Mike and Vickie crossed the bridge, heading for the North bank of the Seine. As they reached the bank, Mike's comlink chirped repeatedly until he unhooked it with a sigh, expecting Josh or Becki to be the caller. Instead, he was brought up short by the voice on the other end of the line, and nearly dropped the comlink in amazement. He looked on with unseeing eyes as Vickie, oblivious to her motionless team-mate, pushed on through the early morning shoppers and tourists.
Thayer and Lenka had finally convinced Mike's astromech to give up its master's comlink code. As a precaution before every mission, New Republic field officers had their comlinks scrambled, and without the right descrambler code, no-one could contact them, or tap into their conversations. By the time Lenka had deciphered the code, the two were in a battered taxi, heading toward Paris and, Thayer hoped, Becki.
"Are you there?" Thayer repeated. He hoped his friend hadn't been captured by the enemy.
"Thayer, yes, I'm sorry. I'm surprised to hear from you so soon, sir."
"You sounded urgent in your message, my friend. And we have brought certain items as well, in case your condition when last we saw you has worsened."
There was a thoughtful pause on the other end of the line, and then Mike replied.
"That was nothing. I just walked into a cupboard door. But who's 'we'? Have you brought along Kirret or someone?"
"Not Kirret, but another good and trusted friend, although you may not know her. She is one of my mother's companions, and has been invaluable to me of late."
"Oh? Oh. Forgive me. I had very little sleep last night, and I'm feeling a little slow today. Don't seem to be able to shake off this bug I've had recently, either."
"Perhaps a visit from an old friend will help lift your spirits?" Thayer suggested.
"I'd be delighted," Mike replied. "I don't think I'd be alone in that, either," he added, a hint of a smile creeping through even the staticky hiss of the comlink.
"We shall be with you as soon as we can," Thayer replied, casting a wary eye about the rusted interior of the taxi. "How shall we find you?"
"I'll be broadcasting, I'm sure your radio will get a good reception," Mike answered.
"I look forward to hearing the show," Thayer replied. The connection broke, and Thayer smiled enigmatically at Lenka, who sighed and shook her head. The man may have been supreme ruler of his own country, she thought, fondly, but he liked to play silly games as much as any other man she knew. She suspected that keeping Terra Group around was merely an opportunity to indulge himself in a truly grand game.
Mike shut the comlink -Josh Cochran had had them disguised as recent model mobile phones- and looked around. He sighed expressively as he realised he'd lost track of Vickie amidst the shock of having Thayer actually coming to Paris on his word. Even with their comlinks, it would not be easy to find Vickie, as Mike knew too little of Paris to recognise any of the landmarks.
And then Mike lost interest in Vickie completely.
Under the guise of travelling as one of Terra Group's representatives, Mike had managed more than his fair share of trips to Coruscant in the year preceding this latest mission. His relationship with Wraith Squadron's Shalla Nelprin had been a big factor in the regular trips, and Mike had welcomed it. Of course, Shalla's idea of a romantic date was an intimate meal followed by an oft-stomach-turning display of brutality at the Coruscant All Comers Unarmed Fighting Championships. So Mike had learned, over the months, to recognise a trained, honed fighter.
Such as had just crossed his vision, draped in dark clothing that failed to sufficiently disguise her lithe frame and raven black hair. Not only did Mike recognise her as a dangerous foe, he recognised her. Full stop.
It was the woman from the bar. He'd not thought he'd see her again. But Mike looked different to how he had then, and maybe she'd failed to recognise him. Or maybe she just hadn't seen him. She looked preoccupied. That was good, Mike mused, all thoughts of his day's mission slipping from his mind. He slipped into the crowd, where fashions were just on the light side of grey that morning. Whoever the woman was, she stood out slightly from the crowd, whereas Mike blended in with many of the other men of his age. A brief smile quirked his features as he imagined telling Vickie he'd been following a woman all in black. His mind absently noted the bag she toted, and wondered what it was that a woman like her would be carrying. More than just lipstick, he suspected.
