<font color="#77A8C1">Kanbal shifted uneasily in the seat of his Swoop. Tension was always highest before the race for him. The stadium was brimming with brand new spectators, due to the recent banning of pod racing on Caprioril. The noise the crowd generated was so deafening that one could not hear themselves thinking. Being this unfocused would only hurt Kanbal, and in more way than one. He tried blocking out all the noise and instead, listen to his “inner voice.” He struggled, greatly; the crowd kept drowning it out. Slowly, he became angry at the crowd for the excessive noise. Then he could hear a whisper inside of him, barely whisper. He knew that was his “inner voice,” but with the joy it brought him, it only disappeared. Frustrated, he slammed his fist on his Swoop.

Just then, the loudspeakers crackled to life. In Huttese and Basic, the crowds were welcomed and all the racers were introduced. When it came to Kanbal’s introduction the crowd gave him a lukewarm welcome. This didn’t please him in the least. The last to be introduced was Radime Kirbol, Caprioril’s Swoop superstar. It had been said that the Twi’lek was the best Swoop racer in the galaxy, but he had never left the protection of Caprioril Swoop Racing Circuit, where he remain undefeated. Any and all the wanted to challenge him, needed to make their way to Caprioril; which is why Kanbal was here.

Kanbal was part of the illegal Corellian Sector Swoop League. In the betting rings, he was known as the “one race wonder,” because in the seven seasons he had raced, he had one at least one major event. All, including himself, considered any other wins, blind luck. Kanbal was taking his eighth season in the CSSL off to make this trip. To him, any win in this circuit would be his one major event for a lifetime. He grinned at the thought of beating Kirbol. It would surely vault him to galactic-superstar status over night.

All the racers were told to ready. The roar of Swoop engines became mixed into the chaos of the crowd. Kanbal wondered if they shouted louder once the race start. It seemed that way because the noise didn’t dull. This was it, the moment of truth. Kanbal glared at the heavily tattooed lekku of Kirbol. Kanbal’s hate for Kirbol welled up inside him. As the starter counted down to zero, Kanbal’s “inner voice” began speaking to him, telling him it was his race to win. Kanbal revved the Swoops engine, all the while transfixed on Kirbol. As the tension grew, so did the volume of his “inner voice.” Kanbal could fell the adrenaline start to follow through his veins, and the emotions of the other racers and the crowd. He zeroed in on Kirbol. He was surprised to find anxiety, doubt and fear within Kirbol. This discovery gave Kanbal a new confidence.

Kanbal turned his attention to the clock as it ticked away the final 5 seconds. Everything began to slow down in Kanbal’s mind. The final second faded as the starting lights turned green, and all the racers streaked away from the starting line. At the first spilt, Kirbol was sitting in first, and Kanbal in fifteenth, and quickly moving up.</font>

<font color="#77A8C1">Kanbal flew pass the starting line, beginning the third lap of five. Sweat had built up on his brow, from concentrating on the eleven position passes he had accomplished. But with each competitor he passed, it was seemingly becoming easier for him. His “inner voice” had guided him all the way to fourth and he hoped it wouldn’t quit now. He could again see Kirbol’s lekku, strapped securely to his back. He could almost taste the Twi’lek’s blood on his lips; so sour and bitter, it was the blood of a fearful being. Kanbal thrived on this.

His “inner voice” became more rapid and his senses were becoming enhanced. He could hear the slight rattle of the left directional thrust nozzle on his closest competitor’s, a Gran, Swoop. A slight bump would throw him off course enough to allow Kanbal to pass him. A sharp turn was coming up that all the racers took wide, but Kanbal’s confidence in his enhanced senses and reflexes that he could take the turn tight and be even with third place.

