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Author's Notes:

Tails of the Old Republic is a crossover between the Sonic the Hedgehog universe and the Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic video game.

Sonic and all related IP belongs to SEGA/ Sonic Team
SW: KotOR and all related IP belongs to Lucas Arts/ Bioware Corp
No copyright or trademark infringement intended.

Series rated "Web-14" for violence, mild language, and suggestive themes.

---

Upper City Taris — Cantina

As they walked down the main path, Carth had an absentminded look plastered to his face.


"If you don't watch where you're going, your face might become a parking brake," Tails warned.


"Oh, right. Sorry." Carth watched where he was walking now. "I was just... thinking. About something."


"Obviously. But at least I can think and walk at the same time."


"There's no need to be rude, Tails." Carth grumbled.


"Hey, I'm following you! You've had nearly a week to scope out this place, so I kinda expected you to have some idea of where to start. Do you?"


"Yes, actually," Carth fumed. "There's an elevator nearby that leads to the Lower City. From there, we'll find a way into the Undercity where the other escape pods landed. But the Sith have commandeered it, and only those on 'official Sith business' can use it. Therefore, we need to find some 'official Sith business' or just find some Sith armor to hide our faces in."


'I hope you find one in the extra small size category,' Tails thought to himself.


"Therefore, we're going to a cantina to find information. With any luck, we'll get the tip we need."


Tails thought that was a pretty poor plan, but he kept his mouth shut. Tails figured he could just beat up the soldiers guarding the elevator, and then take the lift down to the Lower City. But then, an alarm would probably be sent to the rest of the Sith, and he and Carth would have a whole battalion of troops coming down on their heads. Still, what good could come from hanging out at a tavern? The fox simply shook his head and decided to trust Carth's judgment.


The duo rounded a corner, and crossed short bridge that spanned two of Taris' enormous buildings. Tails admired the architecture. The whole city seemed to have an industrialist appearance. The buildings themselves were at least two miles tall, and had a semicircular tops adorned with geometric symbols. Tails couldn't see the ground because there was a dense fog obscuring it. The fox wished he could fly right then, and tour the city at a more accelerated pace, but with his one tail wounded as it was, Tails was stuck on the road with a slowpoke Human.


Soon enough, Carth and Tails came to another large metal door. The glowing sign read, "Upper City Cantina XB43". Precisely how Tails was able to read the alien gibberish was currently beyond him.


"We're here," Carth stated.


A large, muscular Human in light body armor guarded the door. Tails figured he was one of the bouncers. The man looked at the Mobian, wrinkled his nose, then turned to face Carth.


"I'm sorry sir, but no pets allowed inside," he declared.


'WHAT did you just call me?!'


Tails restrained the sudden urge to kick the Human in the groin.


Carth noticed the indignation on Tails' face, and coughed deliberately. He answered, "Ahem, pardon the confusion, but Mr. Prower here is in no way my... um, pet. I can assure you he is his own person and is fully capable of answering for himself. We're visitors to Taris, you see, and I want to unwind here with my friend."


The bouncer grumbled, then said, "I see, so you two are more off-worlders caught in the quarantine, huh? Fine then. You may pass, furry one. Mr. Prower, I mean."


Trying to hide his irritation, Tails absentmindedly brushed off his jacket and smiled and replied, "Thank you, good sir. I promise I'll be  no trouble at all!"


The bouncer simply huffed. The door opened, and the pair walked inside.


In contrast to the sunshine outside, the tavern was dark and poorly illuminated. Tails' natural night vision kicked in. The place stunk with the scent of ethanol, and the air was smoky. The fox nearly gagged. THIS was the best place to gather information?!


Tails and Carth strolled past several patrons playing card games and entered the main bar. Following Carth's example, Tails took a seat at a table. The Human-sized chair made Tails feel uncomfortably small. A lithe female Human walked up, holding a stylus and oversized datapad.


"Welcome! Is there anything I can get for you two, or would you like a few minutes to look at the menu?"


"I think I'll need a little more time," Carth said.


"Um... do you serve chili dogs here?" Tails asked hopefully.


As if seeing him for the first time, the woman narrowed her eyes at the Mobian, then smiled. "Well, hello there! Can't say I've ever seen one of your kind before. You're actually pretty handsome for an alien, and you speak Galactic Basic as fluently as a Human can! I'm impressed! What happened, did the Sith impound your spaceship?"