Nightcrawler's mind was a whirl of thoughts as she walked down the streets of Paris. She was on her way to meet Wells at a bridge going across the Seine in about a half hour. He seemed adamant about having her join him, saying something about how there was another component within his grasp. After a quick talk with her professor, she was sent to humor the man once more and find and disable this next component piece.
But as she walked, other thoughts streamed through her head. The first was about the Terran that she had left at the clinic the night before, as well as her investigation at the apartment later that night. The obvious presence of a Jedi at her apartment was too much for her not to notice. Putting two and two together made her almost positive that Terra Group was somewhere around, and in her way. That was not going to be good. But she knew that if she did run into the infamous intelligence group, she could handle them perfectly.
Better than she had handled Rouddim, to be sure. The thought of the Arabic man made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She knew that their paths were going to cross again. For one, Wells wouldn't let the component go without a fight. And Crawler was going to get her revenge, even if it would be the last thing she did. Her honor was tarnished, and that warranted death from the mercenary.
As she walked and thought, the weight of the blaster rifle, hidden behind a scarf wrap, started to grow uncomfortable on her shoulder. She fidgeted with the placement of the shoulder strap unconsciously, not noticing that the scarf slipped momentarily, displaying the dark barrel of the rifle to a mostly indifferent crowd.
Mike's eyes widened as the all too familiar outline of an Imperial blaster rifle flashed before his view. He grimaced at the thought of getting too close to the woman, and having her pull the gun in the middle of a crowd. But he thought again, and dismissed it as being out of character for her, so much as he knew what her character was. He continued trailing from a safe distance, his every sense stretching out for any signal that the woman, or any companion she might have watching her, had spotted him.
Crawler glanced at her watch. Good, on time. It'll let him think I'm still at his whim and will keep me on his good side. She couldn't see Wells at the upcoming bridge, so she hung back and turned down a street to her left. Best to know her surroundings in case she needed to utilize them.
By the time she walked down the third street, a flicker of warning filtered through her brain. She took a quick look over her shoulder, the feeling of being followed starting to nag at her. But she didn't see anything out of the ordinary. However, that didn't mean squat. It just meant that the one behind her was trained in following a subject.
She sighed. It'd be better not to bring a tail to her meeting with Wells. She still had some time before she had to meet Wells. It was more than enough to determine if she was being tailed or not, and dispatch the person if they were.
Mike almost froze when he saw the woman turn, but months of study, and all the work the Wraiths had put into his training, paid off. His eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, and his hair hung loose around his face. Too, his clothes were completely different to when he had first seen her. He was confident she'd not recognised him.
All her hard work paid off as she passed a shop with a highly reflective window. A figure in dark sunglasses and a leather coat was behind her, and while most people who walked the streets usually were blank faced, thoughts elsewhere, her tail had his attention straight onto her and nothing else.
She didn't recognize the face, which didn't surprise her either. A few ideas come to her head. One could be that the person was another associate of Rouddim's. But then again, the man probably thought she would be in Germany. The thought of a galactic ship coming in to pick her up probably wasn't on Rouddim's reality list, so to have a tail in Paris by him was unlikely.
Maybe Wells had someone following her... after all, she had failed on her mission to get the first component. Anger filled her mind as she thought that Wells might not believe she was capable of obtaining the shield and would send someone else to get the component while she did all the dirty work.
Another thought came to her mind, and she recalled the image of the follower. Could it be another member of Terra Group? There was something familiar about this person, but he didn't match any of the visuals she had viewed before leaving on this current mission.
Well, there was no time as good as now to find out who this person was, and just what they wanted from her.
Mike glanced at the shop window the woman had looked into, but failed to see what interest she might have had in a pet store. But Mike was feeling a little too confident, and missed the silvery backing to the window that had allowed Crawler to spy behind her. When he looked back at the road ahead, he almost cursed aloud, for the woman was gone.