The next few seconds seemed like minutes to Kanbal. He saw the turn and pulled out wide to make a quick inside pass. The next instant, he was in front of the Gran by the length of his central repulsor pod. Before Kanbal could correct his mistake, and pull back, his rear repulsorlift slipped causing him to slam in the Gran’s Swoop. Kanbal quickly regained control of his Swoop; the Gran wasn’t so fortunate. Kanbal didn’t need to look about to know that the Swoop flew into a wall, killing himself, and possibly other racers. This would be the first time that Kanbal was responsible for the death of a competitor. He tried to put it behind him, but it affected his performance in the final lap, causing him to finish out of the top ten.</font>

<font color="#77A8C1">Kanbal had found his way to a local cantina shortly after the race had ended. There, he drank away his sorrows for the remained of the night. There, his “inner voice” gave him no sympathy. It mocked him, calling him a worthless piece of nerf fodder, a shame to his family and the sport of Swoop racing. The badgering only got worse. Soon, Kanbal became paranoid, “hearing” others mocking him. The other, mostly sober, patrons became shifty, reaching for blasters to protect themselves from the belligerent, madman that the alcohol was making Kanbal.

The bartender, a Gotal, approached Kanbal, to ask him to leave. Before the Gotal could speak, Kanbal took a drunken swing at the bartender. The Gotal pulled back reflexively, and barely missed getting hit. Some of the larger patrons saw this and immediately came to the Gotal’s aide. Flailing, Kanbal tried to escape the clutches of the various species set on removing him. When they’d reached the door, they tossed him through the air. Kanbal felt like he was flying. Unfortunately, gravity remembered he couldn’t and brought him back to earth. He landed there with a hollow, dead sounding, thud.</font>

<font color="#77A8C1">The next morning, or what Kanbal perceived as the next morning, he found himself in his apartment in Doolis. His whole body felt like it had been trodden over by a whole Bantha herd. He smelt like it too. Kanbal sat up to move to the refresher unit, or at least made an attempt. Lifting his head was a laborious task; his neck muscles screamed with the slightest stimulus. So, he remained in bed, as motionless as possible. He tried remembering the night before, what had happened after the scene at the cantina. He drew a blank. How he moved from the streets to his bed was a mystery, but with all the pain he was in, it couldn’t have been under his own power.

After several hours, Kanbal could feel his muscles begin to unwind and relax. He found the energy to sit upright in bed. He massaged his temples, trying to ease the stampede. His “inner voice” had been silent for the morning, as it usually was. He hoped it would be that way for the remainder of the day. Slowly, Kanbal moved from his bed to the refresher unit. He striped of the layer of dirty rags that he had worn through the night. The steaming water felt good on his cold, clammy flesh. With the removal of caked on grime, Kanbal felt reborn, metaphorical speaking.

Once Kanbal was satisfied with his cleanliness, he stepped out of the refresher and prepared to face the outside world. No doubt the crash was streaming all over the sport reels. The people and media thrived on death and gorge. He was convinced that the Holonet’s motto was, “If it bleeds, it leads.” But that was the way of the sport. Although it had shaken him because it was the first time he would have killed someone for position, and he would get publicity for it, which wasn’t the way he wanted to get it. Many of the professional, legal professional, would tell him, that was offend the only way you’d get noticed. Kanbal knew that were better ways of becoming famous and recognized, ways other than killing competitors. This was sport, not business… or politics.</font>

<font color="#77A8C1">Kanbal stepped out his door to find that last night’s race had made sport’s headlines. He walked the crowded streets relatively unnoticed, except by a few that made it a point to whisper and stare. It bothered him. He swore he could hear their words over the all the people and speeders around him.

</font>“Is that he?”

“Oh my stars, I don’t know. I think it is.”

“Wow. Think he’ll be racing again tonight?”

“I don’t know. I hope…”<font color="#77A8C1">

Kanbal shook the words out of his head. He told himself he was just being paranoid. He was going to race again tonight, and he was going to win. Nothing was going to stop him from tonight.

