Everyone was soon fast asleep, save Xicanti and Xepher. The twins sat opposite each other, neither saying a thing aloud. Inside, both were consumed by their own thoughts.

Xicanti looked at Cahra, who lay only a foot away from him on the cold stone floor. She had been among the first to give in to sleep. The young thief sadly smiled to himself as he watched her sleeping so peacefully. She's very beautiful, he thought. But she can't be more than a friend. All she can be is a friend.

A stray lock of hair had drifted over Cahra's eyes as she slept; gently, Xicanti moved it back. As he returned it to its place, the boy let his hand remain in her hair for just a second too long. The dark mass was every bit as soft as he had imagined.

:Tell her.:

Xicanti glared at Xepher. His twin glanced quickly at Cahra, then back into his brother's eyes. His meaning was clear.

:I can't,: Xicanti thought fiercely. :If I told her, and she didn't feel the same way, it'd ruin everything. I can't take that chance.: He removed his fingers from Cahra's hair, taking great care not to disturb her.

:She deserves to know, don't you think?: Xepher persisted. :I mean, if someone was in love with me, I'd wanna know. Unless maybe it was a guy.:

Xicanti shook his head. :You don't understand. I don't even know for sure that I'm in love with her. I feel strangely about her, but that's it. It could be just infatuation. It could be something more. I don't know. And until I do, I can't say anything. Hell, even once I know for sure, I can't say a word. If she didn't feel the same way, it'd ruin our friendship. She wouldn't act the same around me ever again, and I'd have lost the girl I love. You understand that?:

Xepher nodded. :More or less. You don't want her to start acting differently around you just because she knows you love her, since you know she'd seize up if she didn't feel the same way, and that would ruin everything.:

:Exactly.: Xicanti agreed with a nod. He had long ago seized to be surprised at how well his brother understood him. We're really more like one person in two bodies, he thought to himself as Xeph slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. Only it's not that stereotypical brotherhood, where one brother gets everything and the other's left with the crap at the bottom of the glass. Both of us have about equal luck, and both of us respect it.

He looked over at his brother, who had already made his way into slumberland, and smiled. Xeph was somewhat addicted to sleep. When questioned about his tendencies towards long periods of rest, he simply replied that he liked his dreams. Xicanti, too, enjoyed dreaming , but did not spend most of his day engaged in such activities. He preferred to think, and to remember. With another quick glance at Cahra, he proceeded to examine some of his fonder memories.

The boy thought back to his long years on the streets of Coruscant. They had been difficult, but quite enjoyable, once he'd gotten the hang of everything. He often found himself wishing that he could return to those times of aimless existence. He had been the ultimate denizen of Coruscant's underworld: a thief with no family, little future, and fingers sticky enough to get him anything he could every need. Sharstas always said I could have ruled the thieves someday if I wanted to, Xicanti remembered. He said I had the makings of a fine leader, and that nobody would question it with my skills. Sith, I miss Sharstas!

The boy thought back to the first time he had met the tavern keeper. He had barely turned six, and had just pulled off his first big caper. Rettar had taken him along to visit an old friend on a higher Level, as a sort of a reward coupled with an apology�

Red looked up at the tavern. "This's where we're goin'?" he asked his foster father anxiously. "It's awful big! You sure they let people like us in there?"

Rettar, who was in a surprisingly good mood, bent down next to the little boy and nodded. "Yup. They let everyone in, this place, regardless o' their background. You'll like it a lot. Sharstas, the owner, he's an old friend of mine. We were boys together."

Red nodded, and followed close behind the older man as they entered the tavern. It was terribly nice inside; the walls were lined in real wood, and the entire place had an unmistakable atmosphere to it. This's gotta be the best place I've ever seen! little Red decided. That includes last night's place, too. Just look at all this stuff! He surveyed the walls of the tavern, which were decorated with mementos from all across the galaxy.

"Rettar!" a hearty voice boomed across the tavern, interrupting the little boy's inspection of the tavern. "And one of your thieves, yes? I'd heard you'd started thieving for a living again! Surprised the hell out of me, it did! To think that someone who'd once had your standing was reduced to the role of Master of Thieves!"

Rettar laughed. "It's not much of a job, but it pays well!" He slapped Red on the back, pushing the little boy a bit more into the light. "Say hello to Sharstas, boy!" he demanded roughly of the little thief.

"Hello," Red said shyly. His experience with those who earned their money honestly was rather lacking; he was a quite nervous around them, as a result.

His fear was soon banished. Sharstas treated him just as if he were an equal. "Hello, boy!" the old man announced cheerfully. "What's your name?" He held out his hand for a shake. "I'm Sharstas, and this here's my tavern, the Hero's Conquest."