He hurried to the next turning in the road, the only one the woman could have possibly taken, and turned down it. He was a little too eager, though, and nearly tripped over the woman he was after, standing looking at a dress in a boutique's window. Muttering an apology to her, he hurried on, feigning a need to be somewhere quickly. And then he made another mistake.
Crawler was feeling pleased to be back in the rhythm of things. Her follower had rushed away from her, and then stopped at the first shop with a reflective window. He was quite good, she thought with an inward smile, but she was better. It was time to prove it.
Mike wondered if she'd seen him. She seemed to be utterly carefree as she walked past him, not even glancing in his direction. But the woman, if she was as good as Mike thought, might have noticed his moment of panic. Not to mention his awkward moment when he realised that he was faking an interest in a women's hairdressers. He sighed as he resumed his trail, keeping a discreet distance between himself and the woman. They had moved away from the more populous areas of the city, and were now in a sparsely peopled street. As Mike watched, the woman turned into a side alley, and Mike approached the turning with a great deal of apprehension. He suddenly felt very unsure of what he was doing, not least because he'd blown off his original mission. Taking a deep breath, he rounded the corner, and walked into the gloomy, rubbish strewn alleyway.
Crawler smiled in sympathy as she looked down from the fire escape she was perched on. It was only a matter of a few seconds, a well placed jump and some upper arm strength that got her to the first floor level. She then watched in amusement as her pursuer entered the alleyway and stepped in, completely bewildered at the fact that she had "disappeared".
He looked around, as though searching for a portal or secret doorway, and didn't even seem to notice as Crawler dropped near-noiselessly to the ground behind him. Exhaling as she stood, she snaked an arm around her follower's neck, her other hand pressing her vibroblade into the side of the man's abdomen. The point of the blade pricked the skin gently, but firmly.
Thayer and Lenka left the taxi on the banks of the Seine, intent on what lay ahead of them that day. Lenka's PDA was displaying an area map of Paris, a single dot blinking regularly on the display. As the two moved off in the dot's direction, however, it wavered and faded. Lenka hissed in frustration, but Thayer smiled.
"Probably Mike has got between two buildings," he said with a smile. "And I shall worry only when we find the team dead in a gutter somewhere."
Lenka blanched at Thayer's comment, then smiled as she realised he was joking. "You are more cheerful here in Paris," she said. Thayer turned a dazzling smile on her.
"There are so many good memories in this city," he replied, casting his arms wide. "My best years were here, learning, playing, being a young man in this fine country. I love Paris, more so than anyplace but my home. And I know that I shall see Becki ere this day is out," he added with a flourish. Then he paused.
"Also, it is where I first read the Lord of the Rings books," he added, an embarrassed grin on his face. Lenka laughed at his discomfort, and returned to her PDA. Looking at Mike's last known location, she noted that they were only a few short minutes away. The two began walking in the morning sunshine, enjoying their brief return to a city that meant so much to the both of them.
"Now, we'll talk," Crawler whispered into the young man's ear, pulling him deeper into the shadows.
"<Pardon?>" he replied, slipping into a French accent.
"Don't play native with me," Crawler stated, digging the tip of the vibroblade into his skin a bit harder. "I know you're following me, and I want to know who sent you and why."
He remained silent. Crawler suspected that a few smart comments came to his mind, but the blade tip was enough of a warning that this was not a time to try and tell a few jokes. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"So you're going to deny that you've been following me for the past hour, hmm?" Crawler shook her head. "Come now, we can do this the easy way, or the very easy way. Who sent you?"
Crawler's grip wavered slightly from frustration. Without responding, he twisted away from her, ducking away from the knife and out of the choke hold all at once. However, the movement brought him further down the alley, and the only way out was through her.
Crawler smiled, twirling the vibroblade around in her hand. "Ah, the easy way. So be it."
Mike dropped into a combat stance, unconsciously reaching for his lightsabre, and then snarled at the realisation that it was wherever Becki had left it in the apartment. With a little hesitation, he instead pulled his gun from its holster, his eyes flickering downward quickly to check the charge on the power pack. As his eyes came up, though, his jaw dropped down, snapping quickly back up as the woman's hand made contact.