Tails' face felt unusually warm. "Uhhhh... yeah, something like that..."


"Tsk, too bad. Oh! I'm sorry. Um, I don't think we serve any type of 'dog' here. Can I get something else for you?"


"No, no... a 'chili dog' is simply a cooked sausage wrapped in a bun with ketchup, mustard, and relish topped with refried beans, hot peppers, and melted cheese," Tails tried to explain.  "I'm not looking for an actual 'dog' to eat..."


"Oh, I'm sorry I misunderstood. I think we have something matching that description, though I've never heard it called a 'chili dog' before. How many would you like, sir?"


"I dunno. At least twenty."


Carth gasped and broke into a coughing fit, while the waitress just smiled with amusement.


"Ahem, what would you like to drink with that, sir?"


"Do you have anything that doesn't have alcohol in it?" Tails inquired.


The waitress scanned through her datapad, and replied, "Well, we have water, fruit juice, and spicy vegetable juice. That's it, I'm afraid."


"I'll take a pitcher of the spicy vegetable juice, thank you."


The woman giggled to herself, then said, "Very well; twenty 'chili dogs' and a pitcher of juice, coming right up." She turned to Carth and asked, "And have you decided yet, sir?"


"I think... I may need more time to decide, thanks."


"All right, I'll be back. Don't go away!" The waitress walked off, leaving Carth and Tails alone.


Carth glared at the Mobian.


"What? What's wrong?"


"You... are a pig! I'm going to cram our bill down your throat when we get it!"


"I'm a fox, and I'm hungry! Relax, will you?"


"You practically inhaled that monstrous breakfast not eight hours ago, and you're already starving again?"


"Yeah. So?"


Carth groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Never mind," he said finally.


After a few minutes, a cart carrying three large rectangular platters and a gallon-sized pitcher appeared. The same waitress transferred the bulky items to their table, which became completely dominated by Tails' order. Twenty foot-long chili dogs, heaped with chili beans and dribbling cheese down their sides, where the subject of Miles Prower's undivided attention.


"There... is no freaking way... you can eat all that in one sitting..." Carth spoke.


"Mr. Onasi, I find your lack of faith... most disturbing!" Tails replied, grinning from ear to ear.


"Whoa, dude!" came a male voice behind Tails. "You're not seriously planning on eating all that, are you?"


Tails turned in his chair, and found a scruffy looking Human sitting at the table next to him. He looked drunk, and his breath reeked of ethanol.


"Why yes, I am!" came Tails' glib reply.


"Mr. Furry Alien, I betcha one hundred credits a pipsqueak like you can't finish that!


'Nobody calls ME a pipsqueak and gets away with it!'


"Oh really?" said Tails, tugging on his bangs. "And what if I fail?"


"You gotta pay me a hundred credits!"


"Seems like a fair deal! I'm game!"


"TAILS..." snarled Carth.


"Ease off, will you? I'm the champion eater on Mobius! Not even Sonic the Hedgehog can beat me at eating contests!"


Carth just groaned.


"Deal! This I gotta see." said the scruffy drunk Human.


Smiling wickedly, the teenage Mobian unbuckled his belt and began stuffing his face with his meal. Tails paced himself at ninety seconds per chili dog, sipping his juice to keep his throat wet. The flavors were incredible. From the bun, to the sausage itself, to the spreads, to the beans, the cheese, and all the spices in between, they were unlike anything the fox had tasted before. The chili dogs he had eaten on Mobius and on Earth were good, but these... were from a wholly different plane of existence! They were remarkably filling, too, a fact that worried the boy. After the twelfth chili dog and first quart of his juice had been consumed, Tails wondered if he was going to fail the bet. Still, Tails soldiered on, not breaking his pace.


Thoroughly disgusted with his companion, Carth covered his face with his palm.


After the eighteenth chili dog had vanished within him, Tails was struggling, and it showed. 'Come on Miles, just two more!' he thought to himself. He now unbuckled his pants, allowing his guts to shift around a bit more. Tails was panting now, and after gulping down the nineteenth one, the fox officially crossed the threshold of discomfort. Every bite now strained him. Resistance is futile! he mentally told the final chili dog.


