Imperial times- Coruscant

He arrived on the surface of this level, emerging through another ventilation shaft. This one had a grating over it, newly bolted down. He�d pried the grate off with a little effort, it was bolted down good, but not good enough to stop him. He studied the grating for a moment, thinking. They were sealing over all the shafts in the area, and not for safety reasons. They knew that this was how he and the others managed to disappear every time they got chased.

He scratched at his twin-goatee thoughtfully. The Imperials may be slow, but they weren�t dumb. He noticed that the streaks of blood running down his striped green skin were beginning to thicken, he was still bleeding pretty badly. He suddenly sniffed at the air, catching the faint scent of burnt air and plastic. Stormtroopers, he thought, tensing.

He ducked down an alleyway, pressing himself into the crevice between a pile of trash and the wall. The familiar white-armored figures strode by, not even glancing down the alleyway. He exhaled slowly, not realizing he�d been holding his breath. He pricked his ears forward, listening before he left the alleyway. The street was clear, so he bolted across the street and down the opposing alley.

He had to get his shoulder taken care of soon, he thought. The last thing he needed was another infection, the one that took over the claw marks on his leg years ago had left him with the strange black scars that instantly identified him from the other lurkers on the imperial warnings. There was a warning in the imperial database that said he�d escaped from one of their top-secret facilities that supposedly didn�t exist, and that he was to be captured if possible, and killed if not possible. He�d proven to be very hard to capture, and somewhere there was a Stormtrooper with a fair set of scars to attest to it. They had made a mistake in giving him both the strength to maul a Rancor, and claws that could rip through anything, including Mandalorian armor.

That one he�d found out of his own, slashing through some pseudo Boba Fett�s armor. He was one potential bounty hunter who was now living in fear of green scaly things with orange eyes.

Tarik ducked under an overhanging slab of durasteel, grabbing the end of his staff to keep it from scraping. He climbed up a pile of cargo crates to reach a broken window on the next floor of the building. He turned his pointed ears forward, listening before stepping through the window frame.

He flicked his tongue a few times, tail twitching nervously. He could smell a stranger in the darkened corridor within. He paused outside the window, he�d had enough surprises today already. The stranger turned to look at him, seemingly un- surprised by his appearance in the window. He tensed, ready to bolt down the heap of crates and run. The stranger watched him calmly, studying him.

"Come here, boy," the stranger said quietly. He wanted to run, but he found himself standing still outside the window. "Come here," the stranger repeated, waving at him to enter. He climbed through the window, snarling slightly. He dropped to the floor inside the window, leaning on the wall as his leg threatened to buckle under him.

He chirped in pain, forcing himself to stand up. The stranger studied him with curious interest, "You�re hurt?" he said. Tarik growled slightly, he didn�t like nosy humans.

"No tralak," he hissed, using a vulgarity he�d heard one of Drekano�s people use. The strange human made a ticking noise at him.

"Such language," he said in mock dismay. Tarik's shoulder was starting to throb as the shock from the force-pike wore off.

"The medic isn�t here," the stranger said, folding his hands in front of him. Tarik snorted.

"See for self," he snarled, taking a shaky step toward the dark blue door that his friend lived behind. He repaired medical droids, and had built one of his own, despite the fact that he could bandage people up just as well as the droids.

The stranger moved away from the door, letting him get close enough to see that the door was open. He snorted in surprise, flicking his gaze up from the battered door to the strange human.

"Where Pete?" he said, snarling. The stranger shook his head in mock dismay.

"They took him away," he said, watching Tarik with a strange look of amusement in his eyes.

"Who takes him?" Tarik said, flexing his claws nervously. He didn�t like this, Pete was gone, and this strange human kept staring at him. What was he doing here anyway?

"The Imperial soldiers," he said, crossing his arms. "They were looking for you," he said, crossing his arms higher across his chest. Tarik�s ears instantly jumped into motion, flicking around listening as his muscles tensed to run. "They�re gone," the stranger said, still watching him. Tarik growled, flexing his claws nervously. What was he still doing here? he thought, glancing toward the window. If they had been searching for him again, why was he still standing here? The realization dawned upon him with a furious snarl. His head snapped around from looking toward the window to the strange human, orange eyes blazing. Jedi.

"No, not quite," the creature said, reading Tarik�s mind. "But I�m close," the human said with a grin.

"Drathan," Tarik spat out viciously, Dark Jedi, just what he needed this morning.

"Very good," the stranger said, smiling maliciously. "You see, you�re not as stupid as you look," he said, sliding a hand toward the folds of his cloak. Tarik noticed the motion, turning and bolting into Pete�s apartment just as the small blaster cleared the stranger�s cloak and came up to fire. He slammed the door behind him, the force of the shot splintering a hole through the flimsy door. Tarik snarled a curse, looking around him at the mess the imperials had made of Pete�s apartment.