Still a little shy, Red shook Sharstas's hand and shook it as hard as he could. "Rettar and Tessa call me Red," he said, his voice more quiet than he was accustomed to having it. "But that's not really my name. It's just what they call me. I don't have a name yet."

Sharstas gave Rettar a disapproving look. "You didn't even bother to give him a name?" he asked, his disapproval plain. "That's low, Smrokes. More than low."

Rettar shrugged. "Ye're right, o'course. But me an' Tessa, we dinna know what to call him. He waren't old enough yet to talk when we got 'im, so we decided to just call 'im Red fer now, an' let 'im choose 'is own name when 'e's older. Besides, ye know I've ne'er been one to care much for names."

Sharstas shrugged. "He's your charge. Call him what you will."

The tavern keeper led Rettar and his little thief to an empty booth in a corner of the front room. The two older men took their seats, one on each side of the table; Red assumed he was to do likewise. He squirmed up beside Rettar, sitting up on his knees to keep his head and shoulders where they could be seen.

Sharstas grinned at him. "He takes the initiative," the tavern keeper commented to Rettar. "Smart kid." Looking to Red, he asked, "What're you going to do when you're older, young Red?"

Red scratched his head. He never thought of anything much beyond the next day, if he bothered to think even that far in advance. With a shrug, he replied, "I dunno. Just whatever happens to come my way, I guess."

Sharstas grinned broadly. "You take good care of this one!" he demanded of Rettar. "He'd be a good one to have take over for you once you get too old to run your thieves."

Rettar scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose I could 'ave 'im doin' that," he replied slowly. "But that won't be for a number o' years, now will it?"

From this point, the discussion turned to more adult topics, which little Red had no interest in or knowledge of. Ignoring the two old men, he returned to his examination of the tavern. It didn't take him long to decide that it was most certainly the oddest place he'd ever been in. Unlike most of the planet, it was made entirely of wood, and had a warm, cheery feeling about it. Interesting artifacts from all corners of the galaxy were spread around the main room, drawing most of the little boy's attention. In one corner was a stuffed wamp rat, slightly moth-eaten but still recognizable. Upon the walls were a variety of weapons, ranging from battle axes to high-tech blasters. These, however, did not interest young Red nearly so much as the strange thing on the far wall.

The thing was like a small room set into the wall. It had no door, thought a large opening gaped near the bottom of it. Inside, a fire burned, casting its red glow upon the three walls of the thing. Red had never seen anything quite like it before, and hopped down from the booth to investigate. He soon found himself enamored of it. A contraption created seemingly for the purpose of giving off light and heat, all at once� it was amazing! "Rettar, come look at this!" he cried happily to his foster father. "It's really neat!"

"I've seen it before," Rettar called back. "It's called a fireplace."

"Original name," Red muttered to himself. "A place for a fire being called a fireplace! How do they think these things up?"

For many minutes, the little boy examined the fireplace, viewing it from all angles. "This's really neat!" he exclaimed to himself as he watched the logs burn. More wood. "The whole place is full of it," he murmured, looking around him at the paneling on the walls. "I wish the cellar was like this."

For the next half hour, the little boy amused himself by poking around the rest of the tavern, handling anything that was not firmly nailed down. He spoke with many of the tavern's patrons, and quickly made friends with several non-humans. He had not had much contact with the other races of Coruscant, and found them intriguing to talk to. They had much to tell him about their homeworlds, and many interesting stories of the Rebellion, and the Imperials who had ruled before the new regime took control.

Red knew that, before he had been born, the galaxy had been ruled by an evil man named Palpatine. He had been a terrible racist, and had treated anyone who was not fully human like trash. Slavery had been legal under him, and things had been terrible for most of the population.

Before the non-humans told him their stories, Red had been glad it was all over. By the time they were done, he was very much more than thankful. "It must have been terrible to live back then!" he exclaimed to the floppy-jowled Sullstan who'd given him the information. "I'm glad that bastard Palpatine's dead!"

"You should be," an old human man grumbled. "Things have been good for the past couple of years, but that doesn't mean they always were and always will be. There are lots more people like Palpatine out there, and many of them have power. You'll probably see some sort of major political unrest before you die anyways, boy. Perhaps there'll be a whole new Rebellion, headed by people who're against the new regime. You won't know till you get there."

Soon after, Rettar left to sell the items Red and the rest had procured for him. At his old friend's urging, he left the little thief at the tavern. "He'll be fine here with me," Sharstas proclaimed heartily. "And I doubt you'd want him to see some of the people in the area you're headed to." Rettar agreed with little grumbling, and was out the door in moments.

