Tanaken Complex, New Anar City, New Anar Island

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Qui-Gon walked subserviently behind Aven, looking just as he intended: a Hunter currently employed by a Tanaken, but wishing to remain anonymous. They had just started down the main corridor of the Science Administrative Wing after having rushed there from the Clerical Library.

It had been a frustrating search cut short by Obi-Wan's call. The Anarans had yet to develop more than a (by Republic standards) primitive filing system, and there had been sheer volumes of unlabelled paper folders to look through. "Like looking for a sewing implement in a dehydrated bundle of livestock fodder," Qui-Gon had sighed to his friend.

They saw three guards walking toward them with Obi-Wan held in their midst, the padawan looking sullenly at his feet as he shuffled along.

Kenobi's attitude wasn't entirely assumed for his captors' benefit. He couldn''t *believe* his attempt at acting had failed so miserably! Hadn't the Temple Acting Instructor given him good marks in that play?

{{ Well... poodoo. }}

++ Even the truly great thespians can have a bad day, Padawan. ++

Noticing his master's presence, Obi-Wan quickly solemnized his demeanor.

Aven walked straight up to the leader, doing his best to ignore Kenobi's curious look. The guard leader grimaced to himself, but signaled his men to halt.

"Captain Noag, I wish to speak with your prisoner," Aven said formally, trying not to sweat.

The Captain looked pained. Everyone knew that Aven was Pohl's adopted son---so even though he was Unakan by birth, he still had to be given the respect worthy of a Higher. Noag hated seeing Lowers raised this way. It didn't seem proper. "Sir," he began carefully, (relishing being able to deny the Unakan spawn *something*, but mindful that insolence would earn him his Director's lash), "I'm afraid that I have strict orders--" Noag nearly stopped talking as the cloaked Hunter smoothly nudged the Botanist aside and waved a hand before his face.

"Orders to release the prisoner into Aven's care," a quiet voice finished for him.

"To release the prisoner into Aven's care," Captain Noag parroted without a hitch.

Face hidden beneath the large hood, Qui-Gon smiled serenely. "You and your squad are needed to guard the Rodentia pens."

Noag dutifully spoke to his men, "We're needed at the Rodentia pens. C'mon you two!"

Nonplussed, Aven watched as the guards quickly marched out of sight---on their way to watch over harmless yampa rats and other innocuous critters. "Well," he breathed, feeling somewhat awkward, "that was educational. Remind me never to make you upset with me----I donah want to come to my senses one day to find that I've just been crawling around on the floor, neighing like a quad."

"Never," Qui-Gon gave the botanist's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "I'd rather hear you yowling like your rapars. Come, Padawan."

Aven scowled indignantly at the big Jedi's back as he followed them back the way the guards had come from. "So now you're going to mentally 'convince' Pohl to give up Ayar as well?"

"No. He is too strong-willed for such influence. We will be rescuing him the old-fashioned way---diplomacy."

The botanist merely shook his head dolefully. "Pohl has been regretting the loss of Ayar for Turns. I doubt 'talking' will make him change his mind," Aven said.

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Back plastered against the wall of his office, Pohl frowned at the being standing just feet away from him, trying to understand just what had happened. The Kievet hybrid could not possibly be threatening *him*. It had to be a bluff. And yet... something was very wrong. Ayar looked so... feral? Perhaps the elements of of his dna had had more of an impact than just the added height and fur coloring. If only that dratted Jedi hadn't *stolen* it away from him!

"Ayar..."

The odd amber-colored elements that currently made up his former experiment's eyes, {{ strange that. Hadn't they been purple? }}, shifted into a deep crimson. Pohl blinked. Male Kievet eye color could change---he had personally witnessed the phenomenon----but always before it had been merely from one shade to the next closest... say, green to blue-green. Was this something unique to Ayar's personal biology? He had to calm the creature down. Control it for study. Matek would understand---- this was way too important to waste on simple hunting trips. He began slowly edging towards his desk, fingers reaching for the drawer where he had stowed his lunch container. Thank the Trade Routes he had not had time to finish his previous meal!