Every morning that Kanbal woke up at a reasonable hour, which wasn’t offend, he had breakfast in the Rusty Hydrospanner, a small diner two blocks from his apartment. The food reminded him of the diners in Coronet, the capital city of Corellia, and of the New Republic, if you really wanted to get technical. Over the three months Kanbal had been on planet, and coming to the Rusty Hydrospanner, he had gained a friendship with the owner, and regular cook, Wouher. Wouher was Ithorian, or more commonly a Hammerhead. Always ugly by human standards, Kanbal had been told that Wouher was very ugly by Ithorian standards also. Which was why he was on Caprioril, and not on Ithor; he simply could find a mate. But still Kanbal didn’t care why he was here; he just enjoyed the conversation and food.

A hush fell over the diner when he entered. He could feel the penetrating eyes of all species following him to his usually seat at the bar. The whispers started when he sat down. Wouher came out to greet Kanbal and take his order. Wouher came out of the kitchen with arms spread and wide eyes, obviously excited he was a now famous Swoop racer in his diner.</font>

“Kanbal, ma bukee!” <font color="#77A8C1">Kanbal’s face lit up, this was the warmest welcome he’d got all morning. One thing about Wouher that Kanbal noticed was he broke into Huttese when he was excited, </font>“How are you?”

“I’m alright. I’ve just been facing this,” <font color="#77A8C1">Kanbal pointed over his shoulder, with his thumb, to the whispering and gawking patrons. Wouher’s eyes narrowed and his mouths became twisted.

</font>“KEEP EATING OR GET OUT!” <font color="#77A8C1">All the facing in the diner expressed shock. Some left, some hurriedly finished their breakfast and left. </font>“Worthless life forms,” <font color="#77A8C1">Wouher’s attention drawn back to Kanbal, </font>“Your usually for breakfast?”

“Of course Wouher, why change it now after three months? You’ve got it perfected.”

<font color="#77A8C1">Wouher made his way back into the kitchen.

<hr>
Several minutes later, Wouher came out with a steaming hot plate of nerf steaks and air cake. Kanbal enjoyed the warm meat and soft cake every morning. Wouher had done well, again; the nerf was cooked to perfection and the air cake was as good as his mother once made. By the time Kanbal was finished, most of the diner had emptied. Wouher came out of the kitchen, finally able to catch a break.

</font>“So Kanbal, racing again tonight?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your lost in position after you bumped the Gran seemed to affect you greatly.”

“It did…” Kanbal swallowed hard.

“Don’t worry my boy. It happens. Come now, didn’t it happen on Corellia?”

“Yeah it did… but this was different some how. In part, I’m getting attention from it, and that’s not how I want to get attention. I want to be known for winning, not killing.”

“A reasonable request. Some day you will, some day…”

<font color="#77A8C1">4 months later…

Doolis, Caprioril…

Kanbal flew pass the starting gate; lap five. This was it, now or never. Kanbal sat back in second, just behind Radime Kirbol, the Caprioril’s Twi’lek superstar. Ever since the first race of the season, Kanbal had found his niche in the Capriorillian racing world. He had gain the fame he wanted, the way he wanted, over the last four months; Kanbal could consistently finish in second place, every race. To him, that was almost as good as winning a race, but on Caprioril, it wasn’t good enough.

After the first split, Kanbal and Radime were a second apart, a second and a half improvement over the last lap. Kanbal’s heart was pounding in his chest and his “inner voice” was singing in his ears. Kanbal could taste the same fear radiating from Radime that he felt every race. Only this time, it was constant bitterness in his mouth, and he knew how to stop it.

Kanbal raced the track in his mind, finding the fateful turn where he would just ahead. He plucked it out, only two more turns. Kanbal became Radime’s shadows, even following Radime’s minutest correction. The bitter taste became stronger than it ever had before. Kanbal tried spitting it out, but to no avail; it was becoming unbearable for Kanbal. They were approaching the turn Kanbal had chosen. Kanbal pulled up to Radime’s inside, forcing Radime to go wide. Kanbal’s “inner voice” told him that Radime did have the gall to kill a fellow racer; Radime had to never face it before.