He wasn't taking any chances, Crawler saw. He'd already pulled a weapon on her, more than evening the odds, in theory. But his quick glance down at the gun was all she needed to dive in close and punch him, hard, in the jaw. Already off balance, the young man was sent flying, arcing backwards to land, painfully, head first on the ground. Crawler approached the body silently, looking for any signs of movement from her opponent. Instead, the man was motionless. Crawler's eyes flicked to one side, seeing the young man's gun lying against one of the alley walls, far from his reach.
It was all the opportunity Mike needed. The momentary distraction allowed him to flick out a foot, knocking the woman's vibroblade away. Then he scissored his legs into hers, sending the woman sprawling even as he used the leverage to bring himself back to a vertical base.
As Crawler fell, her training took over. Rather than berating herself for being caught out by her opponent's act, her hand found a throwing star and sent it flying towards him.
Then she fell against the alley wall, knocking the wind from her and making her see stars.
Mike felt the stinging impact from the throwing star, and winced as the jagged blade dug into his left shoulder. His eyes widened as his arm seemed to burst into flames, his every movement sending jolts of agonising fiery pain along its length. His vision blurred as he struggled to stand, and when his legs collapsed, he too fell against the alley wall, before slumping to the ground.
The two combatants lay on the alley floor, propped against their respective walls. They panted heavily, their brief combat having drained them. Crawler's recent injuries throbbed, while Mike, bleeding once more from a blow to the face, was gradually fading from the poison with which Crawler had tipped her throwing star.
Slowly, Mike raised his right hand to his shoulder, and pulled the throwing star from his flesh. He grunted as the jagged blade came free, his vision blackening to near unconsciousness. The projectile dropped harmlessly from his fingers, and his head ached where he had landed after the woman's initial attack.
Crawler, meanwhile, was cursing her opponent, both for delaying her, and reawakening the wounds she'd suffered. While she'd mostly healed, the memory of her injuries was still fresh, and she knew that she would be hurting the day through. Climbing unsteadily to her feet, she watched the young man warily as she retrieved her bag from the fire escape. Dipping into it, she pulled a bottle from its interior, and took a drink from it. The bottle contained a potent rejuvenating draft which, if not wholly capable of refreshing her, at least allowed Crawler to deal with her aches and pains. Replacing the bottle in the bag, she turned to face her opponent, her eyes flashing with anger. What she was about to do was unprofessional and probably unfair to the man, but Crawler desperately needed the release.
Mike couldn't have stopped it, even with all his faculties under his control. As the woman approached, Mike struggled slowly to his feet, and raised his right arm in a futile attempt at defence. He would as well have stayed on the floor, for all the good it did him.
The woman struck only a few times. A hard kick to the ribs was followed by a disabling blow to Mike's right shoulder, which numbed that arm as surely as her throwing star had the other. When he attempted to charge her, she used his own momentum to send him crashing into the alley wall. He dropped to his knees, and she lashed out again, kicking him in the gut. Another kick hit hard on Mike's thigh, deadening another limb, and allowing her to grab his foot and wrench the limb viciously, twisting it in a way that Mike felt even through the numbness and encroaching unconsciousness.
Crawler looked down at her broken opponent with something approaching pity on her face. He'd gotten into a situation he was ill prepared for, and had paid more than his fair price. But Crawler refused to get too sentimental over her foe. One final kick to the side of his head rendered him unconscious. She turned away from him, collected her bag and walked coolly from the alley.
Bright was the sun and high were the hearts of Achmed and Ishmael as they wended their way through the streets of Paris. Laden though they were with shopping, both men admired the young woman who stepped out in front of them from the alleyway. She gave them a quick glance, and then walked away, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. Achmed muttered something crude in Arabic, at which Ishmael turned to his friend to rebuke him. Then he paused, and peered deeper into the alleyway from which the woman had just come.
