi'lek woman turned on Artie suddenly, as if she'd known she was there watching. Her expression was fierce. She looked Artie over, eyes catching the lightsaber on her hip, and her face curled into a sneer.

"Do something, then," the woman barked. There was rage in her voice. "Do something, Jedi, or else make way for those who at least pay to stare."

Artie's mouth opened, then shut. She blinked but did not move. The Twi'lek laughed shortly and darted away and began her dance again. Artie turned and pushed her way through the gathering crowd until she reached the bar. Breathless and suddenly overcome with shame, she leaned against the bar top and fought to compose herself. The way the woman had spat out the word Jedi rang through Artie's head. From her mouth it was an insult. It was a joke. It brought back all Anakin had said about Qui-Gon taking him from Tatooine the moment he might be useful and not a second sooner. It made her think again of what she'd told Obi-Wan at the beginning, that the Order wouldn't have her if there was not a war on.

The bartender looked up from where they were trying to repair a busted tap. "What?"

Artie waved them away. They rolled their eyes and returned to work.

The bartender rolled their eyes and resumed their work. Artie strained her ears, listened for any hint of Hardeen or Cad Bane and their whereabouts, but the Twi'lek woman had rattled her and she struggled to focus. The Force told her nothing.

Nothing, and then —

A figure came up beside her. Artie wanted to snap around and look at them immediately, but she kept herself impassive. In her peripheral she watched the figure — a man of about thirty — lift two fingers and the bartender slid a pair of shot glasses toward them.

"Feel like I've seen you before," the man said, eyes ahead.

A spike of dread shot through Artie. Finally, she looked at him head-on. His hair was dark, face pale and unremarkable, and Artie was certain she'd never met him. "I don't think so."

He laughed. "Nah, I've seen you. Jedi, are you? Maybe on the HoloNet."

Artie stared blankly at the shot glass in front of her. "I didn't think the HoloNet made it out here."

"Well, I go all over. Corellia's my favorite place I've been. Beats Tatooine by about ten parsecs."

The dread drove itself deeper through Artie until she felt pinned to the floor by it. She said nothing to this. But the man kept speaking.

"I think I remember. Yeah, I remember. I've seen your chain code in the Hutts' system while looking for jobs. Artemis Adhara. Lysander Auletes had your bounty posted for years."

Blood roared in Artie's ears and she watched her hands curl into fists on the bar top. "He did," she said calmly. "It's gone now."

"I bet it's not."

"Check."

The man laughed again. It was a cold sound. "I knew I'd like you, Adhara. You're a riot, you know that? And so much prettier in person — the chain code holopics don't do you justice. I can guess why Auletes wanted you caught so bad."

Artie's ears grew warm. Her fingers itched to take out her lightsaber, but he hadn't given her a real reason to lash out. "I couldn't say. Are you one of his?"

"Was," the man said. There was a sudden bitter edge to his voice, now. "He tossed me out."

"Probably for the best. He's scum."

"No, no," the man sidled closer to her, "I liked my work. I want back in. I bet if I brought you to him, he'd have me again. Poor thing like you won't put up much of a fight I'd wager."

Before Artie had a moment to react, his hand drifted down and slid over her backside, and his fingers jammed suddenly between her legs.

For a moment, she went blind. She saw only red. Psychotic rage exploded in her chest and spread to the very tips of her fingers. Her body was cold and numb.

All right. There was her reason.

She seized her ignored shot glass and flung the drink in the man's face. She smashed the glass into his forehead and nose, anywhere she could land a blow, over and over again until it burst to pieces in her hand. She ground the shards into the man's skin until his face and her palm were flayed, bloody messes.

He screamed. He'd released her, stumbled away. Blinded by his own blood, the man swiped for the blaster hanging on his belt, but with one turn of her hand Artie sent it flying across the room. She ducked around him and kicked him viciously in the back of his knees and he dropped to the floor.

All attention had left the Twi'lek dancer and was now on her. Artie didn't care if the Chancellor himself was watching. She ignited her lightsaber and started for the Twi'lek woman. In a flash like lightning, Artie severed the chains around her throat and ankles.

"Can anyone track you?" Artie asked sharply.

The woman gawked at her. "No."

"Sometimes they implant explosives," Artie went on. "Did they put any in you?"

"No."

"Then get out of here."

The woman stared for several more moments, then fled. On her way out the door she pushed past two people trying to make their way through the small crowd.

Anakin and Ahsoka.

Anakin saw her first. His eyes leaped from her lightsaber to her bleeding hand. "Artemis," he called. "What — "

"I believe you now," seethed a voice from behind. Artie turned and found the dark-haired man on his knees, blaster reclaimed. He leveled it with her chest. "I understand why Lysander gave up on you. You're not worth the kriffing trouble, you odious bitch."

Artie heard Anakin's lightsaber ignite. She felt him advance.

But at that moment, her fury was infinitely more vast than his.

The man shot at her. Artie cut down the beam with one swipe and in the same sweeping motion sliced his hand off at the wrist. He screamed again, and she was tempted to laugh.

"Tell Lysander who took your hand and he might feel bad for you," Artie said. "Might even get your job back, you little kark."

With that, she turned and faced Anakin and Ahsoka. The Padawan seemed fiercely inquisitive, if not slightly stunned. Anakin wore a deep glower and his vehement stare kept drifting back to the dark-haired man, who clutched at his severed arm, face contorted in rage and pain.

Anakin spoke first. "Artie, what happened?"

"Nothing," she said. Her tone was clipped. She hid her bleeding, glass-filled hand behind her back; her adrenaline was wearing off and the pain was mounting on excruciating. "I'll explain in a minute. Did you find out anything useful?"

Anakin stared at her, mouth hard. He was angry, Artie could see, but the emotion was pulled in too many directions. It had no sole target.

"They were here," he said at last. "Not long ago. They have enough fuel to get to Orondia. If we move quickly, we can overtake them."

Artie couldn't muster a smile. "That's great news. Let's get going. I need bacta."

She moved past Anakin and Ahsoka and hurried out of the bar without a glance behind her. She made it five paces before her fragile calm shattered. Artie clamped her unhurt hand over her mouth. Hot tears began to snake down her face in unstoppable torrents as she led the way back to their ship.

note.
so, hey guys!
this chapter took me like, 4 1/2 months to complete and i'm so sorry! i moved to a new city and started at a new university so things got pretty busy. i apologize for how dark this installment got, but you all know i love making things infinitely difficult for artie and ani.

for this chapter's reader appreciation i want to thank Demigods_Assemble and -FolkLorde for their encouraging and hilarious comments! thank you both for supporting this story!

as always, thank you all so much for reading!