The turn…

Kanbal saw everything that happened lucidly. Kanbal pulled his nose ahead of Radime’s, dangerous because Radime had a chance to eliminate Kanbal, permanently. Kanbal knew Radime would not seize that opportunity. They came out of the turn with Kanbal in the lead. Even through he had shut it out, the crowd was losing their heads. This had been the first time that Radime’s lead had been successfully challenged. Radime began to lose faith, but keep fighting. Unfortunately, this would bring him down.

The bitterness has seeped its way into Kanbal veins. This disgusted Kanbal to no end. If only he could bump Radime off his Swoop. Kanbal visualize a multitude of ways to accomplish it. A sight nudge with the tail would certainly suffice, but death wasn’t Kanbal’s goal, or Radime’s density, not yet. Kanbal wanted to physically shove Radime off his Swoop, but physical contact would be too overt. A shove was all he needed to secure the lead and Radime’s life. Kanbal ran the scenario in his mind; shoving Radime and seeing him walk away with minor injuries. A shove would do it.

Kanbal suddenly became more alert. The bitterness was gone. He risked a look back to see nothing, just the turn he and Radime just made. What was minutes of planning and thought to Kanbal was mere seconds in the race. Kanbal was in disbelief; he hadn’t touched Radime’s Swoop. He could still tell Radime was alive, barely, but living. Kanbal kept emotion from overwhelming him and which could potentially cost him the race.

The remained of the race Kanbal rode uncontested. Finally someone had met the challenge that stood for so long. The city of Doolis would be an unruly place that night, and days to follow.

<hr>
Minutes after the race Kanbal found himself on the streets of Doolis, trying to hid his face from everyone. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being followed. Kanbal had gone through various alleyways and tried using lesser-traveled streets, but the feeling remained. He picked up a brisk job, to try and stay ahead of his unknown pursuer. Before he realized it, he was in a full run. His “inner voice” was guiding him through the crowded streets. There was a natural pull Kanbal felt, preventing him from endangering anyone else. That natural pull had also led him directly into a dark, dead end alley.

Kanbal thought he was finished. The only defense he had was a dated blaster. Kanbal drew the almost antique weapon from its holster. The weapon shook violently in Kanbal’s hand as a dark robed figure approached him. His eyes were shifting all around, looking for possible other threats; none were apparent. The figure made their intent unclear, which made Kanbal’s palms sweat. The tension was starting to overwhelm him. Unconsciously, Kanbal fired the blaster blindly, but on mark. In a millisecond, there was a snap and hiss, followed by a brilliant amethyst flash. A white light that radiated from the figure accompanied the quick outburst of action. Kanbal was bombarded with this light knocking him on his feet. Kanbal knew what not this being was, but it continued its advance, now uncontested.</font>

<!--EZCODE BOLD START--> Doolis, one day prior to the big race...<!--EZCODE BOLD END-->



<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> Of all the places... how did I end up here?<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->

Leia looked around her at the city that was...<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> Doolis<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->, was it?

Even though her surroundings looked nice enough, she still hoped her stay here would not be a long one. Some trouble with the hyperdrive on her personal ship, the Alderaan, had landed her an unplanned visit here for some needed repairs.

And now she had nothing but time to kill. For once in what had seemed like forever, she was actually traveling alone. It was not often that the New Republic allowed it's Chief of State to go gallivanting off on some adventure without at least a small escort of bodyguards.

Yet Leia had managed to secure a bit of sorely needed incognito travel time for herself with a bit of nagging and a lot of arguing.

She walked idly down the street, taking in her surroundings slowly. She spotted a sign up ahead announcing the presence of a local cantina. Bored, and finding no reason not to, as Leia reached the cantina she diverted her path and entered the establishment.

Inside she found the typical cantina atmosphere: dark, and moderately noisy. This particular cantina was cleaner than many a place she had been in over the years, and she seated herself at a booth, then ordered a drink.