He prodded his friend, and nodded at the man slumped against the alley wall. Achmed's eyes lit up, and he stepped forward, only for Ishmael to hold him back.
"<We have no time for this>," he said, in Arabic. "<The Commander....>"
"<You worry like an old woman,>" Achmed replied. "<This man may be wealthy, and you know we had to pay for the shopping from our own wages.>"
"<And that was your fault for breaking curfew chasing that Western whore,>" Ishmael grumbled. But he followed his friend into the alley, and took custody of the bags while Achmed leant over the unconscious man, rifling his pockets for any treasure he might find.
Thayer and Lenka closed on Mike's last known location. Lenka was explaining how her family had run to Paris when Enad Atner had been usurped by his brother, as the Leannans were seen as supporters of the former King.
As they approached the alley, Thayer heard heavily accented voices coming from within. Unconsciously, he increased his pace, striding ahead of Lenka, who took a second to react.
Consequently, Thayer rounded the corner into the alleyway alone and unprotected, and standing outlined in such a way is generally seen as bad strategy. Fortunately for Thayer, the two standing men had their backs to him, and one was laden with heavy shopping. The other was leaning over someone who looked like a badly injured Mike, going through his pockets and cackling evilly.
"Hey," Thayer cried as he leapt forward. The two men began to turn, but Shopping was dropped with a hard right hook to the temple, that sent him staggering back into a pile of rubbish bags. Pickpocket was rising, and grabbing for a knife he had inside his jacket, but unfortunately for him, his head was at a perfect height for Thayer to deliver a hard roundhouse kick, which loosened the thief's teeth, and sent bloody spittle arcing across the alleyway. As the thief dropped bonelessly to the ground, a crumpled mass of paper money dropped from one hand, while Mike's wallet fell from the other.
Thayer bent to check on his friend, but stopped as he felt the cool sharp blade of a knife press against his throat. He cursed mentally as he straightened, annoyed at himself for not checking whether his first victim had been fully incapacitated by his attack.
"<Achmed? Achmed!>" a voice hissed, just by Thayer's ear.
"<I think Achmed is sleeping, friend,>" Thayer said, in French. Very calm, very cool, very regal.
"<Quiet,>" the voice said, also in French. "<No time do we have. I might kill you if you annoy me.>"
"<That would not be wise,>" Thayer said, staying calm. "<I am important. I can give you much money.>" The only reply was a crashing, splintering sound, followed by a release of the pressure at Thayer's neck. He turned, rubbing one hand across his throat, and smiled as he saw Lenka, her now-defunct PDA half in her hands, half on the floor around the now defunct not-Achmed's head.
"Thank you," Thayer said, smiling at Lenka. "I suppose we've lost all the comm frequencies, though."
"Well, it was that, or the ability to use a comm," Lenka replied, pointing at Thayer's throat. Thayer smiled, glad that Lenka was feeling comfortable enough around him to make jokes, even in such a grim situation as this. Then;
"Yob' tvoyu mat!" Lenka exclaimed. She was looking beyond Thayer, who grimaced as he turned around. For the first time, he was able to get a proper look at Mike's wounds, and could see that whatever had happened to his friend, Mike would likely be suffering for a long time to come.
Lenka pulled a medpack from the bag she was carrying, and began to tend to Mike's wounds. Searching the alley, Thayer found Mike's blaster, and a throwing star that glistened wetly with blood. Comparing it to Mike's wounds, Thayer decided it had probably caused the hole in his left shoulder, which Lenka was now working on with a bacta patch.
"Who are they?" She asked, nodding at her downed opponent.
"No idea. Maybe Mike could tell you, if he was awake," Thayer said, collecting Mike's wallet and money, and pushing them back into his coat pocket. He went to put the gun in Lenka's bag, but a hand grabbed his wrist.
"I can't," Mike said, his eyes snapping open. "Yet I've seen them before," he added, his words slurred. He winced as he tried to stand, brushing Lenka's hands away from his injuries with a surprising gentleness. "I followed them from a bar, but they got the drop on me there. Looks like they decided to finish the job."