He braced the door with a broken droid arm, bolting toward the window when his leg finally gave out under him again. He rolled across the floor in agony, snarling. The buzzing twinge in the back of his mind told him that his fall hadn�t entirely been his leg�s fault. Drathan, he snarled to himself, pulling his leg up under himself. He shook off the amplified pain induced by the stranger�s little mind trick, hobbling toward the smashed out window.

A shove backed with more than just human muscle slammed into the door, knocking it the rest of the way off its hinges. Taran�s head snapped around, orange eyes glowing viciously. He was still a few paces from the window, with the stranger standing in the now-opened doorway, blaster in hand. Taran�s muscles tensed as he watched the sneer spread across his attacker�s face. He lifted the blaster slowly, savoring the moment of Tarik�s perceived destruction.

"My master is going to enjoy having your scaly carcass stuffed and mounted in his trophy room, freak," he said, grinning as his finger squeezed a little tighter on the trigger.

Little closer, Tarik thought, eyeing the business end of the blaster. Need a little closer for this to work, he thought, feeling a touch of fear setting in. Now, he snarled to himself as the stranger put both feet on the rug Tarik�s claws were dug into in mock panic.

He suddenly let out a deafening roar, startling his attacker and giving him the split-second he needed to rip at the rug with every ounce of strength he had left. The stranger flailed his arms in surprise as he fell backwards, the blaster slipping from his grip as he hit the floor.

Tarik bolted for the window as the stranger pulled the blaster back to his grip with an invisible hand. He brought the blaster up to bear at Tarik, firing wildly at the striped being as the last of his tail disappeared over the window sill. He finally got to his feet, scrambling over to the window.

He leaned out the window as far as he dared, the height from here to the closest walkway was a dizzying drop. There were at least nine or ten floors between the window and the nearest safety. Tarik was nowhere in sight. The lizard was either dead or still falling, the stranger thought, frowning at the street below.

Then why do I have the nagging feeling he�s won again? he thought, studying the nearly empty street for signs that his quarry�s fall had been witnessed. Nothing. Not even a flicker from the people on the street. He shook his head, giving up and repressing the odd feeling. He�s dead, he has to be. He backed away from the window, sliding his blaster back into it�s hidden holster. If that thing had survived, his master wasn�t going to be pleased. A shudder ran through him as he walked toward the door. No, not pleased at all.

Tarik crouched inside the window-well of the apartment below Pete�s for a few moments longer after he knew his attacker was gone. He twisted in the window well, nearly losing his balance in a flicker of dizziness as he glanced down. He sank his claws into the masonry, closing his eyes and breathing quickly. Blood loss, plus the after-effects of being stunned, he�d probably pass out soon- too soon, he thought, getting his balance back.

He scribed a half circle in the glass above the lock on the window with a claw, wincing at the screeching sound. Luckily, the apartment below Pete was empty for now, and no one else would hear the screech above the normal din of the city. He tapped the circle with a finger, sending it to the floor inside the apartment with a small crunch of shattering glass. He gingerly reached a clawed hand through the sharp opening, unlocking the primitive latch on the window. He slid the window up far enough to climb in, feeling exhausted already as his feet hit the floor.

He yipped quietly in surprise, picking his foot up as quick as he�d set it down. He dug at the bottom of his thin boot delicately with a clawed finger, pulling out the shard of glass he�d stepped on. He rowled in disgust, tossing the shard into the pile with the rest of the glass. He limped over to the couch, flopping onto it for a moment.

A moment turned into several hours, being well past noon when Tarik finally woke up, still covered in ribbons of dried blood. He mewed softly to himself, idly scratching at a broken claw-point with one of his other claws. Today just hadn�t been his day, and he was still hungry.

His tail twitched slowly, half-lying on the floor next to him. Tired, hungry, hurting, bleeding, still tired and hungry from the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. He sighed, closing his orange eyes in misery, chirping. At least at the lab they�d fed him... His eyes snapped open.

No, not gonna go back, ever, he thought, snarling. Think, he growled, looking around the room for something, anything.

Maybe whoever lived here had left something behind, he wondered, forcing himself to stand up. The blood rushed from his head as he stood up, making him feel sick. His knees fell out from under him, dropping him back to the couch. He fought to sit up weakly, holding his head.

His hair fell in his eyes, masking the tear of pain that rolled down his cheek. Weak from being hungry, and being chased, and from bleeding all over himself, and from being chased some more. He chirruped, breathing quickly for a moment as he tried to clear his head. Something.....

Shower, he thought, get some of the dried blood off him so he could see to patch himself up maybe. He fought to his feet again, weakly hobbling over toward the bathroom. He played with the taps for a moment, finally figuring out how to work the shower. It was built for both sonic cleansing and plain water showers, which was great. Tarik�s sensitive ears couldn�t handle sonic showers, humans and most others couldn�t hear the waves, but he could.