A viewscreen over the bar was apparently hooked up to a local sports network, and an announcer seemed to be talking excitedly about something or other. A group of both creatures and humans alike was clustered around the bar that was closest to the screen, and appeared to be enthusiastically gossiping about whatever the announcer was talking about, because every now and then they would cheer, or boo and hiss at the screen. Mildly interested, Leia gave half an ear to the happenings over at the bar.

Eventually she learned that the subject that was creating so much excitement in the cantina was swoop racing. Leia recalled that the New Republic had declared that sport illegal, and was attempting to break up the various racing leagues that dwelt just about everywhere.

Despite this, Leia held no particular qualms with the sport, and decided to continue to passively observe and learn.

Another good fifteen to twenty minutes of this exercise allowed Leia to learn that a big race was scheduled for tomorrow, and that apparently swoop racing was all the rage in this city.

Eventually Leia decided it was time to depart from the cantina, and returned to her ship, only to learn that she would be stranded here on Doolis until the necessary parts could be shipped in to fix her ship. She sighed.

<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> And what am I going to do until then?<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->

Well, there was always that race tomorrow....



The next day Leia purposely slept in late, and rose around lunch time. She ate on her ship, and then took her leave from it for another day of exploring. The first stop on today's agenda.... was the racecourse. If she could find it.

Locating it turned out not to be so hard after all, the course was apparently the main focal point of the city. Leia purchased a ticket and seated herself among a very large crowd of spectators.

Down below the racers were being introduced, and Leia looked on curiously. Not too long after, the race began.

True to what she had heard, swoop racing Leia found to be a fast paced and highly dangerous contest. There was not much room for error, and generally the races all stayed in a pretty close pack throughout the race.

But there were two racers, ahead of the rest. They were most obviously more talented than the rest of their fellow competitors, and their battle for first place quickly became the main focus of the race.

Then one of the racers bumped the other off in a rather gutsy move, putting him in the lead.

'Kanbal Stian' The announcers identified him as. Leia recalled the name from yesterday, he had been a favorite to win this particular race despite a few recent 'troubles' (did anything stay out of the media these days? Leia thought sourly).

Indeed Kanbal turned in a win for the day. Leia had been watching him closely throughout the rest of the race and hand concluded there was something... odd about him. But she did not think much about it after that.

...Until she was on the streets. After seeing Kanbal's face broadcast over what seemed like all of the screens in the vicinity of the racecourse, she found it very easy to pick his face out of the crowds as he passed right by her. He looked... disturbed, troubled. Paranoid, even.

Leia manuevered out of one flow of pedestrian traffic and into the one in which Kanbal traveled. She did not know what pressed her to follow this man, or why, but for some reason, she just felt she had to.

As a Jedi Master, she was more apt than others to trust her instincts, even if at times they seemed a little... odd.

Kanbal seemed to grow more agitated as she shadowed him. He kept quickening his pace, looking around and behind him. Eventually he broke into a flat out run. The allies in this part of the city that Leia had followed Kanbal into were mostly empty, and so Leia matched pace with him, though she slowed back down as she saw him run into a dead end zone.

She entered the alleyway that he had dissapeared into cautiously.

Suddenly the hair on the back of Leia's neck stood on end and her danger senses flared.

Her saber was out in a flash, to intercept an angry red blaster bolt and then neutralize the danger before it hurt either of the two people in the alleyway. A simple force push and pull disarmed the attacker and dumped him on the ground.


And with that Leia found herself staring down at a hopeless, frightened, disoriented, and panicked man.

She shut off the blade.

"I mean you no harm, I only wish to speak with you. However, you made accomplishing that rather... difficult, to say the least."

The voice was female. Soft, and comforting.

The figure advanced towards Kanbal again, and upon reaching him appeared to stoop over him slightly.

"Come on, get up. I don't like it in here any more than you probably do."