"Are they connected to the mission?" Thayer asked, stepping forward to help Mike. Mike held up one hand to keep Thayer at bay, and shrugged his shirt on with a wince and a shudder. Lenka stared at Mike's left arm, an unspoken question hanging on her lips as she realised that Mike hadn't moved his arm at all. Even fumbling with his buttons, he used his right hand only, although it obviously caused him great pain to do so.
"I don't know," Mike finally replied, when he finished doing up his shirt. He slumped back against the alley wall, a move that made his eyes slam wide open as all the colour went from his face. He shuddered out a great breath, and then looked over Thayer's shoulder in alarm.
"Get him!" he cried, pushing off the wall, and trying to run down the alley. Thayer and Lenka looked on in amazement as Apparently Achmed moved from a crouching stumble to a flat out sprint in one swift movement. Mike wasn't far behind, limping heavily and cursing with each step. He paused at the mouth of the alleyway and looked back, holding on to the wall for support.
"Get to the Seine," he panted. "Head West, and look for the others. That's important. I'll deal with this." And then he was gone.
Thayer and Lenka looked at one another, amazed at Mike's recovery. They dashed to the end of the alleyway, and looked down the street in the direction Mike and Apparently Achmed had taken. But neither man was visible, in spite of their injuries. Thayer and Lenka were reduced to picking up their supplies, and the Arab's shopping.
"What do we do about him?" Lenka said, looking down at Apparently Not Achmed with a barely concealed look of disgust on her face.
"Well, we can't take him with us," Thayer said, bending over the downed man. "So let's make life difficult for him, eh?"
Achmed ran as fast as he could, but his head was sore, and he'd been forced to abandon his friend. Neither factor added fleetness to his condition, and whenever he looked back, the younger man he'd been robbing was gaining, like some ghastly, bloody, avenging angel sent to take him to the netherworld for all the sins he'd committed.
Achmed groaned, and tried to speed up, but his passage was slowed by a wandering hot dog seller who dragged in his customers by means of an astonishingly good voice.
"A little less conversation, now, ladies and gentlemen, a little more action please. That's right son, you take that hot dog, fried special by me, and you enjoy it. Five Euros, thank you very much, son."
And the hot dog seller began to sing, drawing a crowd as he did so. It's not every day that a rhinestone studded hot dog cart is seen on the streets of Paris, after all.
The show was spoiled for some, but by no means all, of the customers by a youth vaulting the cart at high speed, landing awkwardly with a loud curse as his legs gave way. He rolled several feet, cursing all the way, before using his momentum to bounce back up and continue his run.
Achmed got lost among the buildings that fronted onto the Seine. Try as he did, he couldn't find the river anywhere. And behind him, he was sure, was his enemy, the young man risen from the edge of Death to hunt him for the rest of his life. Achmed suddenly felt that that would not be a very long time at all.
Mike cursed as he limped through the maze of buildings. He'd lost his target more than ten minutes before, and, barring a miracle, lost he would remain. Plus, he couldn't find the river anywhere, having been turned around several times in the pursuit of the fleeing Arab. And his body was aching, his left arm completely numb. The sensation of hot pursuit had quelled the various agonies that the thrice-cursed woman had inflicted upon him, but now that the adrenaline was fading from his system, he was experiencing it all over again, plus some more for good measure. His body didn't take kindly to the treatment it had received that day, and was letting him know so in no uncertain terms. He winced in further pain as his ankle turned on an uneven paving slab, but through the descending red mist, he saw someone familiar.
Achmed couldn't believe his luck. Turning out of yet another alley, he found himself amongst still more deserted warehouses, but there, at last, was the Seine, and even more welcome, the boat. While he did not welcome the idea of boarding it with neither provisions nor Ishmael, at least his colleagues would protect him from his pursuer.
And then, as though Allah had given Achmed one last glimpse of safety before casting him forever away from Him, the man emerged from the shadow of several packing crates, with a mean look on his face. Achmed froze in terror, and tried to think of a way out of his horrible predicament.