"You're not... giving up, are ya Mr. Alien?" taunted the scruffy Human. He was sweating profusely, and had obviously not entertained the thought of losing.


Wordlessly, Tails just smirked, and crammed the final chili dog into his drooling mouth. Tails took his time consuming it, savoring ever molecule. After the last piece slid down his throat, Tails belched loudly. As a final insult, the boy licked all three platters clean. The flabbergasted drunk man transferred the credits without a fuss. Leaning back in his seat, Tails' head swam. He couldn't remember ever eating so much. The Mobian flicked his distended belly, and it reverberated like a water drum. It was incongruous; Tails was a lean, compact bundle of fur and muscle, but his stomach now hung over his waist like an over-inflated balloon. Tails gurgled.


"You. Are. Freaking. Disgusting."


"Carth... shut up," Tails sighed. "I just earned a tidy profit for us, didn't I?"


"I can't believe I'm partnered with a walking vacuum cleaner—"


Tails belched again. Already, his stomach shrank somewhat.


"—with the manners of a kath hound."


"Do you always complain this much?" asked Tails.


Carth lowered his voice to a whisper, and replied, "We have a job to do, and you're making a game out of it! Do you realize just how much attention you've drawn to yourself? Bastila may be in grave danger, and you're only thought is to amuse yourself by seeing how much food you can pack within your gut? Can you even move in your current condition? If you're through being a public spectacle, I need you to get serious!"


Miles Prower briefly entertained the thought of punching Carth in the face, but restrained the impulse to do so. Superior officers usually don't like that kind of behavior. Besides, his arm wouldn't reach across the table. Instead, Tails simply cleaned the bits of food off his gloves (which he had never removed) with a sanitizing wipe, mopped up the stray chili smearing his face, and stretched out in his chair. Tails had a damn good reason for gorging himself, and as his intestines assimilated his meal, the boy could feel his lost Chaos energy come swelling back, though still not as rapidly as he would like. The nanites in his blood were still repairing his injuries from the Endar Spire, and they needed fuel just like his cellular tissues did.


And what had Carth done in the time Tails was busy feeding? Nothing! For the past thirty minutes, the Human had just sat there, making a big fuss about Tails' relative disgusting-ness, when he could have been searching for tips on how to get past the Sith guarding the elevator to the Lower City. Meanwhile, the entire time he was stuffing his face, Tails had been scanning every single conversation stream in this particular room, and in two adjacent rooms, for any hint that may have been relevant to their mission. The fox's parabolic ears did more than frame his skull.


The adolescent Mobian sighed, patted his stomach, and belched yet again, allowing the bulge to shrink a little more.


"Carth," the boy began, "while you've been sitting there grumbling, I've been more useful this past half-hour than you may realize. Do you see these huge ears of mine? I've been listening in. On everybody. Please don't jump to conclusions based upon faulty assumptions. Now then, I'm going to take a short nap and finish digesting all this in here. Perhaps, if you're through whining, you could make yourself useful while I'm out."


Miles "Tails" Prower pulled in his boots so that he was sitting doggie-style on his chair, closed his eyes, and turned off like a light bulb. Miles had no intention of sleeping deeply, of course, and his ears rotated back and forth, sifting through the noises surrounding him. He was glad he "installed" those neural implants in his cranium and throughout his body last year; they allowed him to be a lot more versatile and overcome some of the limitations of being "purely organic", especially during sleep. Of course, he had hidden that little procedure from everyone around him, even Sonic.  


After Dr. Robotnik began tearing up Planet Mobius with his mechanical hordes, many Mobians had developed a fear of technology, and the most zealous technophobes might have accused the young progeny of trying to "robotisize" himself. No one but Miles knew of his cybernetic implants. No one but him knew of his nanites, or of the composite plating that now reinforced his bones. Robotisize himself, indeed! Miles dreamed of a Mobius free from Robotnik and the terrors he spawned. He dreamed of the day his burning homeworld could be restored to her former glory. But so much stood in the way. So much was blocking that dream from coming to reality, and an enormous chunk of the blame landed right at the feet of his blue hedgehog idol...


As Tails drifted off, though, he reflected on how he behaved. 'I've been an jerk today,' he thought, and resolved to apologize to Carth when he got the chance.