"... Ayar, you remember me?" He broke out his most charming smile. "Of course you do... I'm the one who gave you treats. You remember treats, donah you?" Long fingers found the drawer pull and opened it up, snatching the still-sealed container it held to his chest, one-handedly working to break the seal. He continued to keep up his eye contact and soft, one-sided conversation, not wanting Ayar to take fright and run away. It would be such a nuisance to have to have it hunted down the halls with tranq guns. Waste of valuable time, that. He abhorred wasting time.

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Fear! Confusion! ANGER!

Such feelings there had been and there was still! They swirled about him, making him want to gnash his teeth into something. These were emotions *prey* felt----not the *hunter*! And he had no intention of becoming someone's *prey*.

First there had been the singularly unpleasant feeling of dying because the *Other* wished it---he *still* couldn't believe it---*dying*, when *survival* was everything! The growls went even deeper at the memory of being torn unwillingly from its long-time physical abode----the home that was supposed to last him forever. Then there were the strange ones threatening him with their very alienishness. Prey or Advesary? The scent was unknown.

*Everything* scented unknown since the Other's foolishness! He had wanted to fight! Defend himself! But before he could ascertain his surroundings, the Other had forced him back into slumber. As if being attacked was the time for him to *sleep*! Now he was awake and in control for once---finally!---only there was still this terrible confusion of jumbled memories and emotions coming from the Other! Who was this Ayar and what was he to him? He was *Nicholas* and if Ayar had lost this body to him, then it was Ayar's tough luck! The body was his now, only it felt so strange and he was unable to make it perform for him like the old one had done. He felt oddly disconnected in some fashion. Why was that? Ahh... but he was *hungry*, (as usual the Other had not allowed himself to feed fully).

His prey's heartbeat sounding loud in his ears, the scent of the blood strong in his nostrils. Ready for him to take. Yet these were not what was wanted. Not fully, anyway. Ridiculous notion! Blood was his food. Good human blood. But this prey was not human? He sniffed again at his prey, deciding that though he *looked* human, he was not one of those preferred food sources. Animal? A lip curled in distain at tasting animal blood yet again. Still, this one was surely better than that bovine slop the Other insisted that they feed upon----at least when he was too weak to protest strongly enough, anyway. And *why* were his fangs not dropping? He couldn't feel their presence in his mouth---another frightening development! He didn't *like* this being frightened! He wanted to hunt and take pleasure in living---these were his rights as a superior creature---LaCroix, himself, had taught him so! Worse---he could not feel the comforting presence of his father. Always----even when the Other fought him the most fiercely----the link had been a place to find solace in as he slept. Sometimes barely felt, sometimes thrumming from close proximity, the link was *always* there. But now it was not there. He was alone. Horribly *alone* and afraid and hungry and nothing was *right*, not even the prey in front of him who should be cowering---why wasn't it cowering?----and all of this was making him *angry*! Oh, *something* was going to pay for upsetting him so!

The Vampire snarled softly as his prey tried to back away, reaching for something. Disappointed that it was not trying to escape in a more active fashion. It was so much more satisfying to end the hunt when the prey was fleeing, and right now the Vampire sorely wanted to feel that satisfaction, if only for the reassurement of doing something that it felt was instinctively *right*.

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Pohl hissed in pain as Ayar's body suddenly hit him full in the chest, the teeth that had latched on his hastily upflung arm slipping over enough to succeed in nipping into the back of his wrist and drawing blood. To his surprise, instead of letting go, the Kievet started sucking on the small wound. Almost instantly, however, his attacker recoiled away, face scrunched up in an expression of distaste, tongue licking frantically inside the mouth as if to rid itself of a foul taste. Reddish eyes glared reproachfully at him.

The wound was bleeding, but not badly Pohl ascertained, glancing at it. More bruised than anything. Kievet teeth were designed for gnawing through tough plant fibers, so the wound was more of a tear through the skin than a puncture. Pity. That would take longer to heal over, but at least Ayar had not been able to wrench the muscle right off the bone like a Rapar bite would have done.