He fiddled with the water, finally getting the temperature good enough not to burn or freeze himself. Shorts, loincloth, boots, decorative arm and wrist bands he�d made from scrap cloth and colored leather he�d found, the homemade dagger he kept in his boot, all the possessions he had in the universe right now sat in a pile next to the bathroom door.

He slid under the water, he�d almost forgotten how good it felt not to have to wait for a rainstorm to get cleaned off until now. He even managed to find a long-forgotten bottle of soap in the cabinet under the sink, so his scraggly mop of curly brown hair got a rinse too.

After his shower, Tarik scavenged through the closets and cupboards, finally managing to find a few forgotten items. A bed sheet, a few towels, miscellaneous household items, and even a pair of pants, obviously formerly owned by a Corellian smuggler with very bad taste.

The towels came in handy, and the bed sheet became a makeshift robe, decreasing the annoying chill Tarik felt without his shorts. The pants needed a little help, getting slashed open in the back with his dagger to make room for his tail. He impatiently glanced over his shoulder at his shorts hanging over the shower tub, hoping they�d hurry up and get dry. For the first time in at least a year, both he and his wardrobe were clean. The bloodstains on his leather loincloth had come out reluctantly with some scrubbing, and the rest had just desperately needed a good rinse-out.

It was getting into evening as Tarik�s shorts finally dried. His shorts and the rumbling gnawing in his stomach were all that worried him at the moment. He experimentally chewed on an ancient and nearly petrified ration bar he�d found in the cupboard, it was almost harder than Stormtrooper armor, but at least the armor he could bite through. He finally gave up on the bar, banging it on the table curiously, then tossing it at the waste can. It went in, a nearly perfect shot. Tarik looked at his hand, narrowing his eyes with a smirk.

He snorted, silently impressed with his aim. He poked at the few scattered denomination credit coins, wondering what he could afford with them. A few were old republic coins, and one he couldn�t identify, but it was probably not valuable, just decorative. It had a hole drilled in the top where it had once hung on a chain as a medallion.

Tarik studied the raised swirls and patterns on the coin thoughtfully for a moment. He looked around the apartment, rolling the coin in the palm of his hand, thinking. He made a few soft clicking sounds as he thought to himself, then he grabbed the cord he�d hung his staff from. He frayed off one strand of the dull brown cord with a claw, carefully unwinding it from the string and slashing the other end free from the cord. He strung the coin onto the piece of cording, evening it to the middle and tying a knot to hold it there.

He studied his new prize, tilting his head to look at it past his snout. A trophy of the day, he thought, smiling.

He�d survived to see another sunset, he�d bested Stormtroopers, that orange blob Drekano, his soldiers, and even a Dark Jedi today. Maybe being a freak wasn�t such a bad thing to be, since all the normal people seemed to be lacking in everything abnormal that was keeping him alive.

He packed up the rest of the coins into his waistband pouch, fighting to think of a place in the middle of Imperial City that would accept Republic credits.

Minero, the old man with the restaurant a few blocks from here. He�d been nice to Tarik before, and he was a collector of old junk. Maybe he�d accept them. Tarik�s stomach rumbled, he looked down at the source of the all-too familiar noise with a frown. He rested a clawed hand on his stomach thoughtfully. He opened his other hand, studying the medallion again. If Minero wouldn�t accept the credits, maybe he�d take the medallion in trade for some food? No, he snorted, mine, I won it. He thought, shoving the medallion into his pocket with the other coins.

Tarik stood, holding onto the edge of the table as he stood. A flicker of dizziness passed over him for a moment. He picked up his staff from where he�d stood it against the table, leaning on it for support. He limped toward the door, stopping in front of the mirror behind the door for a moment.

His reflection in a real mirror looked a lot different than his reflection in a puddle. The dirt and tangles were gone, and with a real pair of pants instead of just the shorts and loincloth combo, he actually looked kind of..... normal. The makeshift bandages made out of strips of torn bed sheet and the splintered staff in his hands reminded him that he wasn�t normal, and would never be. He growled, shaking off those thoughts.

Food first, then a medic, then maybe I�ll worry about being a freak, but not now.

He opened the apartment door carefully, poking his snout around the edge of the door and sniffing the hallway cautiously. No one, the hall was clear. He slipped out the door and closed it carefully behind himself, hearing it lock behind him. He�d have to go around the ledge outside to the window if he wanted to get back in later.

He walked down the hallway toward the rear exit onto the elevated alley beside the building, merely a few paces from the pile of boxes where he�d entered the building this morning. He glanced up as he passed the cargo boxes he�d climbed up. The window was boarded over from the inside, they�d made sure no one was getting back in that way.

He chirped to himself, orange eyes flicking over the alley around him. Problem was, there was more than one �they� after him now, so which one boarded up the window? Whoever it was, they weren�t around now, he thought sniffing the damp air in the alleyway. He limped across the street, heading off in the direction of the restaurant, hoping Mr. Minero himself would be working this evening.

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----on to Part 4 of Chapter 1---

© 2000 Michelle Petrosky

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