---

Tails re-awoke about forty minutes after he had fallen asleep. No one had bothered him. Carth was absent, and so was the drunk man. The table had been cleared, and a fresh tablecloth had been placed upon it. The cantina still bustled with activity, but most of the patrons seemed to be ignoring the "furry alien". A few of the female patrons cast interested looks his direction, but precisely what their "interest" was, Tails couldn't guess. Well, he could, but didn't really want to.


Hopping off his chair, Tails checked his stomach, and it was flat and hard as rock again. Tails re-buckled his pants and fastened his belt. He brushed the remaining crumbs off his gloves, boots, shirt, pants, and jacket. Tails found a restroom and used it, then went looking for Carth. Hopefully, he wasn't off sulking somewhere. Tail's wounded namesake was now responding to his commands nearly as readily as the uninjured one, so he felt it was unnecessary to keep them wrapped together as before. Letting them flow independently behind him, he walked without feeling unbalanced, though his dual appendages caused more than a few double-takes.


To be honest, Tails felt a little ill from eating all that food. His body never really tolerated starches very well, which the bread and beans were, of course, full of. And now that he was an adolescent, Tails' body reacted to starchy and sugary foods even worse. He was a fox — a carnivore — and his body ran best on meat and fat. Unfortunately, old pleasures died hard.


The stink of ethanol and smoldering plant material offended his nostrils, but it couldn't be helped. Tails scanned all the conversations as he passed by, but none of them held information relevant to his current mission. Sure, there was plenty of talk regarding the Sith, the Republic, the space battle in orbit, and of the escape pods, but there was nothing useful to be gleaned. Still, Tails absorbed as much as his brain could take in.


He found a room containing a platform with female dancers, and various male patrons were watching them. These dancers had either bluish or greenish skin, and coming out of their heads were two fleshy tail-like structures that draped over their shoulders. Tails figured these were the "Twi'lek" people he had been hearing about. They looked almost like Humans except for their skin pigmentation and those fleshy structures coming out of their heads. The dancers' movements were rather entrancing, and he found himself watching their motions a little too closely. Finding nothing else of interest, Tails moved on.


The last room he checked on this floor was long and rectangular. About a dozen people milled about, looking at structures that looked like large TV sets. Walking in, Tails was nearly ran over by a pair of Humans running in breathlessly, though it appeared one was pulling the other.


'Hey! I may be shorter than you, but don't just plow through me!'


"Oh, I can't believe we couldn't get arena tickets for this match!" said the lead Human, a female.


"Who cares, it's Gerlon and Duncan. It's not like we're missing anything!" replied the gruff male being tugged on.


"SHH! It's starting! Take a look at the viewscreen!"


Wanting to know what was so important as to run over bystanders, Tails strolled over to a vacant view screen and watched the feed. The screen revealed something like a small dueling ring or fighting arena, and the camera panned by several dozen spectators.


"Ladies and gentlemen, draw your attention to the dueling ring," a male announcer spoke. "Here, two combatants will battle for your viewing and gambling enjoyment. Now, I hope all your bets are down, because we're ready to roll! In this corner I give you... Gerlon Two-Fingers!"


There was a hearty applause, and a youngish Human male, probably in his late twenties, appeared on camera.


"And over here," the announcer continued, "looking to climb the ranks yet again is the ever persistent Deadeye Duncan!"


Another man, this one looking a bit older, appeared. He was met with only mild applause, and also some booing.


The two opponents faced each other, and then they drew their blasters. But something was wrong: the blaster that belonged to "Deadeye Duncan" flew out of the man's hand and landed by his feet. The man scrambled to pick it back up, but it was far too late to help him any. The blaster that belonged to "Gerlon Two-Fingers" flashed, and a bolt of energy struck "Duncan" in the chest. The man quivered like he was being shocked, then thudded on the floor.


'Wow... epic fail on "Duncan" here... Is he dead?'


"And to nobody's great surprise, Deadeye is down again!" declared the announcer. "Don't worry folks, he's just unconscious. As usual. The medics will have him up and about in a bit. Well, that was quick, wasn't it? So I give you the winner... Gerlon Two-fingers!"


There was a subdued cheer, then Tails' viewscreen shut off.


"Well, that... was interesting," Tails mumbled.