The younger man stepped forward, reaching out to grab Achmed by the collar of his shirt, but Achmed, with a strength born of desperation, swung his arm out and caught the man across his jaw[2]. The man staggered backwards, losing his footing on the uneven pavement, and crashed headfirst into a teetering pile of empty packing crates. He collapsed to the ground, and the crates followed, smashing down on top of him, the resulting noise and cloud of dust almost, but not quite, drowning out the incoherent bellow that sprang from his mouth.
Achmed slowly regained control as the dust settled on the debris. The young man was buried under more than a dozen crates, his legs firmly pinned to the ground. His upper body was slowly being covered by a fine layer of dust and dirt, giving him an appearance of a long abandoned statue. Achmed fervently hoped that this tableau before him would remain undisturbed for a very long time indeed. As he turned to head for the ship, he cast one long glance back at his trapped enemy, and promised Allah that he would be a better man if he never had to see him again.
Mike lay still, watching as the Arab left him behind. Slowly, he tried moving as much of himself as he could, and was gratified by the way he could feel every muscular twinge, ache, and pain. Nothing broken, then, just hurting in ways Mike wouldn't have though possible.
Mike thanked God his upper body had been left free. He pulled his comlink from his jacket pocket, and popped off the back. Trapped he may have been, but he took a perverse pleasure in having still developed a genuine lead. Even from the position he found himself in, he could watch the Arab walk straight up the gangplank of the ship docked on the Seine.
Looking down at the comlink, Mike absently thanked Josh again for having the foresight to redesign them. Pulling the comlink from its external disguise left a small case in which could be secreted small, useful items a team member might want during a mission. For Mike, the case contained a set of lockpicks, an emergency shot of vodka, and a miniaturized magnifying device he'd picked up in a Coruscant flea market. These last two he put to good use, wetting his mouth with the vodka while he trained the magnifier on the prow of the ship. Sure enough, the name Alba Varden was clear on the prow. Mike noted the pier number, and slowly, painfully, commed Josh with the news.
Then, with his body finally succumbing to the various injuries he'd received, Mike's head dropped forward, and he lay completely still on the ground.
Thayer and Lenka had stripped Apparently Not Achmed to his underwear, and also taken his wallet and ID. Tying him up in the alleyway, they'd also taken some of his shopping, though they'd left him the figs and the breath mints. Certainly he needed the latter of the two.
Without any way of contacting the member of Terra Group, they decided to follow Mike's advice and make their way to the Seine, before heading West to see what they could find. As they walked the familiar roads, Lenka told stories of her time in Paris, having fled Mendellia with her family when Eugor Atner had been in power. They'd been targeted by the new regime as being supporters of the old king, and had followed the example of Llessur and Thayer by making their home in the French capital.
"So I went to school here for my last year, before taking a Languages degree at university. The same one as you, actually, though our paths never crossed then," she said.
"And speaking of languages," Thayer replied, "what was that I heard you say when you saw Mike?"
"It, well, it was Russian. It's a swear word, well, more of a phrase, really, I wouldn't care to share it with you," Lenka said, a pleading look in her eyes."
"Just so," said Thayer, with a grin. Changing the subject, he went on, "It is remarkable how many experiences we have shared, though, without ever before realising it. It is as though you were my sister, or something similar, I suppose."
Lenka merely smiled, looking down at her feet as they walked on. Soon, the Seine was in sight, and the two followed the river Westwards, hoping for any sign of the members of Terra Group.
But neither sight nor sound was there, until Thayer began to lose his previously irrepressible good spirits. Lenka looked on in anger at herself, for having lost their only means of contacting the Group members. She was about to apologise, when:
"Look, there she is!" Thayer laughed. "There, walking along next to Jedi Cochran. Probably if we shout, they will hear us. Heavens, they look close enough to touch, let alone shout at. Hey, Becki! Josh, Becki! Here! Becki! Be-"