As soon as the old man was gone, Sharstas looked down to little Red. "You and me have to have a talk, boy," he said heartily. "Rettar thinks a lot of your chances at the big time someday, and so do I, after listening to him. You have your own lock pick yet?"

Red shook his head. "Just some bits of bent wire, an' I have to share those with Hal an' all the rest," he told the tavern keeper. "It's not very good."

Sharstas smiled at him. "Then come with me," he said, beckoning the little boy behind the counter. Once both were there, the tavern keeper bent down and took a box from a shelf below the bar. It was, like most of the tavern, made of wood. Sharstas reached into his pocket and took out a small key, with which he unlocked the box. Red gasped when he saw what was inside. Picks of all sizes, for all different types of locks were neatly lain against red velvet lining.

Some of those've gotta be solid gold! little Red thought to himself. To Sharstas, he said, "They're beautiful. Where'd you get 'em?"

"Stole 'em," Sharstas replied simply, "back when I was a street thief like you. I used 'em till I had enough stuff saved up to buy this place." He gestured around at the tavern, then closed the box and locked it again before handing it to the little boy. "Now, I'm giving them to you. May you someday have enough to leave the streets and become somebody."

Red could only stare at the box in his hands, astonished. "Y-you mean I get to keep them?" he whispered, hardly daring to hope. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.

Sharstas nodded. "They're yours until you decide to do something else with them," he confirmed. "Just don't let Rettar get a hold of them. He'll sell them off, and you'll never see 'em again."

Red nodded solemnly. "I promise I won't let anything bad happen to them," he told Sharstas, shaking the older man's hand as he did so.

Before Rettar returned, Sharstas showed Red many ways to conceal the picks upon his person. "The trick is to stick 'em somewhere that seems unlikely," he told the little boy. "Like the soul of your foot. You'd think it'd be too easy to loose there, but it's actually a very stable place if you tie it on right." He demonstrated by attaching a little silver one to each of Red's feet with some extra twine and a bit of cardboard. "Everyone'll just thing you're wearing impromptu shoes," he told his young pupil. They'll never guess you're only wearing them to keep something down there. They have no way of knowing that your feet are tough enough to go just fine without shoes."

Sharstas also taught little Red how to hide the picks around his genital organs. "People think it'd be too painful down there," he told Red, "but it isn't if you position the picks right. I'll let you figure that part out for yourself, though. I don't have any interest in playing around with your lower regions, and I'd imagine you'd have something to say about it even if I did!" He grinned at the little boy, who grinned right back.

Before Rettar returned, the two had become fast friends. The age difference didn't matter in the least, and each listened to the other as though there were days separating them rather than decades. Red was sorry to leave when Rettar came back for him, but didn't try and fight his Master of Thieves over it. He knew that he would soon be back to visit Sharstas�

And I was, Xicanti remembered, coming out of the semi-trance he had been locked in to find the others already awake. He taught me about my knives, and beer, and gave me my lock picks. An' I still have 'em, even after all these years! Smiling sleepily, the young thief thought of how he had always kept the picks in the exact places Sharstas had told him about. Some of 'em got lost when Old Rettar and everybody dumped me an' Low an' Jasa down into the jail level, but I've still got most of 'em. It's real lucky I forgot them all, and my knives. Good thing I've still got that one in my pants, too�

With a yelp, Xicanti sat bolt upright, startling everyone around him. Without bothering to explain to his intentions, he shoved his hand down his pants, searching for the lock pick.

Han looked dubiously over at him. "Listen kid, I like that too once in a while, but are you sure now's the time? I mean, we've all gotta watch you do it. Wouldn't you prefer some privacy?"

Xicanti frowned, puzzled. "What?" he asked uncertainly. When he realized what Han thought him to be doing, he laughed. "No!" he cried. "I'm getting my lock pick!"

Han shrugged. "If that's what you like to call it -"

"Oh, stop being sick, Han!" Xepher grumbled. "He means that he's got one hidden down there, an' he'll use it to pick the lock and get us out of here!"

"Oh."

Within moments, Xicanti had his lock pick out of the little pouch he'd laboriously sewn into his pants. Carefully, he stuck his hand thorough the bars at the front of the cell and jammed the pick into the lock. It wasn't complicated, by any means; Xicanti had it picked in no time . Grinning, the young thief stepped out and bowed to everyone.

"Awe, stop showin' off!" Xeph grumbled as he made his way out of the cell.

Xicanti's grin only broadened as he ruffled his brother's hair as he passed, much to Xepher's annoyance.