Even in the darkness of the alleyway the proffered helping hand could be seen, outstretched towards him.

<font color="#77A8C1">Although there were good intentions on the female’s part, Kanbal was still unsure of who or what it was. Her face was still hidden by the hood of her outer cloak. He disregarded the helpful hand; he picked himself up and dusting off his garments. His pride sustained more injury than his body, much more. She retracted her hand, sliding it into the opposing sleeve, and erected herself. She seemed to be well disciplined. He tried to find some clues indicating her identity and intent, but Kanbal found none. If there were any his “inner voice” would’ve made those details known, but it was surprisingly silent.

He stood at a stalemate with the female. Kanbal towered over her, but where height was usually an advantage, it wouldn't be with her. He was disarmed too quickly to try and attempt self-defense again. He also got the sense that an attack for escape would not be needed, she seemed like a negotiator first, and a fighter at last resorts. The only sounds that were being made were by crowded streets outside the alleyway, and the various makes and models of transports overhead. This filled the awkward silence, awkward possibly only to Kanbal, between the female and he.</font>

“Why were you following me?” <font color="#77A8C1">he said, finally breaking the deafening silence.</font>

There was another short silence as the hooded figure simply stood still and quietly, apparently sizing up Kanbal. He was far more composed now, she noted.

<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> Remarkably tall for a swoop racer...<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->



Finally, she spoke again.

"Kanbal Stian, the ever so famous swoop racer....

A pleasure to meet you... I am Leia Organa Solo."

As she introduced herself, she reached up with a hand and deftly threw the hood of her cloak back off of her head, revealing her face.

Calm and cool was her composure, and she met Kanbal's gaze evenly, somehow with a superior air, despite the fact that she had to tilt her head back quite a ways to do so at such close quarters.

"I know a little of you, you seem to be somewhat of a new celebrity around here, I suppose. Today I watched your race.

I was wondering if we might talk..."

She gestured around them.

"...In perhaps someplace more preferable to this?"

<font color="#77A8C1">There was another small pause, like she was selecting her words with care. Apparently she was; she blew off his question.

“Kanbal Stian, the ever so famous swoop racer.”

He tried to retain the amusement this brought him. This race he had just won would certainly bring him fame, but she spoke like she’s known about him for sometime. Very odd. He doubted she would have heard of him through the CSSL, and it was possible she was a native of Caprioril, and she’d been watching all this season. Although, what she said next disavowed his assumptions, it shocked him even more than her pervious statement.

“I am Leia Organa Solo.”

When she pulled her hood off, Kanbal placed the name with the face. What was the New Republic’s Chief of State doing on Caprioril, and what did she want with him? Kanbal’s heart started pounding in his chest. One of the most politically powerful beings in the galaxy had business to talk with him. Something here was amiss. What ever the results of this conversation would be, it would certainly be life changing for Kanbal, but he felt it could lead him to a dark road. Still, anything she had to offer him, it would certainly be better than this life.</font>

“I was wondering if we might talk,” <font color="#77A8C1">she gestured around them.</font> “In perhaps someplace more preferable to this?”

“Yes… perhaps. Follow me,” <font color="#77A8C1">he said as he started to move forward.

He led her back out on to the street. He would take her to Wouher’s diner; he was still open at this hour. No doubt he would also be waiting for Kanbal to make an appearance. Wouher had, without a doubt, seen the race from his kitchen. Some patrons probably had to check on him when the race was over, to make sure he still had a pulse.

Kanbal hailed a taxi for them. He allowed Organa to enter first; he was still unable to discern her objectives. It frustrated Kanbal, because he could immediately read other beings. With her, it was like encountering a duracrete wall. Spoke to the taxi driver, telling him the diner’s location. With that, the taxi lifted off in the Doolis’s nighttime sky. The diner was on the other side of the city, which allowed some time to start the conversation.</font>

“You never answered my question. Why were you following me?” <font color="#77A8C1">he said, almost a little forcefully.</font>