"I can see my first requisition for you, Ayar, is going to have to be a sturdy muzzle..." he matter-of-factly told the growling creature. "Fortunately, I am in a forgiving mood as yet." He finished breaking the seal of the food container, reached in, and held out the still warm roll. To his gratification, Ayar reacted just as he had always done before...

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(Flashback)

One hand holding the straining toddler pressed to his lap, Pohl held the bread slice just out of reach of the eager hands, teasingly. The lure of the male Kievet's one strong weakness had been enough to draw the whelp away from even the comfort of its sire. "So, you like this stuff do you, my little pet? You want more? Of course you do. You're just like your sire in so many ways, are nah you?" He grinned at the dark form sitting in a tight curl in its cage. Like the infant, the adult was eyeing the food hungrily, but knew better than to try reaching for it. "K'tay likes his bread, too; but it will get his later----if it is good."

Silence.

Pohl sighed. The adult had recently developed a stubborn streak not seen since shortly after his removing the youth from its clan. He really should take the time to look into this shift in behavior, but the whelp was his main interest now. Such a delightful success to his studies!

"Sing for us, K'tay. Sing, or I won't let Ayar sleep with you tonight."

*That* got the crit's attention. Sad eyes met his for a fraction of a second before K'tay took a deep breath to fill all his air sacs. The music was mournful, but beautiful all the same. It was always beautiful. A pity the whelp had not inherited the purebred's full potential in that respect, but Pohl's people were still just beginning to study the technology given them. One day, he would be able to develop a *true* hybrid species. One that was enjoyable enough to be a Qwanaten pet, while strong enough to labor for the Lower Houses. It would be quite an achievement. And his people would soon lose their dislike of the very hybrid idea when they saw the benefits. Perhaps it would even be the stepping stone to Tanaken House taking preeminance over Qwanaten?

He smiled at the toddler, still gamely trying to reach for the delicacy and copy the adult's sounds at the same time. Failing at each, but not giving up. He magnaminously lowered the slice down into its reach.

(End Flashback)

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Pohl scowled as he recalled the rest: The next morning, K'tay's cage had been found empty, the K'tlyan nowhere to be found. Five days later, the thrice accursed Jedi had somehow discovered and smashed the irreplaceable genetics machinery and destroyed the research data files. To add insult to injury, the one called *Jinn* had then tricked him into believing he *had* to give up Ayar for his own safety. In hindsight, it had been foolish of him to believe the alien, and then indulge in a little of vengeful satisfaction in swaying the vote towards seeing the Jedi and their ilk kicked off the planet. If he had not, he might have been able to convince the original seller to offer him replacements.

A light tugging at his hand pulled him out of his pointless musings. Ayar was slowly chewing the bread roll right out of his hands----eyes half lidded in lustful pleasure as it savored each nibble. He carefully moved his fingers out of the way while cautiously working his free arm to reach for...

Almost...

"Gotcha!"

Pohl triumphantly pulled the leash taunt, causing the collar to momentarily tighten around the Kievet's neck. It chocked on its mouthful of bread. The next thing he knew, Pohl was flat on his back, trying desperatately to keep a red-eyed, raging Ayar from biting into his throat. How could the creature have gotten so *strong*?! House! He couldn't hold it off!

The vampire wanted to howl in glee. His hunger had been sated by the strange but deeply satifying food. He felt much better. And now this foolish creature had thought to attack him? So good to smell the aroma of fear it gave off, the terror in its eyes as they realized they were about to be darkened permanently. *He* was the predator here! This 'Pohl' was merely a tormentor of weaker beings---and not for the purpose of getting food. The Vampire had nothing but disgust for those that tormented children. Survival dictated that the young be allowed to mature and procreate. Yes, he would kill this one even if he could not feast on its unpalatable blood...

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End of Episode Two: Part Five